"Well, we haven't tried out this car much as to speed yet," replied Dick. "There are good roads to Flagtown, and we might as well see what she can do. We'll hit up the pace a little."
And they did make Flagtown, the Last Word proving that she had speed as well as other qualities, though she was essentially not a racing car.
Supper followed, in due time, and then, sitting about the auto in the quiet of the evening, the boys talked over their adventures of the day, and speculated on what lay before them.
"It will be a good joke on your Uncle Ezra, to get Mr. Wardell's fortune away from him; won't it?" remarked Paul.
"It sure will," declared Dick. "And the best of it is that he doesn't know that I'm going to do it. Uncle Ezra is pretty sharp, but I think we got ahead of him this time."
But if Dick could have known that a few miles back, in an auto that had closely followed the course of the big touring car since the day before, was a certain mean-faced man, perhaps the young millionaire would not have felt so confident. Especially could he have known that the man in the rear auto was constantly making inquiries about the Last Word—when she had passed through certain towns, and which way she was headed.
But knowing none of these things, Dick and his chums turned into the bunks with a feeling of peacefulness and ease, and slept soundly. All too soundly, it would seem. Too soundly to have heard a car pull up behind them shortly after midnight.
The car came to a halt some distance away from Dick's, the red tail-lamp on the latter disclosing its presence. From the rear car a man silently alighted to the dusty road.
"Are you sure that's the machine?" a whispered voice asked.
"Yes, I'll stake my reputation on it. We've followed it too close to be mistaken, and they haven't had time to shake us."