No common road, this, but one which the State authorities had very obligingly built especially for the use of millionaires' motor cars, all through the region of country-clubs, parks, bungalows and summer-resorts dotting the west shore region of the Hudson.

Let the farmer truck his produce through mud and ruts, if he would.

Let the country folk drive their ramshackle buggies over rocks and stumps, if they so chose.

Nothing of that sort for millionaires! No, _they_ must have macadam and smooth, long curves, easy grades and--where the road swung high above the gleaming river--retaining walls to guard them from plunging into the palisaded abyss below.
At just such a place it was, where the road made a sharper turn than any the drunken chauffeur had reckoned on, that catastrophe leaped out to shatter the rushing car.
Only a minute before, Kate--a little uneasy now, at the truly reckless speeding of the driver, and at the daredevil way in which he was taking curves without either sounding his siren or reducing speed--had touched him on the shoulder, with a command: "Not _quite_ so fast, Herrick! Be careful!" His only answer had been a drunken laugh.
"Careful nothing!" he slobbered, to himself.

"You wanted speed--an' now--hc!--b'Jesus, you _get_--hc!--speed! _I_ ain't 'fraid--are--hc!--_you_ ?" She had not heard the words, but had divined their meaning.
"Herrick!" she commanded sharply, leaning forward.