"Oh, I don't know," growled Dodge sulkily. "He may have his weak spot, and it may be a very weak spot at that."
The pair moped along until they reached the garage in which they had left the runabout.
Bayliss was standing near the doorway, while Bert inspected the machinery of the car.
"Pest! Look out there," muttered Bayliss, stepping back from the open doorway.
"What is it?" demanded Bert. "Oh, I see! Old Schimmelpodt brought the beggar Prescott over here in an auto. That's how the fellow managed to get into the game, after all. Well, what of it all, anyway?"
"That car is running along slowly, and it has a full-sized crowd in it," muttered Bayliss, going closer to his crony. "Wadleigh, Prescott and Darrin—-and maybe the chauffeur is a thick friend of theirs."
"What on earth are you driving at?" demanded Dodge, glancing up.
"Bert, I don't believe I'm wholly stuck on the scheme of us driving back to Gridley. There are too many lonely spots along the road.
"Do you think they'd assassinate us?" jeered Bert.
"I—-I think Wadleigh may have formed the notion of stopping us and giving us a thrashing," responded Bayliss.