Greg made haste to keep him busy. "Cover your radiator, and let the lap-robe hang down over the license number. Tie a rag over the rear license-plate. Let down the front window. Detach the meter and lay it on the floor." "What's that for?" "It'll be in our passenger's way on the ride home," said Greg grimly. For nearly a minute before it hove in view they heard the approach of the crematory car through the night. He was driving her hard. "It's a six," said Greg listening with a professional ear. "He's got a bum spark plug. She's running on five legs." "I'm not the man for this job," moaned Hickey. "I'm sick!" "Hide yourself behind the flivver. I'll call you when you're wanted." Hickey obeyed this order with alacrity. Finally the rays of the searchlight showed around the bend ahead, jigging up and down with the movement of the car. To Greg it seemed as if she would never turn the corner. His heart was beating like a pneumatic hammer. He clenched his hands to keep them from trembling. He had the dummy pistol in one. Meanwhile rope, handkerchief and red light were in place. Finally the dazzling white light swung around the corner and illumined them. Power was shut off. The great car came to a stop with the scrape of locked wheels on macadam. Greg stepped out of the shadow. He had turned up his collar and pulled down his hat-brim in the time-honored style. "Get down from your seat," he commanded. It appeared he had a cool customer to deal with. "Sure, Mike!" was the undisturbed reply. The man jumped down. "Hands up!" said Greg. He was obeyed. At the same time the cool voice said: "Sorry, old man, but you've stuck up the wrong train. I ain't carrying no consignment of gold this trip. Thirty-four cents, a pocket knife with a blade missing and a dollar watch, that's the lot. You're welcome to it for the experience." Greg grinned in return. This was a victim after his own heart. "Much obliged," he answered, matching the other's tone. "Keep the change. This hold-up isn't meant for you personally." "What is it then?" "I just want to give your passenger a transfer." "Gee! A stiff! I suppose you're one of these here now medical students then." "If you like." "I didn't think they was so hard-pushed for stiffs nowadays. Well, take your choice. A stiff more or less is nothing to me. We get hardened to 'em in this business." Greg ordered Hickey to start his engine. "Run her into the road," he said, "and back her up to Charon's boat." While Hickey was performing this evolution Greg and the crematory driver continued to converse amicably. "Is the door locked?" asked Greg. By way of answer the other threw the doors open. Two pine boxes of significant shape were revealed one above the other. "Take your choice," said the driver. "Did you read the labels before you loaded them in?" asked Greg. "I want the one marked Alfieri." "Oh, the dago. He's on the bottom. He's the heaviest."