Drew had suddenly lowered his hands and rushed for his antagonist. Cissie Chalmers was struggling like a little wildcat in Miller's embrace; but Smith came dashing around the corner of the house just as with a mighty crashing of the undergrowth their chauffeur bounded with a joyous whoop into the fray.
Drew fought with the strength and ferocity of despair; but he would have been no match for Odell alone, and the struggle was a short-lived one. Handcuffed and snarling curses, he was dragged to where the two cars waited in the roadway.
"Miller, you can drive that roadster, can't you?" Odell asked. "Smith can stand on the running-board and see that your passenger behaves himself; for I'm going to give you two the job of taking Drew to Headquarters. I'll escort Miss Chalmers home."
Cissie gave a sharp cry of despair as the roadster glided off, then drew herself up and, disdaining Odell's hand, stepped into the tonneau of the touring car and seated herself. He got in beside her, and the chauffeur took his place behind the wheel. When he received the address he emitted a low whistle.
"Great Cæsar! The murder house!" he exclaimed. "Say, did that guy—"
"Oh, it is a lie!—A lie!" The indignant cry was wrung from Cissie, but she instantly recovered herself and uttered no further word until the Meade house was reached.
There Odell detained her with a firm hand upon her arm until he had settled with the obliging chauffeur; then he accompanied her up the steps and rang the bell.
The door was opened almost immediately, but not by
