Garrick leaped back into our car and I followed. He turned the
bend almost on two wheels, and let her out as we swept down a
short hill and then took the gentle incline on high speed, eating
up the distance as though it had been inches instead of nearly a
mile.
A short distance from the top of the hill, Garrick applied the
brake, just in time so that the top of our car would not be
visible to one who had passed on down the next incline into the
valley beyond.
"Let us walk up the rest of the way," he said quickly, "and see
what is on the other side of this hill."
We did so cautiously. Far down below us we could see the car which
we had been trailing all the way up from the city, threading its
way along the country road. We watched it, and as we did so, it
slowed up and turned out, running up a sort of lane that led to
what looked like a trim little country estate.
The car had stopped at an unpretentious house at the end of the
lane. The driver got out and walked up to the back door, which
seemed to be stealthily opened to admit him.
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