We could hear a horn blow, and I knew that the doors had opened
and a big car had been backed out, slowly. Our own engine was
running perfectly in spite of the seeming trouble with which we
had covered up our delay. Garrick jumped in at the wheel, and I
followed. The man on the corner was signalling that the car was
going in the opposite direction. We leaped ahead.
As the big car ahead slipped along eastward, we followed at such a
distance as not to attract attention. It was easy enough to do
that, but not so easy to avoid getting tied up among the trucks
laden with foodstuffs of every description which blocked the
streets over in this part of town.
Where the car ahead was bound, we did not know, but I could see
that the driver was a stocky fellow, who slouched down into his
seat, and handled his car almost as if it had been a mere toy. It
was, I felt positive, the man whom McBirney had reported one night
about the neighbourhood of Longacre Square in the car which had
once been Warrington's.
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