wasn't safe to stay anywhere near the coupe's path. Chet gave a laugh, nervous,
despite its mechanical tone.
He was in the clear again, on his own, even though he didn't want to be.
Thorneau belonged to the past, just like The Shadow. Both were friends in need
while Chet needed them, but he'd be his own friend in the future. All he wanted
was a road where he could make speed in this borrowed car. If anybody tried to
stop him, he'd use his borrowed gun.
A car was coming in Chet's direction. He saw a road to the right and
swerved. As he did, he whipped between two pairs of headlights that seemed
focused ready to receive him. Even before Chet could pass them, those two
machines were in motion, speeding on his trail.
The Feds!
So Chet thought as he jabbed the accelerator pedal. Then, as the coupe
fairly hopped across the rough surface of a railroad crossing, Chet saw the
lights of a station, and a new thought seized him.
This was the road that Thorneau would have taken to meet his friend
Cranston. The car in which Chet rode was Thorneau's due at this very time. The
Feds dispatched by Marquette couldn't have foreseen that Chet would be taking
flight in Thorneau's car. Therefore those pursuers couldn't be Feds.
They were men of Dorgan's breed!
It was adding up just like the mileage on the speedometer. Crooks had
framed Chet and backed their game with death threats, against Thorneau. What
could be smarter than to go through with those threats to clinch the business
further?
To finish Thorneau would mean a murder rap for Chet. That was the next
crime on the book. There was grim solace in the fact that crooks were gumming
their own game, by going after the very man they were trying to blame for their
own misdeeds. Still, crooks could turn it to their own advantage.
Guns were chattering from the cars behind. If those shots found Chet, what
difference would it make? He was driving a stolen car and therefore fair game
for anyone. Should he be wrecked and killed, his name would still be blemished.
If the crooks were blamed for the kill, public opinion would class them as
friends of the notorious Chet Conroy, who had turned against him through some
misunderstanding.
That guess was halfway right. As Chet swung a curve, the rattle of guns
ended, and he saw the pursuing cars veer to a side road. After that glance in
the mirror, Chet saw something else. New cars were starting to the chase, coming
from a building by the roadside.
The State police!
THIS was one of their stations. That was why the crooks had quit the chase.
They'd done enough to scare the wits out of Thorneau - or what they thought to
be Thorneau in his coupe - and make the death threat pass as real. Hearing
shots, seeing a wild-riding car, the cops were naturally picking up the trail.
By the time Thorneau stopped to explain things, the crooks would be far away.
But Chet wasn't Thorneau, and he couldn't stop at all. Already a fugitive
from justice, he was determined to remain such, until he found vindication or
death.
Within three miles, the State police were overhauling the coupe. With
