"Can you see your father?" asked the German of Grace.
"I'm not sure. It looks like him!"
She stood up in the tonneau, holding to the back of the seat in front of her to steady herself against the swaying of the car.
Just then Larry blew a blast on the horn. As the deep tone responded to his pressure on the big rubber bulb the men in the green machine looked back. At the sight of one of the faces Grace cried.
"It's father! It's father!"
Above the noise made by the two autos the millionaire heard his daughter's voice. He stood up and, leaning over the back of the seat, waved his hand to her. Then one of the men sitting beside him forcibly drew the millionaire down.
"Oh! We must get to him!" cried Grace. "They may do him some harm! Hurry, Larry!"
"Shove her over a few more notches!" cried Fritsch. "She'll take more gasolene!"
Larry obeyed the instructions of the German reporter. The car seemed to feel new life and leaped ahead. The distance from the other car was steadily growing less. Fritsch's confidence in his machine was not misplaced. But the men in the green car were making efforts to escape. The chauffeur had advanced his spark, and the car was taking the steep grade almost as well as was that of the pursuers.
"Can't we catch them?" cried Grace, in an agony of doubt and fear.