“You couldn’t do that without a legal excuse.”
“Haven’t I a legal excuse? You got me away from New York by telling me something that wasn’t true.”
“You don’t know, yet, that what I told you isn’t true. I don’t think you could have me arrested for something that hasn’t happened.”
Some desperate purpose was urging the girl on. What it was, and why it should be desperate, were beyond Matt’s comprehension.
“You’re a young man with a mission,” said the girl, turning a pair of frosty blue eyes upon the young fellow beside her, “and the mission is to get to where we’re going, and find Mr. McGlory. You’ll be a whole lot wiser after that.”
Matt, in his own mind, did not doubt this statement. But that reflection in no wise helped him just then.
Presently the girl began peering through the window in the top of the door, watching the roadside as they scurried along.
“What are you looking for, Miss Granger?” asked Matt, after the girl had been peering steadily through the glass for several minutes.
“For the other car,” she answered, without looking around.
“You said that was to be waiting for us at Rye.”