"Have a cigar," said Greg. "Have a couple." "Much obliged, Jack. Certainly square of you. Wouldn't mind being stuck up any night if they was all like you. Life is slow in this neck of the woods." They lit up and puffed comfortably together. "Sorry I'll have to report my loss as soon as I get in," said the driver. "You see the station agent helped me to load up and he's a cranky cuss, not a regular guy like you and me. What's a stiff more or less to a reasonable man! But you see the relatives kick up such a dust." "That's all right," said Greg. "We have to take our chances of course." "Tell you what I'll do though. I'll give you five minutes or so before I drive on." "Thanks, that'll help." By this time Hickey had his car in place. They ran out the lower of the two pine boxes; with his flash Greg made sure that it was the one they wanted; then they hoisted it over the lowered top of the flivver. The driver helped right willingly. When they got the box in place one end rested on top of the back seat and the other end stuck through the front window. When they put up the top of the car, only the front end of the box showed, and this they rendered less conspicuous by draping it with the black lap-robe. "You'll have to lean forward to see around the end," said Greg to Hickey. "I'll ride behind." They screwed on the tail light, gathered up the rope and all was ready for the start. "Well, so long, fellows," said the crematory driver. As soon as they started Hickey's spirits rebounded, and he began to brag quaintly. "Say, that guy was polite all right. He had to be! I was watching him. One ugly move on his part and I'd a dropped on him like a load of brick." "Oh, you're a dare-devil all right," said Greg dryly. Hickey subsided. At the Silver Pond station they took the main road from Long Island City by which they had come, but beyond the village they took the first side road to the left, and aided by the map made their way cross country by various unfrequented roads to one of the highways leading to Brooklyn. "It's a good thing the undertaker's in Brooklyn," said Greg. "They'll probably telephone in and have the bridges and ferries watched." "They'll trace us to-morrow," said Hickey nervously. "I doubt if anybody will be sufficiently interested. The crematory will report to the undertaker; the undertaker will endeavor to communicate with his client, and will find that he gave a fictitious address. The matter will go no further. De Socotra's gang is not likely to learn that we have the body until we tell them ourselves."