“Yes—to the port,” Joe Dawson nodded.
“Then we’ve got to find Mr. Tremaine like lightning. There’s a speed cruiser for charter down at the port. Dixon may even now be hustling away on her,” cried Captain Halstead, springing away. “If he has done that he can land on some wild part of the coast of Mexico, or transfer to some ship bound for South America. The earth may swallow him up—him and his booty!”
Leaving the ladies where they had first met them, the boys raced to the telephone exchange. Here they encountered Tremaine and the bank president.
“There’s just one thing to do, then,” responded Henry Tremaine. “I’ll arrange for a special engine on the jump. Haight, you get a couple of local officers here in a hurry. This is a felony charge, so they won’t have to wait for warrants.”
In a few moments the local railway and police officials were busy. A locomotive was quickly awaiting the party on the siding, where it was coupled to a day coach. Two policemen in plain clothes arrived in an automobile.
“Remember, I’m going with you,” cried Mrs. Tremaine, with more energy than she had shown in years. “So is Ida. The poor child can’t be left behind to wonder what luck we’re having.”
There wasn’t even time to object to taking the ladies along. They hurried into the car, and the locomotive started, with a clear track ahead.
“One little detail I haven’t found time to tell you, yet,” panted Mr. Haight, after the engine had started down the single track to Port Tampa. “Dixon also cashed with me a check for nine thousand dollars.”
“On the Ninth National, of New York?” Halstead asked.
“Yes.”