CHAPTER XXXIX.
CRAY’S LIPS ARE UNSEALED.
Despite his eagerness to see his friend Cray, and to get on the fugitive’s trail, Nick remained at the house long enough to draft a telegram to the warden of Clinton Prison, asking for further details concerning the supposed death of Green-eye Gordon, and the escape of one of the prisoners on the night of the fire.
The message was given to the butler, who was asked to phone it at once to the telegraph office.
“They may have facts up there which they have been keeping from the public,” Nick explained. “Even seemingly valueless facts may assume great importance in the light of what has happened down here, for that matter.”
Meanwhile, one of Nick’s fastest cars had been ordered around, and now the familiar honk-honk was heard.
“There’s the machine,” Nick announced. “Come on.”
It was plain to be seen that both Nick and his assistant were laboring under unusual excitement. The chauffeur was instructed to push the car to the lawful limit, and although he did so, with his usual skill, the detective seemed to think the car was creeping.
For miles and miles they had to traverse the streets of the city which stretched out northward to the confines of the Bronx, and not until these were passed, did they feel free to risk a faster pace—and even then they had to slow down through the frequent villages.
It was not in reality a long drive, however, and in less time than Griswold had made the trip the morning before, they had covered the distance.