As we neared the crossroad, I gave an involuntary exclamation. Beside the road, almost on it, lay the figure of a man. Our driver pulled up with a jerk and I was out of the car in an instant.
There lay Kennedy! Someone had blackjacked him. He was groaning and just beginning to show signs of consciousness as I bent over.
“What’s the matter, old man?” I asked, helping him to his feet.
He looked about dazed a moment, then seeing me and comprehending, he pointed excitedly, but vaguely.
“Elaine!” he cried. “They’ve kidnapped Elaine!”
What had really happened, as we learned later from Elaine and others, was that when the cross roads was reached, the three crooks in the limousine had stopped long enough to speak to an accomplice stationed there, according to their plan for a getaway. He was a tough looking individual who might have been hoboing it to the city.
When, a few minutes later, Kennedy and Elaine had approached the fork, their driver had slowed up, as if in doubt which way to go. Craig had stuck his head out of the window, as I had done, and, seeing the crossroads, had told the chauffeur to stop. There stood the hobo.
“Did a car pass here, just now—a big car?” called Craig.
The man put his hand to his ear, as if only half comprehending.
“Which way did the big car go?” repeated Kennedy.
The hobo approached the taxicab sullenly, as if he had a grudge against cars in general.
One question after another elicited little that could be construed as intelligence. If Craig had only been able to see, he would have found out that, with his back toward the taxicab driver, the hobo held one hand behind him and made the sign of the Clutching Hand, glancing surreptitiously at the driver to catch the answering sign, while Craig gazed earnestly up the two roads.
At last Craig gave him up as hopeless. “Well—go ahead—that way,” he indicated, picking the most likely road.
As the chauffeur was about to start, he stalled his engine.
“Hurry!” urged Craig, exasperated at the delays.
The driver got out and tried to crank the engine. Again and again he turned it over, but, somehow, it refused to start. Then he lifted the hood and began to tinker.
“What’s the matter?” asked Craig, impatiently jumping out and bending over the engine, too.
The driver shrugged his shoulders. “Must be something wrong with the ignition, I guess,” he replied.
Kennedy looked the car over hastily. “I can’t see anything wrong,” he frowned.
“Well, there is,” growled the driver.
Precious minutes were speeding away, as they argued. Finally with his characteristic energy, Kennedy put the taxicab driver aside.
“Let me try it,” he said. “Miss Dodge, will you arrange that spark and throttle?”
Elaine, equal to anything, did so, and Craig bent down and cranked the engine. It started on the first spin.