Hang around with some of
the boys you know, and if you're asked anything afterward, say you were
batting around town all evening. Don't worry--you'll find you're out of
this when you read the morning papers. Now get out--hurry!" He pushed
Hagan from the car. "I've got to make my own get-away."
Hagan, standing in the road, brushed his hand bewilderingly across his
eyes.
"Yes--but you--I--"
"Never mind about that!" Jimmie Dale leaned out, and gripped Hagan's
arm impressively. "There's only one thing you've got to think of, or
remember. Keep your mouth shut! No matter what happens, keep your mouth
shut--if you want to save your neck! Good-night, Hagan!"
The car was racing forward again. It shot streaking through the streets
of the town ahead, and, dully, over its own inferno, echoed shouts,
cries, and execrations of an outraged populace--then out into the night
again, roaring its way toward New York.
He had half an hour--perhaps! It was a good thing Hagan did not know, or
had not grasped the significance of that torn letter--the man would have
been unmanageable with fear and excitement. It would puzzle Hagan to
find no paper stuck under his table when he came to look for it! But
that was a minor consideration, that mattered not at all.
Half an hour! On roared the car--towns, black roads, villages, wooded
lands were kaleidoscopic in their passing.
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