"I am going to take you to Judge Allen's.I am chief of police.You are under arrest."Before Winthrop rose moving pictures of Miss Forbes appearing in a dirty police station before an officious Dogberry, and, as he and his car were well known along the Post road, appearing the next morning in the New York papers."William Winthrop," he saw the printed words, "son of Endicott Winthrop, was arrested here this evening, with a young woman who refused to give her name, but who was recognized as Miss Beatrice Forbes, whose engagement to Ernest Peabody, the Reform candidate on the Independent ticket----"And, of course, Peabody would blame her.
"If I have exceeded your speed limit," he said politely, "Ishall be delighted to pay the fine.How much is it?""Judge Allen'll tell you what the fine is," said the selectman gruffly.And he may want bail.""Bail?" demanded Winthrop."Do you mean to tell me he will detain us here?""He will, if he wants to," answered the chief of police combatively.
For an instant Winthrop sat gazing gloomily ahead, overcome apparently by the enormity of his offence.He was calculating whether, if he rammed the two-inch plank, it would hit the car or Miss Forbes.He decided swiftly it would hit his new two-hundred-dollar lamps.As swiftly he decided the new lamps must go.But he had read of guardians of the public safety so regardless of private safety as to try to puncture runaway tires with pistol bullets.He had no intention of subjecting Miss Forbes to a fusillade.
So he whirled upon the chief of police:
"Take your hand off that gun!" he growled."How dare you threaten me?"Amazed, the chief of police dropped from the step and advanced indignantly.
"Me?" he demanded."I ain't got a gun.What you mean by----"With sudden intelligence, the chauffeur precipitated himself upon the scene.
"It's the other one," he shouted.He shook an accusing finger at the selectman." He pointed it at the lady."To Miss Forbes the realism of Fred's acting was too convincing.To learn that one is covered with a loaded revolver is disconcerting.Miss Forbes gave a startled squeak, and ducked her head.
Winthrop roared aloud at the selectman.
"How dare you frighten the lady!" he cried."Take your hand off that gun.""What you talkin' about?" shouted the selectman."The idea of my havin' a gun! I haven't got a----""All right, Fred!" cried Winthrop."Low bridge."There was a crash of shattered glass and brass, of scattered barrel staves, the smell of escaping gas, and the Scarlet Car was flying drunkenly down the main street.
"What are they doing now, Fred?" called the owner.
Fred peered over the stern of the flying car.
"The constable's jumping around the road," he replied, "and the long one's leaning against a tree.No, he's climbing the tree.I can't make out WHAT he's doing.""_I_ know!" cried Miss Forbes; her voice vibrated with excitement.Defiance of the law had thrilled her with unsuspected satisfaction; her eyes were dancing."There was a telephone fastened to the tree, a hand telephone.They are sending word to some one.They're trying to head us off."Winthrop brought the car to a quick halt.
"We're in a police trap!" he said.Fred leaned forward and whispered to his employer.His voice also vibrated with the joy of the chase.
"This'll be our THIRD arrest, he said."That means----""I know what it means," snapped Winthrop."Tell me how we can get out of here.""We can't get out of here, sir, unless we go back.Going south, the bridge is the only way out.""The bridge!" Winthrop struck the wheel savagely with his knuckles."I forgot their confounded bridge!" He turned to Miss Forbes."Fairport is a sort of island," he explained.
"But after we're across the bridge," urged the chauffeur, "we needn't keep to the post road no more.We can turn into Stone Ridge, and strike south to White Plains.Then----""We haven't crossed the bridge yet," growled Winthrop.His voice had none of the joy of the others; he was greatly perturbed."Look back," he commanded, "and see if there is any sign of those boys."He was now quite willing to share responsibility.But there was no sign of the Yale men, and, unattended, the Scarlet Car crept warily forward.Ahead of it, across the little reed-grown inlet, stretched their road of escape, a long wooden bridge, lying white in the moonlight.
"I don't see a soul," whispered Miss Forbes.
"Anybody at that draw?" asked Winthrop.Unconsciously his voice also had sunk to a whisper.
"No," returned Fred."I think the man that tends the draw goes home at night; there is no light there.""Well then," said Winthrop, with an anxious sigh, "we've got to make a dash for it."The car shot forward, and, as it leaped lightly upon the bridge, there was a rapid rumble of creaking boards.
Between it and the highway to New York lay only two hundred yards of track, straight and empty.
In his excitement the chauffeur rose from the rear seat.
"They'll never catch us now," he muttered."They'll never catch us!"But even as he spoke there grated harshly the creak of rusty chains on a cogged wheel, the rattle of a brake.The black figure of a man with waving arms ran out upon the draw, and the draw gaped slowly open.
When the car halted there was between it and the broken edge of the bridge twenty feet of running water.
