At first the big Macklin car set up a pace they were unable to match, but apparently the driver was unfamiliar with the road, and after he had narrowly escaped flinging his car in the ditch on several sharp turns, he was compelled to slow down somewhat. This gave them an even chance. They kept about a hundred feet behind the red eye of the tail-light ahead.
"We're holding them all right," said Jack's chauffeur.
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when there came a report like a small field piece beneath them.
"Damn that tire!" cried the man.
"There goes Bobo's last chance of salvation!" said Jack.
The blow-out had been heard in the car ahead. They swept out of sight around a bend tooting their horn triumphantly.
It took them the usual half an hour to change tires.
"Back to town I suppose," said the driver when he was ready to start again.
"No!" said Jack. "They might blow up a tire, too. Keep on!"
In a village called Kingsville they stopped long enough to make sure that the Macklin car was still ahead of them. At the next place, Belair, they came upon it resting demurely in front of a dwelling. Since there was a church next door, it was not difficult to guess that this house was a parsonage.