Its single passenger flung himself out and bounded up to the door.
“What in h––l does this mean?” he bellowed. “Didn’t you hear my horn?”
He stopped abruptly in sheer amazement, for Blaine had turned, with beaming face and outstretched hand.
“Mac Alarney!” he exclaimed. “Thank the Lord you’ve come! This thick-skulled boob wouldn’t give me time for a word, and every minute is precious! Come where I can talk to you, quick!”
Then, as if catching sight of the car in which Mac Alarney had come, for the first time his eyes widened and he seemed struggling to suppress an outburst of mirth.
“Great guns! Is that your car, yours? Do you mean to tell me it was you I was playing with, back there on the road? When I flashed the light in your face I was sure you were Donnelley!”
As he uttered the name of the Chief of Police, Mac Alarney involuntarily stepped backward, and a wave of startled apprehension swept the amazement from his face, to be succeeded in turn by the primitive craftiness of the brute instinct on guard.
“And what may you be wanting here, Mr. Blaine?” he demanded, warily.
“To beat the police to it!” Blaine replied in a gruff whisper, adding as he jerked his thumb in the direction of the waiting Al. “Get rid of him! We haven’t got a minute, I tell you!”