At last they slowed down and turned off to the right, and from then on, for perhaps five minutes, the car went slowly over rough ground, turning so frequently that Carlson lost all idea of direction.
Presently they were on a good road again, and once more traveled very fast. More and more automobiles passed them, and they went slower and slower, until Carlson knew they were in a town again. Once they had to stop for a minute or two, as it seemed, at a crossing, and he distinctly heard a policeman’s voice allowing them to make a turn to the left on a side street. After that interruption they moved for the most part rapidly for another five minutes or so, making several turns and passing many machines, until they slowed down and came to a full stop.
Carlson could hear people passing to and fro on the sidewalk, talking and laughing. He sat still, careful not to make any movement that might alarm his captors, feeling that their weapons were leveled at him.
When at last the voices and footsteps had become almost inaudible, the voice spoke again.
“Now, Doc—no fooling.”
He put his own slouch hat on Carlson’s head and drew the brim far down over his face. Then he opened the door toward the curb stone and got out.
“Come along, Doc, give me your hand.”
Carlson took the hand and got out of the car. The man put his hand within his arm and drew him across the sidewalk. Carlson heard the other man open an iron gate, and close it again after they had passed through. A few steps more, and another stop.
He heard a key turning in a lock, and a door open, and he was led into a warm room. The door clicked after them. A woman’s harsh voice impatiently exclaimed:
“I thought you’d never come.”