“But it is. I’ve searched the field thoroughly in the vicinity of the car, and I can’t find a single trace of it.”
“It couldn’t have been stolen.”
It was Peggy who spoke.
Roy thought a moment. All at once the recollection of Fanning Harding’s queer actions when they had seen him on the road below them flashed into his mind. The road, as he had observed, led past the scene of the accident.
Would it have been possible for Fanning to enter the field while they lay unconscious there? After an instant’s figuring Roy had to dismiss the idea. Had such been the case, the son of the banker would have been much further off when they observed him from the aeroplane than he had been. The speed he was making would have carried him far from the wrecked auto had he been near it at the time the accident occurred.
What, then, could have become of the jewel case?
“It must be here,” exclaimed Roy, positively; “nobody could have taken it.”
While Dr. Mays bent over Jess and examined her injured ankle the others searched the field in every reasonable direction. But not a trace of the jewel case could they find.
All at once, the noise of a horse’s hoofs coming at a rapid trot was heard from the road. Roy, thinking it might be some one of whom he might make inquiries, hastened to the hedge and peered over. He saw, coming toward him, a disreputable-looking old ramshackle rig, driven by a red-haired man of big frame who was slouchily dressed. His chin had once been shaven, but now the hair stood out on it like bristles on an old tooth brush. By the side of this individual was seated none other than the immaculate Fanning Harding, in his motor-cycling clothes.
“Why, that’s Gid Gibbons, the most disreputable character about here,” exclaimed Roy, in amazement. “What can Fan Harding be doing with him?”