“Moreover, Steve,” said the driver. “Moreover, our pals in the forward car did not go to or enter said abandoned mine. Take that as law, Steve. For why—I saw their headlights flash on the building and pass. I saw them lights turn beyond a big outcrop of rock further on, going away left, Steve, turning their back on that old mine.”
“They’ve gone on?” gasped Clement, in a tone of despair.
“They sure have,” said the driver. “An’ it’s no good feelin’ sore about it. Circumstances is just gone bad on us, an’ that’s that. No call fer chasing a Hudson Six to Baffin Bay on the unaided feet.”
Clement, his eyes still fixed on the point in the darkness where the red light had vanished, dropped back into his seat. “What exactly happened?” he asked, more in a groan than anything else.
“We got bogged,” said the driver, with a touch of irony. “I was the tin horn, an’ well, we got bogged. See how it is? That trail takes a sharp loop round this lake. I came round in a crazy hurry, missed that tail light—then I picked it up dead ahead—that was when they picked up th’ straight again after getting round th’ lake. Me being that tin horn, I took me eyes off the trail for a fleck and drove right ahead instead o’ goin’ round. And—and, well, Steve, we was well and duly bogged.”
Clement groaned. Again, through the veriest slip, he had lost his chance of saving the girl Heloise.
“If they’d planned it, they couldn’t have beat us to it better,” said the driver, with a curse.
“Perhaps they did plan it,” said the detective Gatineau softly and suddenly.
“Eh,” gasped Clement; “but, of course, they didn’t do that. How could they know we....”