Her light flashed to the left and came to rest on the wreck of a seven passenger closed car.
“Good enough!” exclaimed Bill. “Those thugs won’t do any more riding in that bus. See how the car smashed that big tree—it must have torn down the hill like greased lightning!”
They deposited their gasoline tins on the grass and inspected the mass of twisted metal more closely.
“Hello!” ejaculated Dorothy. “Someone’s been here before us.”
“How do you figure that?”
“The license plates have been removed. I know they were on the car when I sent it down here. I was in such a rush I forgot to take the number, worse luck!”
“Too bad—now we won’t be able to trace the owner.”
“Oh, yes, we will. Unless we’ve got an unusually clever mind bucking us, I’ll bet we can trace it through the factory number and the number of the engine. Give me a hand, Bill. Let’s get the hood up.”
“Master mind number two,” grunted Bill when Dorothy’s flash was turned on the motor. “Him and me both, eh? The number plate has been removed, and the one on the engine chiseled off. Those lads must have had a lovely time doing it, with their hides full of salt.”
Dorothy switched off her light with a click.