“What are they doing now, Fred?” called the owner. Fred peered over the stern of the flying car.
“The constable’s jumping around the road,” he replied, “and the long one’s leaning against a tree. No, he’s climbing the tree. I can’t make out what he’s doing.”
“I know!” cried Miss Forbes; her voice vibrated with excitement. Defiance of the law had thrilled her with unsuspected satisfaction; her eyes were dancing. “There was a telephone fastened to the tree, a hand telephone. They are sending word to some one. They’re trying to head us off.”
Winthrop brought the car to a quick halt.
“We’re in a police trap!” he said. Fred leaned forward and whispered to his employer. His voice also vibrated with the joy of the chase.
“This’ll be our third arrest,” he said. “That means——”
“I know what it means,” snapped Winthrop. “Tell me how we can get out of here.”
“We can’t get out of here, sir, unless we go back. Going south, the bridge is the only way out.”
“The bridge!” Winthrop struck the wheel savagely with his knuckles. “I forgot their confounded bridge!” He turned to Miss Forbes. “Fairport is a sort of island,” he explained.
“But after we’re across the bridge,” urged the chauffeur, “we needn’t keep to the post road no more. We can turn into Stone Ridge, and strike south to White Plains. Then——”