“Latrobe and Miller, eh!” snapped the inspector. “That’s two of a gang we’ve been hunting for a year. Casey’s another. I never heard of this fellow Slade, but if he’s with ’em, that’s evidence enough. Let’s go!”
Only the roughness of the road, which slowed the speed of the blue car, enabled Dave’s flivver to keep up with the official machine, but by strenuous exertion the little car held its own against its big rival and was only seconds behind when the latter came to a stop before the wide porch of the Coleson house.
“There’s a secret entrance under the house and into the mine,” explained Rogers, as the boys hastened toward the end of the house closely followed by Inspector Baker and his men.
As they turned the corner of the building, Ned, who was in the lead, stopped in his tracks and stared in astonishment at a pair of deeply rutted marks which crossed the strip of sand between the house and the woods. Everywhere the surface had been deep-trampled by hurrying feet and the swinging stone slab that the boys had so carefully closed was now wide open.
“Zowie!” gasped Dick. “They’ve got away!”
“What’s that?” demanded Inspector Baker. “What kind of a yarn is this?”
By way of answer Ned could but point dumbly to the opening in the foundation wall. Advancing cautiously, the officers reconnoitered the aperture and crept into the cellar followed by the boys. A peculiar acrid odor assailed their nostrils and a thin veil of smoke hung like a bluish cloud above their heads. One of the men snatched a flashlight from his pocket and by its rays revealed the heavy plank door wrenched from its hinges and lying splintered and blackened on the ground.
“Blasting powder!” growled Inspector Baker, as he sniffed the tell-tale odor.
“Latrobe knew more about this mine than anybody else!” cried Ned. “He must have had a can of powder hidden somewhere down below!”
“They took most of the cases of whisky with ’em, too!” added Dick, who had run half-way down the stairs, from which point he could get a view of the small chamber beneath.