“Those gypsies all look like foreigners,” said Roger.
“Yes. But I don’t think any of them knows how to run an auto. They always use horses.”
“Oh, well, they might be getting up-to-date.”
Thinking that the incident of the strange touring-car might be worth following up, Dave and Roger left the hotel and ran their own automobile a distance along the Kapton road. From the hotel proprietor they had learned that this road led to the small village of Kapton two miles distant.
“This is a good deal like looking for a needle in a haystack,” was Roger’s comment.
“True, Roger. But if you took the haystack and went over it a wisp at a time, sooner or later you’d come on the needle,” answered Dave. “And that is what I propose to do in this case—I’m going to follow up every possible clue until we strike something.”
On the outskirts of Crandall they came upon a little country home where several children were enjoying themselves at a swing in the open dooryard. Here Dave stopped the car.
“I suppose you play here nearly every day,” he said to the oldest of the girls, a bright miss of nine or ten years of age.
“Oh, yes; whenever the weather is good.”
“And we have lots of fun,” broke in another of the happy group.