"Is this Mr. Golden?" came the voice over the wire.
"Yes, yes," he replied eagerly, "Who is talking?"
"This is Switzer."
"Oh, yes, Mr. Switzer. Any news?"
"Nothing much, but Joe has just come in and says that a big car just went over the bridge at about forty miles an hour. He shouted to them to stop, but they paid no attention, except to turn on more speed, and they were going so fast that he couldn't stop them nor get their number. But he's started off in his car and is going to try to follow 'em, but I'm afraid it's not much use."
Switzer was chief of police of Skowhegan.
"Well, let me know at once if you hear anything," said Mr. Golden as he hung up the receiver. Then he told the rest what he had heard, adding, "There's no telling which way they are heading, even if it were they, which, of course, is not at all sure."
The hours dragged slowly on. From time to time the phone rang, but it was always the same; no other clue had been found.
"If he is not found by eight o'clock," said Mr. Golden, "I shall telegraph to Boston for a detective."
Meanwhile, what of the missing boy? The car, into which he had been thrust, started off at high speed, and although he tried his best to keep track of its direction, it was impossible, and in less than ten minutes he had lost all idea as to which way they were going. He was unable to speak, owing to the gag in his mouth, and not a word was uttered by either of the men as the car rushed on through the night. They had been traveling for, what seemed to Bob, nearly two hours, and his bonds were cutting his wrists cruelly, when suddenly the car slowed up and the character of the road changed. From its roughness and the slow pace at which they were now moving he judged that they must be passing over a woods road. After proceeding in this manner for perhaps twenty minutes, the car stopped and for the first time, the man at the wheel spoke.