He started for the house. The chauffeur, wild-eyed and reckless, got his machine slewed around and went shooting down the drive like a crazy man.
“Wow!” he yelled, as he passed. “Git the constable! Wow!”
Renewed sounds of commotion came from within the house. Clancy dashed at the window. Billy gave him a boost to the sill, and the red-haired chap shot over the edge headfirst and tumbled to the floor inside.
He found himself in a darkened room, evidently the dining room of the farmhouse. It was in wild confusion. Chairs were flung around, the floor was littered with smashed crockery, and over in the corner Clancy made out two figures in furious combat.
As he rushed up, he saw that Chip Merriwell was being gripped by the enraged Brundage, and that the young athlete was fighting furiously for his freedom, despite the handicap of handcuffs on his wrists.
“Whoop-ee!” yelled Clancy, charging across the room. “Here we are, pard!”
Merry managed to break loose, and, raising his handcuffed wrists, he brought them down across the brow of the farmer, who toppled forward. Clancy caught his chum in his arms as the man fell senseless.
“Come along, Chip——” he cried, but Merry broke in.
“Get the key for these irons, Clancy! He’s got it in his vest pocket.”
Clancy leaned over, and, after a short search, found the key of the handcuffs in the farmer’s pocket. Straightening up, he inserted it in the lock, and Merry’s hands fell free.