"
Quest's only reply was a little nod. Yet, notwithstanding his
imperturbability of expression, that little nod was wonderfully
sympathetic. Lenora leaned back in her place well satisfied. She felt that
she was understood.
By Quest's directions, the automobile was brought to a stand-still at a
point where it skirted the main railway line, and close to the section
house which he had appointed for his rendezvous with Laura. She had
apparently seen their approach and she came out to meet them at once,
accompanied by a short, thick-set man whom she introduced as Mr. Horan.
"This is Mr. Horan, the section boss," she explained.
Mr. Horan shook hands.
"Say, I've heard of you, Mr. Quest," he announced. "The young lady tells
me you are some interested in that prisoner they lost off the cars near
here."
"That's so," Quest admitted. "We'd like to go to the spot if we could."
"That's dead easy," the boss replied. "I'll take you along in the hand
car. I've been expecting you, Mr. Quest, some time ago."
"How's that?" the criminologist asked.
Mr. Horan expelled a fragment of chewing tobacco and held out his hand for
the cigar which Quest was offering.
"They've been going the wrong way to work, these New York police," he
declared. "Just because there was a train on the other track moving
slowly, they got it into their heads that Macdougal had boarded it and was
back in New York somewhere. That ain't my theory. If I were looking for
James Macdougal, I'd search the hillsides there.
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