George Deaves and Evan sat in the Deaves limousine with the package of bonds between them. Deaves was perspiring and fidgetty, Evan the picture of imperturbability not but what Evan was excited too, but the display of agitation the other was making put Evan on his mettle to show nothing. The car was lying against the curb on the North side of the Queensboro Bridge Plaza, and they were watching the hands of a clock in a bank building creep to half-past eight.

“Why do you suppose they insisted on our waiting here?” said Deaves querulously.

“Can’t say,” answered Evan. “I have fancied that some of their orders were just thrown in to mystify us, to undermine our morale. Possibly they stipulated we must leave this point at eight-thirty so they would know exactly when to expect us.”

“That man who just passed us, how he stared! Do you suppose he could have been one of them?”

“There must be a lot of them then. Everybody stares. Like ourselves, they wonder what we’re waiting here for.”

On the stroke of the half hour they gave the chauffeur word to proceed out Stonewall avenue. The village of Regina is not a beautiful hamlet. Its founders had large ideas; they laid off the principal street a hundred feet wide, but the city has its own ideas about the proper width of streets, and when in the course of time the municipality took over Regina it paved but two-thirds of Stonewall avenue, leaving a muddy morass at each side. The buildings that lined this thoroughfare were something between those of a city slum and those of a Western boom town. They had no difficulty in picking out Beechurst street; the big stone church in its muddy yard was a horror.

They alighted in the middle of the street, for the chauffeur opined that if he fell off the hard pavement he’d never be able to climb back on it. They dismissed him, and watched him turn and roll out of sight.

Deaves shuddered. “I wish I was safe inside!” he murmured.

Evan took careful note of their surroundings. On the corner where they stood was a stationery store, and across Beechurst street was a saloon. “Someone watching us from in there I’ll be bound,” thought Evan. If he had been alone he would have gone in. Across Stonewall avenue from the saloon was the church aforementioned, and the fourth corner was vacant.

They turned up Beechurst street, which was swallowed up in unrelieved blackness a few yards ahead.

“I feel as if there were watching eyes on every side of us,” said Deaves tremulously.

“They’re welcome to look at me if it does them any good,” said Evan lightly.

“You carry the package,” said Deaves.

“Aren’t you afraid I might skip with it?” said Evan teasingly.

Deaves had no humour. He hastily took the package back. Evan chuckled.

The sidewalk ended abruptly, and they took to the centre of the street. Here they found a rough and stony road grown high with weeds on either hand. Mounds of ashes and tin cans obstructed the way; an automobile would have found it well-nigh impassable. It wound across that ugly no-man’s land between the pavements and the cultivated land. What with his terrors and the tenderness of his feet, Deaves made heavy going over the stones.

To complete his demoralisation, a shrill whistle presently rang out of the dark behind them. Deaves gasped and clutched Evan.

“That’s only their signal that all’s well,” said Evan.

“This is no place for me!” moaned Deaves.

The road became a little smoother, and alongside they saw the neat rows of a market garden. Evan sniffed that curious odor compounded of growing vegetables and fertilizer. Then the road dipped into a hollow and thick bushes rose on either side. The air was sweet of the open countryside here. It was very dark under the bushes. Deaves clung to Evan’s arm.

Suddenly they found themselves surrounded by several figures with masked faces. A crisp voice commanded:

“Hands up, gentlemen!”

Deaves obeyed so quickly that the package rolled on the ground. Somebody sniggered. The first voice sternly bade him to be quiet. Deaves stooped to pick up the precious package. He was ordered to let it lie. Evan and Deaves, their hands aloft, were rapidly and thoroughly frisked for weapons. Deaves gasped with terror when they touched him. The spot was so dark, Evan could make but few observations. He did see though that the men he counted four of them were roughly dressed, and from this he deduced that they were from the higher walks of life. Clever and successful crooks nowadays are invariably well-dressed. The rough clothes were in line with the gruff voices the men assumed. Gruffness could not hide the educated forms of speech that they used.

The search was over in a minute. “Pick up the package, gentlemen, and proceed,” ordered the voice. The figures melted away in the darkness. Evan and Deaves went on. The road rose out of the hollow, and they had more light to pick their tracks. Again a whistle sounded behind them.

“The word is being passed along to those in front of us,” said Evan.

After the market gardens came a patch of woods. Deaves halted at the edge and peered into the shadows.

“I cannot trust myself in there,” he muttered. “I simply cannot!”

“Just as you say,” said Evan. “I don’t suppose they’ll let us back now.”

With a groan Deaves started ahead. Evan sniffed the trees gratefully.

In the thick of the woods two figures faced them. White cotton masks over their faces gave them an unearthly look. Deaves tremulously held out the package, and it was taken from his hands. No word was spoken. One man snapped on an electric flash, and in the disk of light that it threw the other hastily unwrapped the package and examined the bonds.

Now from the white papers a certain amount of light was reflected back on the man who was holding the flash, and Evan studied him attentively. He was holding a pistol in his other hand. Something familiar in the creases of the suit he wore first arrested Evan’s attention. That is to say, these creases suggested the lines of a figure that Evan had often drawn and painted. When in addition he perceived a certain well-remembered involuntary twitching in the figure, amazement and incredulity gave place to certainty.

“Charl!” he cried.

The two masked figures started back. He who held the light took his breath sharply, and Evan knew he was not mistaken. The man with the bonds quickly recovered himself.

“Be quiet!” he sharply commanded.

But Evan in his anger had forgotten prudence. “Charl!” he cried. “What does this mean? Have you turned crook!”

The other man whispered in a passion: “Shoot him if he doesn’t shut his mouth!”

“Yes, shoot your partner,” cried Evan.

Charley shrunk back.

“Give me the gun and I’ll do it,” said the other man.

“Weir, for God’s sake, for God’s sake, for God’s sake!” Deaves was gabbling in an ecstasy of terror.

With an effort Evan commanded himself. Nothing was to be gained by making a row there in the woods. Indeed he already saw how foolish he had been to betray his discovery.

The examination of the bonds was concluded. The man who had them spoke to his partner: “These are all right. Hold them here while I start the engine.”

Evan, more accustomed now to the darkness of the woods, made out that at the point where they stood the road forked. In the left fork he dimly perceived the form of a car at a few paces distance. The top was down. Presently the engine started, and Evan recognised that it was the same car that had carried him off. The engine had its own rattle.

Charley said in a disguised voice: “Keep straight ahead to the right.”

He started to back away from them, keeping the light playing on the agonised, fascinated face of Deaves, who stood rooted to the ground. The hand that held the light trembled a little. Suddenly it was switched off and Charley ran the last few steps that separated him from the car.

Evan involuntarily sprang forward, leaving a speechless and gasping Deaves in the road. But Evan was not thinking of Deaves then. He saw Charley take the driver’s seat in the car. The noise of the engine drowned what sounds Evan’s feet made. He laid hands on the back of the car as it started to move, and swung himself off the ground. His knees found the gasoline tank. He cautiously turned around and let himself down upon it in a sitting position, his hands still clinging to the folds of the lowered top above his head. As they got under way the man beside Charley blew a blast on a whistle similar to those they had heard before.

They went but slowly for the way was rough. Evan prayed that the tank beneath him might be stoutly swung to the frame. As well as he could he distributed his weight between the tank and the top. After passing over some spring-testing bumps in safety he felt somewhat reassured. If she stood that there would not be much danger on a smoother road when they hit up speed.

Emerging from the woods they turned into a farm road not so bad, and by means of the farm road they gained a dirt highway, ever increasing speed as the way became smoother. All this neighbourhood was quite unknown to Evan of course, and his point of view was somewhat restricted, being directed solely towards the rear. He watched the stars and made out that the car was choosing roads that were gradually bringing it around in a great circle. He supposed that it was bound back for town for the “club-house,” if he was lucky.

Evan had no clear idea of what he meant to do. His one purpose was to get Charley by himself. He knew the ascendancy that he possessed over that mercurial youth.

They finally struck a smooth macadam road upon which they travelled East at thirty-five miles an hour, the best, no doubt, the old car could do. It was a well-travelled road. They passed all cars bound in the same direction, and to the drivers of these cars Evan on his perch was brilliantly revealed in the rays of their headlights. With the idea of suggesting that it was all a joke, Evan waved facetiously to them. They accepted it as intended, or at any rate none of them sought to give him away. They passed through several villages, but the people on the sidewalks rarely noticed Evan, or, if they did, they merely gaped at him.

They crossed the long viaduct over the railway yards in Long Island City, and Evan began to grow anxious. If they were going to traverse the whole length of town how could he hope to avoid having the attention of the two men on the front seat called to him by the sharp-eyed small boys? They crossed the Plaza and swung out on Queensboro Bridge, keeping close to the speed limit, or edging over it a little. The drivers they passed still obligingly accepted Evan’s suggestion that he was paying an election bet, or was up to some other foolishness.

They passed a limousine which looked familiar. Evan looked twice and recognized the Deaves turnout. George Deaves sat behind the glass windows, looking pale and shaken. So he had got out of the woods all right! The chauffeur stared at Evan, then grinned widely, and stepped on his accelerator. The big car came up close.

Evan saw Deaves lean forward to rebuke his chauffeur for the speed. The chauffeur called his attention to Evan. Deaves’ eyes nearly started out of his head. Evan waved his hand. Deaves, with emphatic adjurations to his chauffeur to slow up, fell back on his seat and closed his eyes. “He wants to forget about me,” thought Evan. The limousine gradually dropped back out of sight.

Evan’s anxiety about the streets of town was presently relieved. After crossing the Bridge Plaza, where, to be sure, a number of people laughed and pointed at him but without apparently attracting the attention of the two men in front, they turned into the darkest and quietest streets. Evan soon saw that they were not bound for the club-house. Their journey through town was not long; through Fifty-eighth to Lexington; down Lexington in the car tracks to Thirty-ninth, and East again. In Thirty-ninth street the car slowed down and Evan held himself in readiness to drop off.

At the moment of stopping Evan ducked under the side of the car opposite to the curb. He heard the car-door slam and feet run across the pavement. Cautiously peering around the back he saw Charley, fully revealed in the light of a street lamp, run up the steps of a house and let himself in with a latch-key. Just before disappearing he glanced up and down the street; no other car was in sight. Evan said to himself: “He is stopping here. That is something to know.”

Evan peeped over the top. To his surprise he found the car empty. The second man had dropped off at some point en route without his seeing him. Evidently he still had the securities for Charley’s hands had been empty. Evan was chagrined to think of this prize slipping through his fingers; however he still had a line on Charley.

Unfortunately for Evan at this moment a gruff voice behind him said: “Hey, young man, what do you think you’re doin’?”

It was a policeman who, having observed Evan’s maneuvres from across the street, had felt a perhaps not unnatural curiosity and had come over to satisfy it.

Evan, silently cursing his luck, instantly said with a confiding air: “It’s just a joke, officer. Fellow I know hired this car to take his girl out, see? I think they’re going to run off and be married, and I want to give them the laugh, see? All in fun.”

“Well, it may be so,” was the heavily facetious reply, “and again it may not. You better leave that guy be, see?”

“Just as you say,” said Evan with a shrug.

He was not at all anxious to have Charley come out and find him in talk with the blue-coat, so he sauntered off down the street, the policeman following with a darkly suspicious eye. Glancing over his shoulder, Evan, to his unspeakable chagrin, saw Charley come scampering down the steps, jump in the car and start off in the other direction. In his heart Evan cursed the whole race of blue-coats.

Evan walked around the block and approached the house from the other side. The policeman was now out of sight. It was still only half-past nine, not too late conceivably to pay a call. Evan rang the bell.

The door was opened by a handsome, bold-eyed girl who had a challenging glance for any personable young male. Evan gave her look for look; she was a potential source of valuable information.

“Charley Straiker live here?” he asked.

“Yes, but he’s out now.”

“Do you know when he’ll be in?”

“In half an hour. He’s gone to the garage to put the car away.”

“Sure he’s coming back?”

“He just told me. In case anybody called up.”

The trail was not lost then; Evan took heart. “Well, I’ll wait for him,” he said. “Where’s his room?”

The girl gave him a provoking glance. “I don’t know if I ought to let you up. I don’t know you.”

“Well, I’ll stop and talk to you and you soon will,” retorted Evan.

She tossed her head. “I can’t stand here all night talking.”

“What’s your name?”

“Ethel Barrymore. What’s yours?”

“Leo Dietrichstein.”

“Some li’l jollier, aren’t you?”

“I’m just learning from you, Ethel.”

“Are you an artist like Mr. Straiker?”

“No, I’m a Wall street broker.”

“Yes you are!”

“Any rooms to rent, Ethel? I’d like to hang out where you are.”

“All the hall rooms are taken.”

“They would be, around you. How about a man’s size room?”

“Who do you want it for?”

This sprightly exchange was cut short by a shrill voice from the basement calling: “Sa-a-d-e-e-e!”

“Darn!” muttered the girl. “I’ve got to go or she’ll scream her lungs out!”

“Which is Charley’s room?” said Evan. “I’ll go up.”

“Second floor rear hall,” she said as she disappeared.

Her cryptic description was sufficient to anyone who knows New York rooming houses. The room was typical. Charley had not been in it long enough to give it any of his own character. You squeezed past the bed to a tiny rectangular space at the foot where there was just room enough for a bureau, a wash-stand and one chair. If the occupant had a visitor one of them must sit on the bed.

Evan sat down in the chair and filled his pipe, thinking grimly of the surprise that Charley was due to receive when he opened the door. Suppose Charley flatly refused all information, how could he make him speak? It occurred to him that it would be well to be supplied with evidence, and he began to look over Charley’s things. After the way Charley had acted he had no scruples in doing so; he would not have been at all put out of countenance had Charley come in.

He scarcely expected to find anything of importance still Charley was extraordinarily careless. Seeing a book lying on the bureau (a novel by Jack London) Evan was reminded of an old habit of his friend’s of putting any paper he wished to save between the leaves of a book. He shook the book and several papers dropped out: to wit: a letter from his mother; ditto from a girl in his home town, and lastly a sheet of thin paper with typewriting upon it. Evan put the first two back and studied the third. As he grasped the purport of it, he pursed up his lips to whistle and his eyes grew round. This was a prize indeed!