“That’s orders.”
“From whom?”
“Gilmore.”
“Very well. Come along.”
“He takes it mighty cool,” thought Nixon. But, then, he could not see the doctor’s face from where he was standing.
Chick was placed in the carriage without difficulty, and then the doctor stepped forward to give the driver his orders.
When he got back to the carriage door, Nixon was leaning over the still figure of the detective.
He held a wicked-looking knife in his hand, and seemed about to strike.
The doctor caught his arm.
“Don’t make a muss in the carriage,” he said, coolly.