“The dining room is closed,” announced the proprietor. “But we don’t let anybody starve,” he added, with a smile. “Just come this way, and I guess we can fix you up,” and he led them to a side room, where a waitress served them with a plain but substantial supper. Before this was eaten, however, Dave questioned the man about telephone connections.
“You can’t get any out-of-town connections after seven o’clock,” was the statement made by the hotel keeper. “You’ll have to wait until seven o’clock to-morrow morning.”
After the meal the two chums questioned the hotel man and several of his assistants about the big automobile they were looking for, and were informed that the touring-car had been seen in Frytown a number of times, moving up and down the main road.
“Once I saw it when it had several people inside besides the chauffeur,” said one man. “The people seemed to be cuttin’ up pretty well, but what it was all about, I don’t know. The car was goin’ too fast to give a fellow a chance to see.”
“How long ago was that?” questioned Dave quickly.
“Oh, I don’t know. Ten days or two weeks—or maybe longer.”
“Do you remember which way the car was going at that time?”
“Sure. It was headed in the direction of Cullomburg.”
“How far is that town?” questioned Roger.
“That’s up in the mountains about eight miles from here. It’s a pretty fair road, though, all the way.”