Hank Butts ran the car in at the side of the lonely road and stopped. Halstead hastily scribbled on an envelope:
Joe, trust Hank Butts to the limit. He’s all right. Tom.
“Take this,” ordered the young skipper. “Now, after I get in under the seat, pile the cushions over it again as they should go.”
Captain Tom quickly stowed himself away, finding the space rather cramped after all. Under the edge of the seat he slipped the end of his jackknife, to keep the lid raised barely enough for a supply of air. This done, Hank placed the cushions.
“Now take to the woods and make a real travel back to East Hampton,” muttered Tom. “Be quick about it, before Bolton and Ellis get in sight.”
“Good-bye, Cap. Best of luck!” breathed Hank Butts, fervently. Then the confined young skipper heard his new friend leap down into the road and scamper away.
There followed some weary moments, full of suspense and anxiety. The young motor boat boy hoped that the rascally pair would pursue their car thus far, but he knew, too, that they might be suspicious enough to explore that locker space under the big rear seat. Though Tom gripped a wrench tightly, this pair might both be armed and ready to proceed to any lengths to prevent the defeat of their plot to wrest millions from an excited stock market.
At last Halstead heard running steps, followed by a shout:
“There’s the car! Just as I had hoped!”
The running steps slowed down to a walk. Then, as the new arrivals drew near, Justin Bolton’s voice proclaimed, triumphantly: