“The police said they had a dragnet out in every part of the vicinity,” volunteered Hal Homer, who had returned only a few minutes before from the station house.
Bang!
A bomb had been shot skyward and now exploded in a cloud of yellow smoke.
“Three minutes to starting time,” cried Hal Homer anxiously; “where can Miss Prescott be?”
“Look!” cried Jess suddenly, dancing about. “Oh, Glory! Here she comes!”
Far off against the sky a speck was visible. Rushing toward them at tremendous speed it swiftly grew larger. The crowd saw it now and great excitement prevailed. The word flew about that the machine was the missing Number Six. Would it arrive in time to participate in the start and thus qualify? This was the question on every lip.
Hal Homer jumped into the auto and sped over to the judge’s stand.
“Can’t you delay the start for five minutes?” he begged.
“Impossible,” was the reply.
“But that aeroplane, Number Six, has been delayed by some accident. If you start the race on time it may not arrive in time to take part.”