“Hush, Dolly!” said Bessie, in a whisper.  “I can’t let Mr. Holmes know it now, of course, but don’t you remember that I heard him while he was telephoning, when he thought I was safe here in the car, and out of sight and sound of him?  He didn’t telephone to Miss Mercer at all.  He’s just saying he did, because he thinks he can fool me and make me believe anything he says.  I heard what he telephoned, and he never even called up the farm!”

Even Dolly was a little scared at that.  It never occurred to her to doubt what Bessie said.  Somehow, people seemed always to be ready to believe her.  And, remembering the way Holmes had declared that he had spoken with Miss Mercer, Dolly began to realize that Bessie was right, and that there must be something underhanded about Holmes.  Bessie, although she was sorry that Dolly had to be frightened in such a fashion, was glad of the fact just the same, because it meant that she could depend upon Dolly now to obey her, no matter what she told her to do.

As a matter of fact, it seemed to Bessie that fear was about the only thing that did drive Dolly, who, if she thought the consequence would not be too unpleasant, usually managed to have her own way as decidedly as she had done in regard to accepting the offer of Holmes to take them to a place where they could get her much coveted ice-cream soda.

Bessie, remembering what she had heard Holmes say about meeting Farmer Weeks in an hour, began now to keep her eyes open, and she soon discovered that they had ceased their aimless driving about, and were traveling along what was evidently a highroad, since it showed the marks of many wheels and hoofs.  And a glance at the sun was enough, too, to let her know that the crisis of this silly adventure was approaching, since nearly an hour had elapsed since she had overheard the conversation.

And, sure enough, just as she had expected, it was not long before Bessie saw that the houses along the road were closer and closer to one another, and a few moments later the tall, white steeple of a church and the smoke from the chimneys of a small town made it plain that they were approaching a town—­most likely Jericho.

“Well, well, I know this place,” said Holmes, turning to speak to them.  “It’s Jericho, and it’s in your own state, Miss Bessie.  Didn’t you tell me that you used to live in Hedgeville?  That’s not so very far from here.”

There was a strange look in his eyes as he looked fixedly at Bessie, and now she no longer had any doubt that he meant mischief, and that it behooved her, if she wanted to escape from the trap into which she was being led, to have all her wits about her.  As they entered the town she kept her eyes open, but there was no sign of Farmer Weeks.  He was late, and Bessie was glad of that, since, now that she could guess what she must face, every added minute of safety and freedom from interference was so much clear gain.  A plan was forming in her head, a wild, reckless sort of plan, but still one that offered some chance, at least, of getting out of a very disagreeable position.