"You're talking sense for once," said Spotts. "Heroic measures are the only ones worth considering, and if you"--turning to Banborough--"will stand by us, we may come out on top after all."
"You can depend on me to any extent," declared the young author. "I've got you into this scrape, and I'll do my best to get you out of it."
"That's just what I expected of you, Bishop!" exclaimed Spotts, grasping his hand. "We can't waste time in talking. You must go and find the other members of the company, Tyb, and warn them of their danger. Now where can we rendezvous outside the city? Speak quickly, some one!"
"The leading hotel in Yonkers," said Smith.
"Right you are," replied Spotts. "Get there as soon as possible and wait for us to turn up. How about funds?"
"I've plenty of ready money with me," volunteered Cecil, "and very fortunately a draft to my credit arrived to-day, which I've not yet cashed."
"Good!" said Spotts. "We're in luck. Give Tyb fifty."
Banborough whipped out a roll of bills and handed the desired amount to the tragedian without demur.
"Now, off you go," cried his brother actor, "and keep your wits about you."
"Come," said Spotts to the author, "we've no time to lose."
"What's your plan?" asked Cecil as they swung round the corner and sighted the police station.
"Haven't got any as yet. We'll see how the land lies first. The Black Maria's still before the door. That's lucky!"
Sure enough, there it was, looking gloomily like an undertaker's wagon, minus the plate glass.
"Must be hot inside," commented the actor, directing a glance at the two little grated slits high up in the folding doors at the back, which apparently formed the only means of ventilation.
Cecil shuddered as he thought of the discomforts which the girl must be enduring, and longed to throw himself upon the vehicle and batter it to pieces. But calmer judgment prevailed, and controlling himself he approached the police station, saying:
"Let me go first. You might be recognised. I'll try and find out where she's to be taken."
He accordingly went up to the driver of the Black Maria, who, cap in hand, was wiping his perspiring forehead.
"A fine pair of horses that," he said, indicating the mettlesome bays attached to the vehicle, which, in spite of their brisk run, were tossing their heads and fretting to be off.