There was no bridge across the Cedar at Auburn and Tim pulled the coupe up on the left bank of the river and waited for the arrival of the ramshackle ferry.
It was seven o’clock before the old barge, powered by an automobile engine, paddled its way across the broad stream and nosed up to the landing stage.
“How much to go across?” asked Tim.
“Dollar for a car that size,” replied the riverman.
Tim handed over the fee and drove the coupe aboard. The engine of the ferry sputtered and then settled down to its task as the paddles flashed in the morning sunlight.
“Business been pretty good?” Tim asked.
“Only fair. Usually don’t get anyone on the morning trip but yesterday I had a car almost as large as yours.”
Here was what Tim had been fishing for. He was on the right trail and a few more questions assured him that Grenville Ford had driven directly to Auburn after leaving Atkinson.
When the ferry docked on the Auburn side, Tim went to the general store. He was known there for, two years before, he had helped save the village, marooned by a flood, by bringing food and needed medicine. At the store he learned that Ford had stored his car in the village, rented a boat with an outboard motor, laid in a supply of food and a tent, and started down river the day before.
“Have any idea where he was going?” asked Tim.