Agnes giggled. Then she said: “But Mr. Collinger’s wasn’t one of those cheap cars. It was a runabout; but it cost him a lot of money.”
“But that freckled-faced young man, Neale—do you suppose he could be the one Mrs. Heard said was seen driving the stolen car away from the court house?”
“Why, how should I know?” demanded Neale. “I’m no seventh son of a seventh son.”
“I wish we had seen a constable out there in the grove and had had him arrested.”
“What for? On what charge?” cried Neale, wonderingly.
“Why, because he spoke to Ruth and me. Then he could be held while his record was looked up. Maybe Mr. Collinger could have recovered his car by that means.”
“Cricky!” ejaculated the boy. “You’ve been reading the police court reports in the newspapers, I believe, Aggie.”
“Well! that’s what they do,” declared the girl, confidently.
“Maybe so. But you couldn’t have had the fellow arrested for speaking to you. You shouldn’t have been around the dance floor if you wanted to escape that. But, perhaps that freckled rascal is one of the thieves, and maybe he can be traced. Mrs. Heard will tell her nephew and he will attend to it—no fear!”
“But it would be just great, Neale, if we could do something toward recovering the car and getting the thieves arrested,” said Agnes who, as Neale often said, if she went into a thing, went into it all over!