“That’s so,” answered Matt good-naturedly. “I’d give a good deal to know what’s gone crossways with McGlory. I suppose you haven’t any idea?”
“There are not many leaks to Mr. Random’s private room,” answered Harold, “and I can’t even guess what’s going on. Mr. Random seemed excited, though, and it takes a lot to make him show his nerves.”
“Where are we going?”
“To Rye, a small place beyond Mamaroneck.”
“Great spark-plugs!” exclaimed Matt, watching the figures jump up in the dial, recording the distance they were covering in dollars and cents. “What’s the use of using a taxicab for a trip like that? You ought to have hired a touring car by the hour.”
“Oh, this was the only car handy, and Mr. Random never stops at expense.”
“Why couldn’t he and McGlory have come by way of the Flatiron Building and picked me up?”
“I think Mr. McGlory said you were not expecting him until ten o’clock.”
“That needn’t have made any difference. Joe knew where I was to be in the Flatiron Building and he could have come for me.”
“He and Mr. Random seemed to be in a hurry,” was the indefinite response, “and that’s all I know.”