“Who is he?”
“Why, don’t you know old Mr. Merrick?” asked the little girl. “He lives ’way up the road—up there where you see that little white house. He was standing out in the middle of the road when the automobile rushed past him so fast that he could hardly jump out of the way. He was awful angry. He told my papa that he thought the man ought to be arrested.”
“If only they had arrested them!” murmured Dave.
“And that was the last you saw of that automobile?” asked Roger.
“Yes, sir,” came from several of the girls at once.
“It hasn’t been this way again?”
“No, sir.”
After that the two chums questioned the little girls closer about the general appearance of the car, and learned that the turnout not only had one of the mud-guards badly bent, but that the side of the car was scratched in several places and that the wind-shield was cracked.
“That’s something to go by, but not much,” remarked our hero. “One thing is certain, we are on the right trail at last. For some reason that isn’t at all clear, Jessie and Laura left that train at the Crossing, walked up to the railroad station here in town, and then to the hotel. There they were met by the small boy with the note, and as a result of receiving that note they came out here and either got into that automobile willingly or were forced into it.”
“But where did the auto go to, Dave?”