Fred rang for Gridley and told him to have his car brought around to the door. He wanted it to start at once within two minutes. When the butler had departed, Fred, by an inch, again opened the coat-room door. The stranger had draped himself in the underclothes and the shirt, and at the moment was carefully arranging the tie.
“Hurry!” commanded Keep. “The car'll be here in a minute. Where shall I tell him to take you?”
The stranger chuckled excitedly; his confidence seemed to be returning. “New York,” he whispered, “fast as he can get there! Look here,” he added doubtfully, “there's a roll of bills in these clothes.”
“They're yours,” said Fred.
The stranger exclaimed vigorously. “You're all right!” he whispered. “I won't forget this, or you either. I'll send the money back same time I send the clothes.”
“Exactly!” said Fred.
The wheels of the touring-car crunched on the gravel drive, and Fred slammed to the door, and like a sentry on guard paced before it. After a period which seemed to stretch over many minutes there came from the inside a cautious knocking. With equal caution Fred opened the door of the width of a finger, and put his ear to the crack.
“You couldn't find me a button-hook, could you?” whispered the stranger.
Indignantly Fred shut the door and, walking to the veranda, hailed the chauffeur. James, the chauffeur, was a Keepsburg boy, and when Keep had gone to Cambridge James had accompanied him. Keep knew the boy could be trusted.
“You're to take a man to New York,” he said, “or wherever he wants to go. Don't talk to him. Don't ask any questions. So, if YOU'RE questioned, you can say you know nothing. That's for your own good!”