“Want you to come to Belfast in a hurry.”
“What’s up?”
“I have Flynn located here.”
“Nab him!”
“Can’t do it very well till you swear out a warrant for him. I am watching him. Make time getting here, old man, and we’ll pinch the scoundrel. I will wait for you at the Windsor. Come on, now, and don’t let any grass grow under your bike.”
“All right. I’ll be there in a very short time. Don’t let Flynn get away.”
Bang!—up on the fork went the receiver. Ting-lingling!—Merry rang off. Scoot!—he made a rush for the room where the bicycles had been stored.
Three minutes later he carried his wheel out of the hotel. He mounted it in a moment, and away he flew up the little hill and out of sight on his way to Belfast.
Frank fairly flew over the dusty road. It was well for him that there was no law for scorching on Northport Avenue, for he was going like an express train when he reached that long, straight strip of road leading into Belfast. Behind him rose a thin cloud of dust picked up by the tires of his wheels.
Another thing that favored Frank was that it was early in the morning, and there were not many teams on the avenue. Around Belfast there had been so much riding that few horses minded a wheel more than they did another team, and Frank did not find it necessary to slacken speed for any of them he met.