There was a general murmur of interest and some laughing over the possibilities Paul's suggestion might develop, but in the end the talk came back to Phil Way's inquiry—were the Chosen Trio bent on making serious mischief and of themselves a contemptible nuisance, or did they think merely that it would be fun to ascertain and expose the object of the contemplated journey?
"They've been spying on us some time or other or they'd never be able to drop so many hints about the Three Stones. Then again, though, that's all they have hinted at, so far as we've heard," said MacLester. "Likely they don't know about anything else. But if we are going to pay any attention at all to them, let's do as Jones says. Let's have some fun out of it."
And so began a series of moves on the checker board of events for both the Auto Boys and the three Chosen Ones which, and particularly with regard to the latter, gave all of them something to think about.
A decoy movement was the first put into execution. Its purpose was to ascertain to what extent Soapy Gaines and his friends were keeping tab on the going and coming of the Thirty, by which name, it will be remembered, the car the four chums jointly owned was known.
With a tarpaulin tied over the rack behind, as if it covered a quantity of baggage, divers boxes—mostly empty—in the tonneau, two extra tires in their racks and the whole outfit presenting the appearance of being ready for extended touring, the Auto Boys headed their car into the street the following morning.
Amid frantic waving of their hands, and by Jones a most ridiculous pretense of wiping away tears of parting—fairly giggling in his handkerchief as he did it—the machine was turned directly toward the Star Lake road. At good speed, yet not too fast—it wouldn't do to eliminate the certainty of being seen—the Thirty rolled into the country just as the great clock in the Court House tower rang nine.
Going with what carelessness he could assume, yet stealthily, too, through the alley at the rear of the Way and other residences on the south side of Grace Avenue, young Mr. Pickton looked in at the window of the green and yellow garage as he had done many times before within the past week. Not at all surprised was he to see the shed empty, but he was astonished and not a little chagrined to notice that the extra tires were no longer in the corner reserved for them, and various other articles of touring paraphernalia customarily stored in plain view—ropes, lantern, shovel, a large tarpaulin, and so on—were missing.
"Ginger! They're gone already!" exclaimed the dumbfounded Mr. Pickton, and took to his heels.
From a corner drug store in an adjacent street he telephoned the news to Soapy Gaines. The latter, no less surprised than Pickton, vented his disgust and displeasure by applying to the Auto Boys a comprehensive variety of names. One would have supposed they had done him some personal injury; at least that they had been bound by every sort of moral obligation to have notified Mr. Gaines and his friends of their intended departure.
Within a half hour Pickton and Freddy Perth were frantically working over Gaines' Roadster while that young gentleman rushed rather foolishly and very excitedly about the carriage house in which the machine was kept. (Mr. Gaines, Sr., had not yet relinquished horses.) Soapy's principal purpose, indeed, seemed to be that of getting himself in the way. In any event, he succeeded so well that young Mr. Perth, hastening to the tank with a heavy can of gasoline, collided with him violently and both rolled upon the concrete floor, the gasoline gurgling over them as if it laughed a deep, deep, solemn laugh.