As nearly
as he could reason it out, he must have been struck by another
machine from the rear.
Far up in the northernmost driveway of the Park, where shrub
grown banks and rocky uplands shelter the thoroughfares, Shirley
stopped his runaway taxicab.
"Let me have his rubber coat, for I'm going to hide this car out
on Long Island. It's a long ride, but this man and his machine
will disappear as completely as though they had been dumped in
the ocean."
Shirley manacled the prisoner, and gagged him with a tightly
knotted handkerchief. He put the greatcoat of Grimsby's about
Helene's shoulders, as he brought her to the front seat of the
machine. Then he shut the doors on the prisoner, and drove the
automobile out through the Easterly entrance of the park.
"I'm not really brave, Mr. Montague," said the tired voice at his
side. "I'm so glad I'm sitting by you, instead of back inside.
We will be home soon, won't we? I'm so exhausted--my first day
in a strange country, you know."
Shirley, with the skill of a racing expert, guided the machine
through the maze of streets toward the Bridge over the East
River.
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