It worked like a charm.

Instantly a carriage robe was thrown over his head and he was hurried down the steps, across the muddy sidewalk, and into the waiting vehicle which had been driven up before the house.

Once inside, Neil was safe from detection, for the hack, the shades drawn up before the windows, was as dark as Egypt.

Neil sighed his relief, muttered a few perfunctory threats from behind the uncomfortable folds of the ill-smelling robe, and, with one fellow sitting on his chest and three others holding his legs, felt the carriage start.
Despite the enveloping folds about his head he could hear quite well; hear the horses' feet go _squish-squash_ in the mud; hear the carriage creak on its aged hinges; hear the shriek of a distant locomotive as they approached the railroad.

His captors were congratulating themselves on the success of their venture.
"Easier than I thought it'd be," said one, and at the reply Neil figuratively pricked up his ears.
"Pshaw, I knew we'd have no trouble; Livingston was so cock-sure that we wouldn't try it that he'd probably forgotten all about it.