Daylight was turning to the dusk of early evening when he left the garage. It was just about the time when Kate Crandall had promised to meet Magill, and Patsy at once headed for the point agreed upon. He discovered them when he entered the long street leading out of the town, moreover, and he slowed down to approach them moderately. Magill saw him coming. Increasing confidence in him mingled with his feeling of grim satisfaction. He was talking earnestly with the woman, then in a locality where there were only a few scattered dwellings; but he had relieved her of any misgivings by turning back with her toward the town, though, in reality, only to see and make ready for Patsy when he approached. He reached into his pocket and grasped a large silk handkerchief with which he was provided. Half a minute later brought Patsy within thirty yards of the couple. He then swerved toward them, bringing the car to a stop near the curbing. “Beg pardon, sir,” said he, leaning out, and, at the same time, deftly unlocking the door of the tonneau. “Will this road take me to Bronxville?” Kate Crandall paused. Magill shook his head and stepped back of her as if to point the way for his questioner. “No, not straight ahead,” he replied, with a significant wink. “You must take the first crossroad.” “To the left, or right?” “To the left, and--now, Dolan, get her!” Magill had clapped the silk handkerchief over Kate’s mouth, and, as quick as a flash, was tying it back of her head. Patsy, equally quick, leaped from the car and seized her arms, forcing them behind her and crying hurriedly: “Tie her wrists, Magill, with another handkerchief. I’ve got her. She can’t yip. Her struggles cut no ice. Into the car with her, now, and the trick is turned.” In spite of her frantic efforts to escape, it was a comparatively easy task for two strong and determined men to quickly overcome the frightened woman, who was hurriedly forced into the tonneau even while Patsy was speaking. She then sank, half fainting, in one corner, unable to make any outcry and hardly able to move. Magill banged the door and sat down beside her, crying sternly: “You’ll not be hurt, woman, if you keep still and do what you’re told. Now, Dolan, away with you. Follow this road for half a mile, then take the left fork. I’ll direct you later. You’re all right from your toes up, pal, and you’ll get the coin I promised you. Let her go lively.” The last was entirely unnecessary. The speedometer already was showing forty miles, and the last of the scattered dwellings were quickly left behind. The dusty road swept like a gray ribbon under the swiftly moving car, the skillful driving of which Magill was quick to see and appreciate, while Patsy was inwardly congratulating himself upon having informed the rascal that his vocation was that of a chauffeur.