But
some sixth sense warned him to keep his eyes open. And at last he decided
that there could be no excuse for the way the cab was proceeding. It seemed
to him that they were going miles out of the way, and decidedly in the
wrong direction. He did not know London as well as a boy who had lived
there all his life would have done. But his scout training had given him a
remarkable ability to keep his bearings. And it needed no special knowledge
to realize that the sun was on the wrong side of the cab for a course that
was even moderately straight for Ealing.
They had swung well around, as a matter of fact, into a northwestern
suburban section, and once he had seen a maze of railway tracks that meant,
he was almost sure, that they were passing near Willisden Junction. Only a
few houses appeared in the section through which the cab was now racing,
and pavements were not frequent. He spoke to Dick in a whisper.
"There's something funny here," he said. "But, no matter what happens,
pretend you think it's all right. Let anyone who speaks to us think we're
foolish--it'll be easier for us to get away then. And keep your eyes wide
open, if we stop anywhere, so that you will be sure to know the place
again!"
"Right!" said Dick.
Just then the cab, caught in a rutty road where the going was very heavy,
and there was a slight upgrade in addition, to make it worse, slowed up
considerably.
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