“Then,” proceeded Matt, “let’s get inside. We’ve lost a good deal of time.”
He held the door open and the girl got into the vehicle. He followed her, after telling the driver to make his best speed.
“The driver had some sort of a fit,” Matt explained, when they were once more under way, “and fell off the seat. You didn’t see him when he dropped, did you?”
“If I had,” she answered, somewhat tartly, “I should have spoken about it.”
“Of course,” returned Matt calmly. “So many peculiar things are happening, though, that I wasn’t sure but the disappearance of the driver might have had something to do with your plans.”
“My plans?” she echoed.
“I don’t know whose plans they are, but I suppose, if some one else laid them, you are pretty well informed or you couldn’t carry them out. What are we to do when we get to Rye?”
“There will be another automobile there—a fast car—waiting to take us on along the Boston Post Road.”
“How far?”