Tommy Gray's car, occupied
by the four players, was moving away from the door as he sprang in
beside her and slammed the door. The interior of the car was as black
as pitch.
"Are you there?" he whispered.
"Yes. Isn't it jolly, running away like this? It must be wonderfully
exciting to be a criminal, always dodging and--"
"Sh! Even a limousine may have ears!"
But if the limousine had possessed a thousand ears they would have
been rendered useless in the stormy racket made by Peter's muffler and
the thunderous roar of the exhaust as the car got under way.
Sixty miles lay between them and Crowndale. Tommy Gray guaranteed that
the distance could be covered in three hours, even over the vile
mountain roads. Ten o'clock would find them at the Grand Palace Hotel,
none the worse for wear, provided (he always put it parenthetically)
they lived to tell the tale! The luggage had gone on ahead of them
earlier in the day.
Peter's efforts to stay behind Tommy's venerable but surprisingly
energetic Buick were the cause of many a gasp and shudder from the
couple who sat behind him in the bounding car. He had orders to keep
back of Tommy but never to lose sight of his tail light.
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