“I can’t understand it,” said Dean. “They should have been here at least twenty minutes ago. I am going to ’phone Carter. He will know what time they started.” He had hardly entered an adjacent shop before Jane, still keeping watch, saw the Hoffs’ car flash by, going rapidly north. Quickly she sprang out and ran into the store. Dean saw her coming and left the telephone booth, his finger on his lips in a warning gesture. “Don’t bother to ’phone,” cried the girl, misunderstanding his meaning—and thinking only that he was trying to prevent her naming the Hoffs. “Come, let’s get started.” Without speaking he hurried from the store and got the motorcycle under way. “Have they passed?” he whispered then. “Just a moment ago.” Silently he gathered up speed, racing in the direction the Hoffs’ car had gone, not addressing her again until perhaps two miles from Getty Square they caught up with it close enough to identify the occupants, whereupon he slowed down and followed at a more discreet interval. “Be careful about speaking to me when there’s any one about,” he warned Jane, almost crossly. “Those clothes make you look like a boy, and your walk is all right, but your voice gives you away. Did you see that clerk in the store look at you when you spoke to me? I tried to warn you to say nothing.” “I’ll be careful hereafter,” said Jane humbly, still depressed by her recent estimate of herself. “I forgot about my voice.” Mile after mile they kept up the pursuit without further exchange of conversation. As they passed through various towns along the road Dean purposely lagged behind for fear of attracting attention, but always on the outskirts he raced until he caught up close enough again to the car to identify it, then let his motorcycle lag back again. Thus far the Hoffs had given no indication of any intention to leave the main road. As the cyclists, far behind, came down a long winding hill on which they had managed to catch occasional glimpses of their quarry, Dean, with a muttered exclamation, put on a sudden burst of speed. At a rise in the road he had seen the Hoffs’ car swing sharply to the left. Furiously he negotiated the rest of the hill, arriving at the base just in time to see them boarding a little ferry the other side of the railroad tracks. While he and Jane were still five hundred yards away the ferryboat, with a warning toot, slipped slowly out into the Hudson. In blank despair they turned to face each other. The situation seemed hopeless. They dared not shout or try to detain the boat. That surely would betray to the Hoffs that they were being followed. Despondently Dean clambered off the motorcycle and crossed to read a placard on the ferryhouse. “There’s not another boat for half an hour,” he said when he returned. “They have gained that much on us.” “Perhaps we can pick up their trail on the other side of the river,” suggested Jane. “There are not nearly so many cars passing as there would be in the city.”