"I'll ride close alongside, to make sure there's no unpleasant conduct toward Miss Huston," volunteered Mr. Abercrombie.
Jack Benson again climbed to the cab box.
"You know I have the pistol," muttered Jack, showing the driver the weapon. "There's no need to ride through the town with the weapon in my hand. But, if you try to cut up any tantrums, you may be sure you'll find your own wrists inside of handcuffs."
"I know when I ain't got no show at all," growled the sullen driver.
"Drive ahead, then—into Washington, and straight to police headquarters."
Lieutenant Abercrombie, R.N., jogged his own mount steadily alongside, so that he could at all times command a view of the interior.
Millard—Donald Graves—would have opened some conversation with
Daisy Huston, but the disdainful girl cut him short.
As the cab rolled into the busier streets of Washington Lieutenant Abercrombie drew a little further away from the cab, in order not to attract attention, though he still remained actively on guard.
The prisoner's manacled hands did not show to the people passing on the sidewalks.
So, altogether, no passersby thought to turn to look after the cab.