CHAPTER V.
A MIDNIGHT AUTO DASH.
The auto, a fast and heavy machine, plunged along through the night at a great rate. Its bright searchlight cast a brilliant circle of radiance far ahead into the darkness. Occasionally frightened birds could be seen flying out of the inky hedges, falling bewildered in the path of the white glare.
It was exhilarating, blood-stirring work, all the more keenly delightful from the sense of adventure with which it was spiced.
Rob was at the wheel, steering straight and steady. He knew the road well. Part of it had been the scene of that thrilling night ride described in The Boy Scouts and the Army Airship, when the boys had overtaken the two thieves who had stolen the aeroplane documents. On that occasion, it will be recalled, an accident had been narrowly averted by a soul-stirring hair’s breadth, as a train dashed across the tracks.
Rob’s three companions sat back in the tonneau and conversed in low tones. Only the irrepressible Tubby was not duly impressed with the momentousness of the occasion. From time to time a snicker of laughter showed that he was cracking jokes in the same old way.
“Say,” he remarked, as they bumped across the railroad tracks, “even if we do find out where these fellows are, I don’t know just what we’re going to do with them at this time of night. Reminds me——”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Tubby,” groaned Merritt.
“Let him go ahead,” struck in Hiram, “the sooner he blows off all his steam the sooner he’ll shut up for good.”
“Reminds me,” went on the unruffled Tubby, “of what a little girl said to her mother when the kid asked her what sardines were. The mother explained that they were small fish that big ones ate. Then the little girl wanted to know how the big fish got them out of the tins.”
There was a deathly silence, broken only by a low groan from Merritt.