Once on the road behind Ned and Nick, and beside the erect groom, Katherine realized the delicacy of the situation. Up to this moment she had been acting frankly upon impulse. It was so clear to her mind that McNally had been instrumental in the kidnapping of Harvey, and the sudden emotion aroused by the whole affair had so overwhelmed her, that for the time her only thought had been to get to Harvey, to be near him and of some service to him. But Katherine's impulse on this occasion was not far in advance of her reason, and what had begun in a whirl of excitement was continued in a spirit of quiet persistence. To be sure, there was a moment of wavering, but even then she did not think seriously of turning back. Anyway, there was nothing marked or unusual in frequent drives to the club during this crisp golfing weather. It was after two o'clock when she reached the club. The links were dotted here and there with golfers, and the usual autumn quiet hung about the verandas and halls of the building, but in the office there was bustle and excitement. Katherine stood near the wide fireplace in the lower hall drawing off her gloves and looking through the office door. A man was telephoning, a big man with a quiet voice. In a moment he rang off and turned around. His face interested Katherine and she watched him as he talked to the steward; she could not help hearing the conversation. “I've got to have another horse,” the big man was saying. “I'll pay you whatever your time is worth. I want this whole county stirred up in half an hour.” “But, sir, I cannot leave the club. We are short of help as it is, and the caddies are busy.” “I've no time to talk. A man has been kidnapped and very likely injured. You get a rig--any kind, a farm wagon, if the horses are good--and have it here in fifteen minutes. Figure your time at whatever you like and send the bill to me.” He handed a card to the steward, who looked at it with a slight start, and murmuring, “Certainly, Mr. Weeks,” started down the hall. Katherine stopped him. “What is it, Perry?” “Jim--Mr. Weeks. He wants a horse.” “You may lend him my trap--And, Perry, say nothing of it.” Without waiting for a reply, she went into the reading room, picked up a magazine, and, throwing open her jacket, sat on the broad window-seat. A moment later Ned and Nick were pulled up on the drive, Jim Weeks climbed in beside the groom, and they hurried down toward the bridge.