So, the strangely assorted pair took a cab, stopped at a goods emporium and Elsie procured a decent hat and a large full cape, and then they reached the station just in time to take the desired train.
In the car he left her to herself, and went away to the smoker.
He was most deferential, most polite.
“And why shouldn’t he be?” Elsie asked herself. “I’ve paid him,—or his gang fifty thousand dollars,—surely they owe me something! I’ve a mind to ask him something about Kim,—he seems so nice.”
But thoughts of Coley Coe kept her silent on any save the most casual subjects.
She felt, during the ride to New York, as if she ought to plan some way of trailing the gold-toothed man after he left her. But how could she do it? Vague thoughts of telegraphing from the moving train,—of having policemen meet her at the station,—all sorts of plans went through her mind, but none were practicable.
So she determined to talk more with the man and find out anything she might, that way, and then do the best she could to get Coe quickly, as soon as she was safely at home.
For she dreaded any further abduction or trapping,—and she longed only to be at home once more and safe from impending danger.
As they neared the big station the gold-tooth man returned.
“Sure,” he replied to her request, “I’ll tell you my name. It’s Pike. Richard Pike. And now, miss, you’re bound for home?”