We now passed the boundary between New York state and New Jersey and soon after that came to the house of Dr. Mead where Warrington had been convalescing until Garrick’s warning had brought him, still half ill, down to the city to protect Violet Winslow.  In fact, the road seemed replete with interesting reminiscences of the case, for a few miles back was the spot where Rena Taylor’s body had been found, as well as the garage whence had come the rumour of the blood-stained car.  There was no chance to stop and tell the surprised Dr. Mead just what had become of his patient and we had to trust that Warrington would explain his sudden disappearance himself.  In fact, Garrick scarcely looked to either the right or left, so intent was he on not missing for an instant the car that was leading us in this long chase.

On we sped, around the bend where Warrington had been held up.  It was a nasty curve, even in the daytime.

“I think this fellow ahead noticed the place,” gritted Garrick, leaning forward.  “He seemed to slow up a bit as he turned.  I hope he didn’t notice us as he turned his head back slightly.”

It made no difference, if he did, for, the curve passed, he was evidently feeding the gas faster than ever.  We turned the curve also, the forward car something more than a quarter of a mile ahead of us.

“We must take a chance and close up on him,” said Garrick, as he, too, accelerated his speed, not a difficult thing to do with the almost perfect racer of Warrington’s.  “He may turn off at a crossroad at any time, now.”

Still our man kept on, bowling northward along the fine state road that led to one of the richest parts of the country.

He came to the attractive entrance to Tuxedo Park.  Almost, I had expected him to turn in.  At least I should not have been surprised if he had done so.

However, he kept on northward, past the entrance to the Park.  We hung doggedly on.

Where was he going?  I wondered whether Garrick might have been wrong, after all.  Half a mile lengthened into a mile.  Still he was speeding on.

But Garrick had guessed right.  Sure enough, at a cross road, the other car slowed down, then quickly swung around, off the main road.

“What are you going to do?” I asked Garrick quickly.  “If we turn also, that will be too raw.  Surely he’ll notice that.”

“Going to stop,” cried Garrick, taking in the situation instantly.  “Come on, Tom, jump out.  We’ll fake a little tire trouble, in case he should look around and see us stopping here.  I’ll keep the engine running.”

We went back and stood ostentatiously by the rear wheel.  Garrick bent over it, keeping his eye fixed on the other car, now perhaps half a mile along on the narrow crossroad.

It neared the top of a hill on the other side of the valley across which the road wound like a thin brown line, then dipped down over the crest and was lost on the other side.