Replete and glowing inside, they lighted big cigars and returned to the flivver. Having filled up with gas and oil and bought the rope, they left town by the route indicated. The journey to Silver Pond was without incident. Having plenty of time they let the old flivver roll at her natural gait along the suburban highways. Silver Pond marked the limit of the suburbs in this direction; beyond was the open country. They reached the station at twenty minutes to nine. The agent's office was closed, but there were several little stores opposite including a bar. Here Greg applied for information. "What time does the train get here that brings the--er--bodies to the crematory?" he asked, looking as much like a bereaved relative as he could. "Nine-three," was the reply. "Expectin' somebody?"--this with a sympathetic air. Greg nodded lugubriously, and the bar-tender shook his head in sympathetic unison. "What'll you have?" he asked, suggesting that therein lay the cure for all woes. "Rye high-ball," said Greg. "Do they send the bodies right out to the crematory to-night?" "Sure. When they're notified there's anybody coming the motor-truck meets the train. He'll be along any minute now." "Oh well, I'll drive on to the crematory and wait for brother there," said Greg. However, he took time to sip his drink, for he wished to have a look at the motor truck in order to be sure of identifying it on the return trip. In the course of a few minutes it drew up at the station opposite, and Greg marked it, a covered van of the style ordinarily used by undertakers, abounding with black-enameled trappings of woe. Greg observed that for its duty on the night roads it carried a search-light over the driver's head. This would effectually serve to distinguish it from other cars. The bar-tender came to the door and pointed out the road they should take. "Three miles," he said; "follow the macadam and the telephone poles. You can't miss it. It's their own road that they built. Nobody wants to live down that way." In order to avoid exciting remark Greg got in the body of the cab, and they started. As soon as they were out of sight of the saloon, he swung himself around the running board to the seat beside Hickey. "The train is due in fifteen minutes, supposing it's on time," he said. "Give him five minutes to load up, that's twenty minutes' start we have. Time to run all the way out to the crematory, choose the best spot along the road and come back to it." "I like this job less and less," said Hickey with feeling. "I'm a nervous man." "I'll play the heavy villain's part," said Greg calmly. "You only have to be property man." "Suppose there's two of them?" "There was only one on the driver's seat just now." "He might have a friend coming out on the train." "Sure, and he might have a hand grenade in each pocket." "Oh, Lor'!" said Hickey, taking it quite seriously.