Nick was shown into the room on the left. This room had a door opening upon the hall, and Martin locked it and put the key in his pocket. Then he ordered the detective to hand over the skeleton key which had been of such good service several hours before. Thinking that he now had his chauffeur just where he wanted him, Martin went into the other chamber and threw himself down on the bed with his clothes on. Martin need not have worried about Nick taking “French leave.” The detective was only too glad to be in the society of the supposed Chicago men, and would not leave until he had satisfied himself on one or two points. It was about five o’clock in the morning when Nick was summoned to get up and make ready for the start. They did not stop for breakfast, but, as Martin said, they would get something to eat at a town a little further on. As they passed through the office, Nick saw a man seated in a chair, and apparently sound asleep. The man was Chick, and he was not so sound asleep as he seemed to be. Martin paid his bill, and he and Nick walked out to the Red Spider, which stood at the curb in front. Nick cast a casual glance through the window near which Chick had been sitting. His chair was empty. There were two men on the rear seat of the automobile; men who had faces of the recognized criminal type. Martin climbed into the machine, and Nick followed, the two men on the rear seat eying him sharply. “Start east and take the first turn to the left,” ordered Martin, “then follow that road right out of town and into the country.” Nick put the car in motion. As he turned the corner he caught a glimpse of Clarkson’s machine just rounding the hotel from the direction of the barn. Chick and Patsy were on the seat, and Chick was doing the driving. CHAPTER XXIII. OVER THE BRIDGE. Each man in the touring party carried a large satchel, and Nick noticed that he took very good care of the grip, never letting it get out of his hands for an instant. The satchels appeared to be rather heavy, and once, when one of them dropped to the bottom of the auto, the detective heard a jingle as of coin. The morning was bright, the air was fresh, and for five miles the Red Spider cut along at a smart clip. “Show me how to operate the thing,” said Martin, and Nick instructed him in the art. “How long have you had this machine, Mr. Martin?” Nick asked. A silence followed the question, during which Martin exchanged looks with the men on the rear seat. “Close onto two years,” said Martin, finally. “What do you want to know for?” “It seems strange that you haven’t learned something about running the Red Spider in two years.” Martin leaned forward and rapped Nick on the shoulder. “Look here, Jones,” he growled, “don’t you get too blamed inquisitive. It’s liable to strike in and carry you off.” After that Nick held his peace for a time, but there were a whole lot of things he wanted to know, and he wasn’t long in opening up again.