The young people had to admit that they hadn’t.
“Gale is probably in the house somewhere,” Valerie said after a moment. “Something might have kept her home.”
“But Brent——” Bruce said uneasily.
The three of them went toward the house. The honeysuckle vine gave off a sweet, heavy scent in the late afternoon air. Bruce seated himself on the banister while Valerie sank down on the swing and idly rocked back and forth. Mr. Howard went immediately into the house. Valerie picked up a magazine and turned the pages while they waited. Bruce whistled in a low tone under his breath. It was quite a while before Mr. Howard reappeared. When he did his face wore an unusually grave expression.
“Where’s Gale?” Valerie asked immediately, sensing that something was wrong.
“I wish I knew,” Gale’s father replied heavily. “We’ll have to notify the authorities immediately.”
“What for?” Bruce interposed.
“To find them. Gale and Brent took off last night. They haven’t arrived back here. Something must have happened—a crash.”
“How terrible!” Valerie whispered in awe.
There was a short, charged silence. They could not readily grasp the fact of a crash—yet that must have been what happened. The races had meant so much to Brent and also to Gale that it must have been an accident that delayed them. There could be no other reason.