“Yes, sir; I seen the paper myself at the hotel. He was a first-class crook, and he left Chicago this morning early in one of the flying machines at the park, where they have been giving exhibitions. They telegraphed it all over the country when it was found out. I reckon he’s the smartest crook in the world. The paper says ‘he eluded his captors just as they were about to apprehend him; dashed through the hotel door and jumped in a taxi. At the park he showed a forged letter signed Peter Van Vechten, one of the aeroplanists, permitting him the use of one of the aeroplanes for practice before the exhibition, and in five minutes he was gone like a bird on the wing. It was only a little while later that the guardians at the parks found out their mistake. Whether he is still flying over the country or has lighted in some safe place, no one knows. So far there is no trace of him whatever.’”
Strange were the sensations of the Motor Maids and Miss Campbell as they listened to this remarkable tale.
The tank was filled, and Billie, after asking for the right road, started the machine. It was a silent and rather sad company.
They had traveled more than a hundred miles that day because it had been their object to leave the Middle West behind them as soon as possible, for the more romantic regions beyond.
At last Miss Campbell burst out:
“I don’t believe it. That nice brown-eyed boy!”
“Neither do we,” echoed the others. “It’s impossible.”
This somewhat relieved their feelings, and when they reached the town where they had planned to spend the night they were talking cheerfully.
While they were freshening up for supper half an hour later, Miss Campbell felt in her black silk reticule for her purse, Billie having paid all bills that day with the ready change with which she had provided herself.
“My dears,” gasped the poor little lady, “where is it?”