"Well, what do you think of the life of freedom now?" demanded Hood as the car reached the open road. "Begin to have a little faith in me, eh?" "Well, you seemed to put it over," Deering admitted grudgingly. "But I can't go on this way, Hood; I really can't stand it. I've got to quit right now!" "My dear boy!" Hood protested. "I've heard bad news about my father; one of the--er--servants back there told me he was in jail!" "Stop!" bawled Hood. "This is important if true! Cassowary, I've told you time and again to bring me any news you pick up in servants' halls. What have you heard about the arrest of a gentleman named Deering?" "He's been pinched, all right," the chauffeur answered as he stopped the car and turned round. "The constables over at West Dempster are trapping joy-riders, and they nailed Mr. Deering about sundown for speeding. I learned that from the chauffeur at that house where you dined." Hood slapped his knee and chortled with delight. "There's work ahead of us! But probably he's bailed himself out by this time." "Not on your life!" Cassowary answered, and Deering marked a note of jubilation in his tone, as though the thought of Mr. Deering's incarceration gave him pleasure. "The magistrate's away for the night, and there's nobody there to fix bail. It's part of the treatment in these parts to hold speed fiends a night or two." Again Hood's hand fell upon Deering's knee. "A situation to delight the gods!" he cried. "Cassowary, old man, at the next crossroads turn to the right and run in at the first gate. There's a farmhouse in the midst of an orchard; we'll stop there and change our clothes." As the car started Deering whirled upon Hood and shook him violently by the collar. "I'm sick of all this rot! I can't stand any more, I tell you. I'm going to quit right here!" Hood drew his arm round him affectionately. "My dear son, have I failed you at any point? Have you ever in your life had any adventures to compare with those you've had with me? Stop whining and trust all to Hood!" Deering sank back into his corner with a growl of suppressed rage. When they reached the farmhouse Hood drew out a key and opened the front door with a proprietorial air. "Whose place is this? I want to know what I'm getting in for," Deering demanded wrathfully. "Mine, dearest Tuck! Mine, and the taxes paid. I use it as a rest-house for weary and jaded crooks, if that will ease your mind!" Cassowary struck matches and lighted candles, disclosing a half-furnished room in great disorder. Old clothing, paper bags that had contained food, a violin, and books in good bindings littered a table in the middle of the floor, and articles of clothing were heaped in confusion on a time-battered settle. The odor of stale pipe smoke hung upon the air. Under an empty bottle on the mantel Hood found a scrap of paper which he scanned for a moment and then tore into pieces.