Mr. Golden's car was a big roomy Lozier, and by six o'clock they were off. They took the chauffeur with them, although the boys, taking turns, drove the greater part of the way. They reached Portland by eleven o'clock, and stopped there for dinner. When nearly to Waterville, about twenty-five miles from the cottage, a tire blew out, but as this was their only mishap, they did not complain, and a new one was quickly substituted. The run up from the latter city was made in a little over an hour, and they reached the cottage shortly after six o'clock. The boys were greeted as heroes by their parents and the girls, and there was great rejoicing over their safe return, old Mike coming in for his share, the tears fairly rolling down his cheeks as he grasped their hands saying:
"Begorra and I always did say you byes had more lives nor a cat, and all ways were sure to land on your fate."
While eating supper, Bob and Jack in turn, gave a full account of their adventures, except that they said nothing about being so nearly killed by gas, and their mother's face paled as she realized how nearly she had lost one, if not both of her boys. When they had finished, their father said:
"We must keep a sharp lookout for those rascals, although I hardly think they will dare to show up here again."
"Say, dad," asked Jack, "where's that detective?"
"We haven't seen or heard from him since you left," answered his father.
Uncle Ben agreed with his brother that the boys should be very careful, saying:
"There's been a lot in the papers about those fellows, that is if they're the ones we think they are, and they have a reputation for daring that has seldom been equaled."
"Well," remarked Bob, "I hope they keep away, as I've had all of their company that I care about for a while at least."
"Same here," agreed Jack, "but I say, it's mighty funny what's got that Sharp detective."