Together they set out through the starlight, leaving the chauffeur with instructions to secure help from the nearest garage; and as they followed the dim road Merkle continued to apologize until Lorelei silenced him. Both were beginning to suffer from the reaction of their fright.
It was very late; there was little sign of habitation, for the road led through a wooded country. Before long, however, they came in sight of lights, which Merkle hailed with relief.
The Chateau was a quasi-roadhouse of some architectural dignity, widely advertised as being under the same management as one of the smart Broadway cafes, and supplying the same food and drink, at twice the Broadway price. Its service was unsurpassed by any city restaurant, and, being within an hour's run by motor, it received a liberal patronage. Tips were large at the Chateau; its hospitality was famous among those who could afford the extravagance of midnight entertainment; and yet it was a quiet place. No echo of what occurred within its walls ever reached the outside world. Sea-food, waffles, privacy, and discretion were its recognized specialties, and people came for miles—mainly in pairs—to enjoy them.
As the pedestrians neared the avenue of maples leading up to the house they espied in the road ahead of them first the dull red glow of a tail-light, then a dusty license plate.
"There's luck," Merkle ejaculated. "I'll rent this car."
In the gloom several figures were standing, facing in the direction of the Chateau, and when Merkle spoke they wheeled as if startled.
"No, you can't hire this machine. What do you think this is, a cab-stand?" answered a gruff voice.
"Jim!" cried Lorelei, and ran forward.
Her breathless amazement at the meeting was no greater than her brother's. "Sis! What the devil are you doing here?" he managed to say. One of the men who had been kneeling over a case of some sort, dimly outlined in the radiance of a side-light, rose and placed his burden in the tonneau.
"I'm ready," he announced.