Without hesitation Frank and Chet plunged into it. Presently the roadway widened out, then wound about a heavy clump of trees. It came to an end in a wide clearing.
In the clearing stood Chet Morton’s lost jalopy!
“My Queen!” he yelled in delight. “Her own license plates!”
His shout was heard by the rest of the boys, who came on a run. Chet’s joy was boundless. He examined the car with minute care, while his chums crowded around. At last he straightened up with a smile of satisfaction.
“She hasn’t been damaged a bit. All ready to run. The thief just hid the old bus in here and made a getaway. Come on, fellows, climb aboard. Free ride to the highway!”
Before leaving, the Hardys examined footprints left by the thief. “He wore sneakers,” Frank observed.
Suddenly Chet swung open the door and looked on the floor. “You mean he wore my sneakers. They’re gone.”
“And carried his own shoes,” Joe observed. “Very clever. Well, that washes out one clue. Can’t trace the man by his shoe prints.”
“Let’s go!” Chet urged.
He jumped into the car and in a few seconds the engine roared. There was barely sufficient room in the clearing to permit him to turn the jalopy about. When he swung around and headed up the bypath, the boys gave a cheer and hastened to clamber aboard.