They broke into a run and in a moment were in the midst of the excited crowd. Another moment sufficed to learn of what had happened. They rushed into the bank, Dick frantic with grief and apprehension at the news that his father had been shot. A doctor who happened to be in the crowd was already ministering to the wounded man.
“Only a flesh wound,” the doctor assured Dick, bringing him an immense relief.
“Don’t mind me, Dick,” said Mr. Weston, trying to summon up a reassuring smile. “It’s the bank I’m thinking of. It’ll be seriously hurt if those scoundrels get away with all that cash. Get after them as fast as you can. Every minute counts.”
Dick was loth to obey, but Phil, standing beside him, put his hand on his arm.
“Your father’s right, Dick,” he said. “He’s getting good attention here, and you can’t serve him better than by trying to run down the thieves. Come with me and come quick. I’ve got a plan.”
They hurried out of the bank, pushing their way through the constantly increasing crowd that congested the doors. In the street, men were piling into cars and starting out in the direction that the robbers had taken.
“It’s well meant but of no use,” said Phil, pointing to the cars. “They haven’t a Chinaman’s chance to catch up with them this side of kingdom come. The robbers’ car can run rings around any of these. But I know something that’s faster than any car.”
“The airplane,” exclaimed Dick, a light breaking in on him.
“Right you are,” replied Phil. “But that isn’t all. There’s something faster than the airplane.”
“Radio,” cried Tom Hadley.