The Argosy, Vol. 82 No. 2 — page 83: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

GETTING AWAY body in town ever knew that he was there, except you and the people who were present at the ceremony!”’ ®'T hens’ “Then where is he? Yes!” Farnham cried, in swiftly rising agitation. ‘‘How are we to get track of him and serve him with that complaint before to-morrow night? And if I don’t manage that it’s ten to one you'll lose your fortune and—why, good Lord, Jane! Jail or assault and battery or anything else amounts to nothing beside the loss of your inheritance!” His hostess refused to rise with him to any emotional heights. Strength and sane thought were coming back to Jane once more and she smiled slightly at the flushed face beside her. “Tt isn’t gone yet, Wilbur,” she said quietly. “It seems to me that our most immediate danger is of being caught.”’ Some little time Mr. Farnham frowned ° thoughtfully at her. “Vou’re right, Jane,” he concluded. ‘And it isn’t the thing of actually being caught that matters—I could get in touch with somebody and have cash wired in to pay our way out with a fine, if we could do it in a rush and keep our identity secret and all that sort of thing. But it’s the risk of having our true names come out and of losing all the valuable time and so on! We may have to take some long chances to avoid that.” Jane’s smile quite astonished him. There was a certain daring quality in that smile which hinted that Jane would not shrink. “T am willing,” she said. ““We’ve so much at stake now, with all that will happen to us if we don’t find Thompson and then get away safely, that chances will have to be pretty long to matter much. I’m in the game to the finish, Wilbur!” “And you look good for it, too!” that young man cried admiringly. ‘Wait a while; let me think, dear!” He frowned and fell silent again, while the rain pounded on and on, lightning flash- ing, thunder crashing, wind howling. Once or twice he nodded assent to his unspoken conclusions; finally, Mr. Farnham seemed rather startled at his own thoughts. He took to whistling softly; he was whistling still as the shower passed finally and a little patch of blue showed in the sky. But he ceased whistling suddenly when he had stepped down, opened the gas-tank and estimated its present total contents. FROM THOMPSON. 265 Eyebrows elevated, Mr. Farnham looked at Jane. “Well, if I was in any doubt before, this gasoline settles it,” said he. “Settles what, Wilbur?” “The several intricate criminal paths of thought I was trying to follow. Ill break them to you gently, as we come to the dif- ferent stages, I think—but this settles the matter of route. I spent some time this morning studying the road maps of this sec- tion and I’ve got a pretty clear idea how much gas this car uses. I may be wrong, but, guessing at our present location, I should think we may get into Batesford without two quarts to spare.” “And get out again?” “T’ll have to study out the source of a new supply before we reach the bottom,” Mr. Farnham said desperately. ‘The first thing is to get near Batesford again, and we can do that by keeping straight ahead for another ten or fifteen miles and then turning southwest, I’m pretty sure. “They’re not chasing us—that’s one thing; or if they are they’ve taken the wrong direction. So Batesford is really the last place they’ll expect us to turn up, and if we appear with suffcient suddenness— yep! That’s the only thing to do,” con- cluded Mr. Farnham. ‘‘We’ve wasted too much time here already.” Jane nodded. “It’s nearly five.” “Then it will be long after dark when we make the Batesford neighborhood again, and that is just so much the better for the— er—things I have in mind. One more de- tail, and we’ll start.” Briskly Farnham tore loose the cardboard license pads that had been so unhappily chosen and ripped them into little bits, car- rying the pieces into the bushes and throw- ing them far from him. “You're going to put on the old num- bers?” Jane asked fearfully. ‘And run into an alarm telephoned ahead —the description of the car and of us—and have them trace this car straight down to you? Hardly!” laughed Mr. Farnham. “I’m going to make some new numbers, Jane. Let me see if there’s more of that pasteboard where this came from.”’ He hunted busily for many minutes, turn- ing over everything that lay beneath the front and back seats. “There isn’t another piece as big as a visiting card!” he reported. COMMICLOOOKS (C@