noon, Sunday
Sh-h ! '' Skinner vaulted lightly through the window , landing in the dirt outside without a sound . `` Somebody coming , '' he whispered . `` Understand Merchants ' Hotel , Albuquerque , noon , Sunday . '' And the next instant he had vanished into the dusk , leaving behind him a youth half hysterical with hope . Out of the blackest gloom had come J. Wallingford Speed 's deliverance , and he did not pause to consider the ethics involved . If he had he would have told himself that by Skinner 's own confession the Centipede had won through fraud at the first race ; if they were paid back in their own coin now it would be no more than tardy justice .