"Kinda roan-colored, looked like."
"Get the number?"
"No, I—I plumb forgot to look."
Clay realized that Johnnie's powers of observation were not to be trusted.
"Sure the car wasn't tan-colored?" he asked to test him.
"It might 'a' been tan, come to think of it."
"You're right certain Kitty was in it?"
"I heerd her holler from inside. She called my name. I run after the car, but I couldn't catch it."
Clay slipped a revolver under his belt. He slid into a street coat. Then he got police headquarters on the wire and notified the office of what had taken place. He knew that the word would be flashed in all directions and that a cordon would be stretched across the city to intercept any suspicious car. Over the telephone the desk man at headquarters fired questions at him, most of which he was unable to answer. He promised fuller particulars as soon as possible.
It had come on to rain and beneath the street lights the asphalt shone like a river. The storm had driven most people indoors, but as the Westerner drew near the drugstore Clay saw with relief a taxicab draw up outside. Its driver, crouched in his seat behind the waterproof apron as far back as possible from the rain, promptly accepted Lindsay as a fare.