“He did worse,” answered the senator’s son. “But we haven’t got time to talk about that now,” he added, and hurried away, followed by our hero. Mr. Merrick came after them, anxious to know what might be wrong, but they did not enlighten him.
Half an hour later found the machine rolling into the little village of Kapton. They had stopped twice on the way, but had learned nothing more concerning the big touring car with the battered mud-guard and the cracked wind-shield.
“Do you think we ought to stay here all night?” questioned Roger.
“That will depend on whether we can get accommodation or not,” returned Dave. “Anyhow, we want to make some inquiries before we leave this place.”
They soon learned that Kapton boasted of nothing in the way of a hotel or boarding-house.
“But you can get pretty good accommodations at the Bliss House in Crandall,” said the storekeeper, who gave them the information. “Or else you can go to the American House at Frytown.”
“Is that in the opposite direction to Crandall?” questioned Dave.
“Yes, sir; it’s on the same road that you came up on. The road runs right through Frytown to Cullomburg, and it’s a pretty fair road all the way.”
“Then I guess we’ll go on to Frytown. By the way, can you give us any information about a big touring-car that went through here about ten days ago—a touring-car that had a battered mud-guard and a cracked wind-shield and was driven by a fellow who looked like a foreigner—a chap with a small black mustache?”
“Why, yes, I saw that car!” cried the storekeeper. “The fellow who ran it came in here and bought a lot of groceries.”