The nervous man whirled round. There was relief on his face. “Gosh, it’s about time you got here. We’re going to be late.”
“We can make it,” the man said, and then added, “We had a blowout but it’s okay now. It’s a good thing we fixed it. The bus is half an hour late.”
“Half an hour late?”
“That’s the report we got. Come on, let’s go.”
The man turned to Rob Trenton apologetically. “You heard what my friend said? The bus is half an hour late. We’re going to Noonville, if you’re going in that direction.”
“Noonville is where I go,” Trenton said.
“Well, come on. Get in with us. We’ll have you there in an hour. If the bus is a half hour late it’ll take two hours running time and...”
“Have you got room?” Rob asked.
“Sure thing,” the man in overalls said. “There are only four of us in a six-passenger car. Got any baggage?”
“No baggage.”
“Well, come on. Let’s go.”
Rob didn’t stop to think until he found himself in the back seat of the big sedan between two well-dressed, quiet-spoken men. His chance acquaintance at the bus depot and the man in overalls occupied the front seat.
Then certain matters caught Rob’s attention and stirred him to vague uneasiness.
The car was too big, too powerful, too well-appointed to match the story which had been given Rob by the man at the bus terminal. The men on each side of Rob in the back seat were too competent, too quiet, too ominously unsocial.
For a moment Rob thought of the things he had heard about people who were “taken for a ride”. Then he tried to dispel the vague feeling of uneasiness by cold logic. The man was a contractor. Naturally he would have men of money with him as well as some working men to do the heavy work. It was all right. Rob tried to convince himself that he must cease letting his imagination run away with him.
And then the rushing speed of the car, the odd silence of the men who were sitting on each side of him, brought Rob to a decision.
He looked at his wristwatch, snapped his fingers and said, “By gosh, fellows, I forgot... I clean forgot...”
There were two or three seconds of silence.
“What did you forget?” the driver asked.
“I forgot a telephone call that I’ve simply got to make,” Trenton said. “I knew there was something. I know you’re in a hurry, so just let me out here and I’ll put in the call and take a taxi back to the bus station. I can make it if the bus is going to be half an hour late.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” the driver said. “We’ll take him to a phone, eh, boys?”
“Sure,” one of the men in the back seat said.
The car sped on, smoothly gliding through traffic.
“There’s a telephone in that service station,” Rob said.
“So there is,” one of the men said. “Turn around, Sam. We’ll run back there and let the guy phone.”
Rob heaved a sigh of relief, turned around to look through the back window to make certain that the service station actually did have a telephone sign in front of it. Once in that service station he made up his mind he would go to the men’s room, turn the bolt in the door and refuse to come out.
The driver slammed on the brakes hard.
The men in the back seat all lurched forward. Rob particularly, since he was facing towards the rear of the car, was thrown off balance.
He hardly had time to appreciate the significance of the maneuver before the black rug in the back of the car descended over his head and handcuffs snapped on his wrist.
“Okay, Sam,” one of the men said. “Keep going.”
Rob Trenton, suffocating beneath the heavy, black rug, let out a yell for help at the top of his lungs.
Something crashed down on the top of his head. There was a blinding flash of light and then he felt himself falling through darkness.
Chapter 11
Rob regained consciousness by degrees. He was first aware of the painful jolting of his head, then a dim light penetrated his eyes, and the sensation of suffocation returned.
For the moment he could not recall what had happened or where he was, but protective instinct cautioned him to lie still.
Gradually memory returned.
He found that the rug was still over his head but that a fold of the cloth enabled a limited amount of air to pass to his nostrils. Any turning of the head would result in shutting off this flow of air. His wrists were pinioned by handcuffs, but, tensing the muscles of his lower legs, he could feel no restrictive bonds on them.
He realized that he was on the floor of the car, that the two men who had been in the rear of the car were on each side of the seat, their feet resting against his body so that they could batter him down or kick him into insensibility should he make any attempt to raise his body.
No one said anything, but from the odor of tobacco smoke which reached him Rob knew that one of the men was smoking a good cigar.
The car purred onward at steady speed. Rob Trenton felt that he had been unconscious for some time because the bones and muscles which were in contact with the carpeted floor of the car were aching. He had the distinct feeling that any attempt to move would have disastrous consequences.
The minutes lengthened into what seemed to be an hour.
A voice finally broke the silence “Say, is that goof all right?”
“Sure.”
“You conked him pretty hard.”
“He’s all right.”
Rob sensed motion above him. A hand clapped itself on his forearm, then slid down to the waist. The middle finger, pressing in just the right place, counted the pulse. “Hell, he’s doing fine.”
The men settled back in the seat.
Rob Trenton could stand it no longer. He stirred and as soon as he changed position the folds of the rug fell about his nose, virtually shutting off the air.
“Air!” he muttered quickly, surprised at the sound of his own voice. “Air, give me air.”
One of the men laughed. A foot kicked him at the base of the spine.
Rob tried to struggle erect. Anything was better than this suffocation.
He heard a voice say, “No more of that. Give the guy some air.”
There was motion above him and the rug was pulled halfway back and cool air struck Rob’s face, was drawn down deep into his oxygen-starved lungs.
“Don’t try to get up,” a voice said. “Don’t try to see where you’re going. Stay in that position. Don’t talk.”
“But what in the world is this...”
“Shut up.”
“Let him talk,” an authoritative voice from the front seat said.
The man in the right rear promptly vetoed the suggestion. “Better let him do all his talking at once.” His voice was ominous in its quiet contradiction.
“Okay,” agreed the man in the front seat, gruffly.
The car was moving rapidly now and Rob Trenton felt certain from the smooth purr of the wheels they were on a modern highway. The sounds of passing traffic indicated they were either approaching or leaving some large city.
A few moments later Rob decided they had left the city behind as the car rocketed into increasing speed.
He tried slowly shifting his position. There were no objections from the men in the back seat.
“Why the dickens can’t you take these things off?” Rob asked, as the steel handcuffs bit into his wrists again.
“You’re doing all right the way you are, buddy. It won’t be long now.”
“They hurt.”
“Well, now, ain’t that too bad?”
Someone laughed.
Abruptly, unable to endure the torture of lying in one cramped position any longer, Rob braced himself against the pain in his wrists and rolled completely over so that he was facing the back seat. He saw the feet of two men, their neatly creased and tailored trousers.