It was as though she had suddenly and miraculously appeared out of thin air, and taken form on a sidewalk a little way down from Marlianne's.
"That's queer!" commented Jimmie Dale to himself.

"However--" He took out another match, lighted his cigarette, jerked the match stub away from him, and, with a lift of his shoulders, went down the steps.
He crossed the pavement, walked around the front of his machine, since the steering wheel was on the side next to the curb, and, with his hand out to open the car door--stopped.

Some one had been tampering with it--it was not quite closed.

There was no mistake.

Jimmie Dale made no mistakes of that kind, a man whose life hung a dozen times a day on little things could not afford to make them.