Page:Arthur Stringer--The House of Intrigue.djvu/276

258 he righted the car and missed a telegraph pole by a few inches.

"Where would you like to go?" he asked.

I leaned back in the well-upholstered seat.

"I'd just like to keep on going—forever," I told him.

"Why?"

"Because I'm tired."

"Very tired?" he asked.

"Terribly," I admitted.

He was silent for a few minutes, I could feel my eyelids once more beginning to droop.

"I'm going to take you where you can have a good sleep," he finally told me.

"Thanks," I said. "And then what?"

"That question we can't answer until to-morrow."

I could see the Hudson shining in the clear starlight. I could see wooded hills, and the vague line of a stone wall. We turned suddenly to the left, went down a winding lane, and swept in close to two gate-pillars that seemed to be covered with ivy.

As we did so the man at my side switched out his head-lights. Then, after a moment's deliberation, he shut them all off. He brought the car to a stop, stepped out and seemed to be fumbling with the