“Aggie,” he said, “you beat the world. Mucilage isn’t in it with you for sticking to a thing when your mind is once set upon it.”
“Well, I don’t care!” she pouted.
“Oh, yes you do. You evidently do care or you wouldn’t be talking about that stolen car all the time. What’s the odds where Mr. Brady and his chauffeur have gone? You don’t suppose Brady knows anything about Mr. Collinger’s machine himself, do you?”
“Of course he does! I believe he had it stolen,” cried the girl.
“And if he did, so much the more reason for his not knowing anything about what was done with the car. That’s what Mr. Maynard intimated. Brady would have no use for it. And I doubt if anybody could use it long without being arrested. Hard to hide an automobile nowadays. Unless the thieves took it away up into Canada and sold it, maybe.”
“Surely that Saleratus Joe couldn’t have done that,” rejoined Agnes, instantly, “for he couldn’t have gone there and got back so quickly.”
“Good girl. Female detective, I tell you!” chortled Neale. “But how about the other fellow?”
“Cricky! No. They say there were two fellows in Mr. Collinger’s car when it was driven away from the court house. And maybe he—the second chap—has the car now.”
“Oh, dear me! I’d like to know,” sighed Agnes.