"This way!" called Bill, springing down the steps to the garden. "My car's out here--come on!"
"That young chap can keep his head," thought Mr. Dixon as he ran beside his daughter and Mr. Bolton. "It would take a lot to fluster him."
Then they came upon him, backing slowly up the drive, both doors swinging wide so they could jump in the car without his stopping.
"Which bank, Mr. Dixon?"
Bill had the car in the road now and was racing toward the village.
"First National--Main Street, next the Town Hall. I'm president, you know."
"I didn't know. But I'm glad to hear it."
"How's that?"
"You should have a drag with the traffic cops. We are doing an even sixty now--and it would be a bad time to get a ticket."
Mr. Dixon grasped the door-handle as Bill skidded them into a cross road with the expertness of a racing driver. "Just get us there, that's all," he gasped. "The chief himself phoned me. I didn't wait to hear details--but from what I gathered, the hold up men got clean away before the police discovered the robbery. But time is always a factor in a case of this kind, so don't worry about traffic rules."