With a load of booze in the car and Jim Cassidy by his side, Casey Ryan drove down the long, eucalyptus-shaded avenue that runs past the balloon school at Arcadia and turned into the Foothill Boulevard.

Half a mile farther on a Cadillac roadster honked and slid past them, speeding away toward Monrovia.

But Casey Ryan was busy talking chummily with Jim Cassidy, and he scarcely knew that a car had passed.
The money he had been given for Smiling Lou had been used to pay for this new load of whisky, and Casey found himself wishing that he could get word of it to Mack Nolan.

Still, Nolan's oversight in the matter of arranging for communication between them did not bother Casey much.
He was doing his part; if Mack Nolan failed to do his, that was no fault of Casey Ryan's.
At Fontana, where young Kenner had stopped for gas on that eventful first trip of Casey's, Casey slowed down also, for the same purpose, half tempted to call up the Little Woman on long distance while the gas tank was being filled.

But presently the matter went clean from his mind--and this was the reason: A speed cop whose motorcycle stood inconspicuously around the corner of the garage, came forward and eyed the Ford sharply.