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Page 11
Winthrop roared aloud at the selectman.
"How dare you frighten the lady!" he cried. "Take your hand
off that gun."
"What you talkin' about?" shouted the selectman. "The idea of
my havin' a gun! I haven't got a----"
"All right, Fred!" cried Winthrop. "Low bridge."
There was a crash of shattered glass and brass, of scattered
barrel staves, the smell of escaping gas, and the Scarlet Car
was flying drunkenly down the main street.
"What are they doing now, Fred?" called the owner.
Fred peered over the stern of the flying car.
"The constable's jumping around the road," he replied, "and
the long one's leaning against a tree. No, he's climbing the
tree. I can't make out WHAT he's doing."
"_I_ know!" cried Miss Forbes; her voice vibrated with
excitement. Defiance of the law had thrilled her with
unsuspected satisfaction; her eyes were dancing. "There was a
telephone fastened to the tree, a hand telephone. They are
sending word to some one. They're trying to head us off."
Winthrop brought the car to a quick halt.
"We're in a police trap!" he said. Fred leaned forward and
whispered to his employer. His voice also vibrated with the
joy of the chase.
"This'll be our THIRD arrest," he said. "That means----"
"I know what it means," snapped Winthrop. "Tell me how we can
get out of here."
"We can't get out of here, sir, unless we go back. Going
south, the bridge is the only way out."
"The bridge!" Winthrop struck the wheel savagely with his
knuckles. "I forgot their confounded bridge!" He turned to
Miss Forbes. "Fairport is a sort of island," he explained.
"But after we're across the bridge," urged the chauffeur, "we
needn't keep to the post road no more. We can turn into Stone
Ridge, and strike south to White Plains. Then----"
"We haven't crossed the bridge yet," growled Winthrop. His
voice had none of the joy of the others; he was greatly
perturbed. "Look back," he commanded, "and see if there is
any sign of those boys."
He was now quite willing to share responsibility. But there
was no sign of the Yale men, and, unattended, the Scarlet Car
crept warily forward. Ahead of it, across the little
reed-grown inlet, stretched their road of escape, a long
wooden bridge, lying white in the moonlight.
"I don't see a soul," whispered Miss Forbes.
"Anybody at that draw?" asked Winthrop. Unconsciously his
voice also had sunk to a whisper.
"No," returned Fred. "I think the man that tends the draw
goes home at night; there is no light there."
"Well then," said Winthrop, with an anxious sigh, "we've got
to make a dash for it."
The car shot forward, and, as it leaped lightly upon the
bridge, there was a rapid rumble of creaking boards.
Between it and the highway to New York lay only two hundred
yards of track, straight and empty.
In his excitement the chauffeur rose from the rear seat.
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