“It’s just seven o’clock, Jared,” said Rob, “you’ll have plenty of time.”
“Confusion,” muttered another voice in the rig, that of the strange young man who now appeared to be Jared’s shadow. “It’s those Boy Scouts.”
Jared picked up his whip and aimed a vicious slash into the darkness. It is not likely that he had any hope of striking one of the lads he disliked so much, but he intended it probably just to show his hatred of them in a graphic manner. The next instant the same whip cracked over the flanks of his horse and the buggy dashed off into the gathering gloom.
“Whew!” whistled Rob, “so Jared is going to beat a retreat, eh?”
“Looks like it. I saw a suit case strapped on the back of that rig.”
“We ought to stop him.”
“How? By what right? What excuse could we offer?”
“That’s so; but just the same it looks as if he’s going to give Mr. Mainwaring the slip and join those plotters some place.”
“It certainly does,” admitted Merritt. “I guess we ought to call up Mr. Mainwaring and ask him if there is anything we can do.”
“That’s a good idea, Merritt. At any rate, having done that, we shall have performed our duty.”