At that moment, too, Patsy caught sight of an approaching motor car in the back street. Its lamps shone through the trees, and he could see that it was slowing down to stop at the gate.
“By Jove! I may not be as lucky as I thought,” he muttered apprehensively. “If he leaves in that car it will be a racking stunt for me to keep track of it. I’ll make a bid to do so, all the same.”
Rising noiselessly, he now darted after the physician, stealing from tree to tree, and seeking a point from which he could get the license number of the car, and also a look at its driver. He saw him quite plainly a moment later, a powerful man wearing a slouch hat and with the collar of his overcoat turned up, partly hiding his face, a face that immediately increased Patsy’s suspicion.
Doctor Devoll paused and said a few words to him; then entered the car and disappeared, for its leather curtains were on and completely hid the interior. Then the chauffeur threw in the clutch and the car moved away.
Patsy Garvan appreciated the difficulties confronting him, but he did not let them daunt him. Running diagonally across the gloomy grounds, he vaulted the low iron fence immediately after the car had passed that point, so near that he could easily read the rear number plate. He fixed the number in his mind; then darted stealthily after the car, which was entering the narrow court through which Chick had passed that morning.
Sprinting after it at top speed, though at a discreet distance behind and in the deeper gloom near the buildings, Patsy followed the car into Belmont Street and saw that it had turned toward a more brightly lighted business section in the distance. He could see a passing trolley car, also several slowly moving wagons, all of which was somewhat encouraging.
“They’ll have to slow down in that quarter,” he muttered, already breathing hard from his exertions. “That must be Main Street. It’s just the time when the business thoroughfares are blocked with homeward-bound teams. I may be able, after all, to keep my quarry in sight. I must contrive in some way to find out where this baldheaded suspect is going.”
It appeared like a hopeless pursuit, nevertheless, for the motor car was speeding much more rapidly through Belmont Street and leaving Patsy farther and farther behind, in spite of his utmost exertions. Suddenly, too, it turned down a street running parallel with Main Street, evidently seeking a less-congested way.
Patsy rushed on all the while, hoping to arrive at the corner in time to keep the car in view, but he was booked for failure. He paused, panting for breath, and gazed vainly up and down the street. The only vehicle to be seen was an approaching wagon nearly a block away. Sprinting on to meet it, determined not to be thwarted, Patsy shouted to the driver:
“Did a motor car pass you half a minute ago?”