Merriwell leaped into the saddle and the two lads rounded the rock at the heels of the beggar. The man pointed along the road, and amid some bare trees on a slope half a mile away the carriage was plainly seen, a tiny cloud of dust rolling up behind it.
“Whoop!” shouted Buckhart. “There she is, pard! We’re still on the trail!”
They did not pause to thank the beggar, but were off down the hill, the hoofs of their horses ringing clear on the hard and stony road.
It was dangerous to ride as they rode, for that strip of road was anything but good. Still they took chances and dashed onward.
It seemed that some one in the carriage observed them, for they soon decided that the horses attached to the vehicle had been forced to greater speed.
“But they can’t get away from us now!” declared Dick grimly.
“What will we do when we overtake them?” questioned Brad.
“We’ll hold them up and find out what they are trying to do with Flavia.”
“It’s a whole lot queer they were able to get away from that hotel and out of the city without any of that bunch of Greeks interfering.”
“I’ve been thinking of that. After following them to the hotel, it seems that Maro, Tyrus, and their friends quit.”