It seemed
childishly absurd that he could not at least differentiate to that
extent; and yet, from the moment he had been placed in the automobile
in which he now found himself, he was forced to admit that he could not
tell. He had started out with the belief that, knowing New York and its
surroundings as minutely as he knew them, it would be impossible, do
what they would to prevent it, that at the end of the journey he should
be without a clew, and a very good clew at that, to the location of what
he now called, appropriately enough it seemed, the Crime Club.

But he had never ridden blindfolded in a car before! He could see
absolutely nothing. And if that increased or accentuated his sense of
hearing, it helped little--the roar of the racing car beat upon his
eardrums the more heavily, that was all. He could tell, of course, the
nature of the roadbed. They were running on an asphalt road, that was
obvious enough; but city streets and suburban streets and hundreds of
miles of country road around New York were of asphalt!

Traffic? He was quite sure, for he had strained his ears in an effort to
detect it, that there was little or no traffic; but then, it must be
one or two o'clock in the morning, and at that hour the city streets,
certainly those that would be chosen by these men, would be quite as
deserted as any country road! And as for a sense of direction, he had
none whatever--even if the car had not been persistently swerving and
changing its course every little while. If he had been able to form even
an approximate idea of the compass direction in which they had started,
he might possibly have been able in a general way to counteract this
further effort of theirs to confuse him; but without the initial
direction he was essentially befogged.

With these conclusions finally thrust home upon him, Jimmie Dale
philosophically subordinated the matter in his mind, and, leaning back,
composed himself as comfortably as he could upon his seat. There was a
man beside him, and he could feel the legs of two men on the seat facing
him. These, with the driver, would make four. He was still well guarded!
The car itself was a closed car--not hooded, the sense of touch told
him--therefore a limousine of some description. These facts, in a sense
inconsequential, were absorbed subconsciously; and then Jimmie Dale's
brain, remorselessly active, in spite of the pain from his throbbing
head, was at work again.

It seemed as thoug