"You are more of an idiot than I thought you," said the girl, impatiently; "all our work has gone for nothing."
"No; there is time yet. If only Eccles and that other chap hadn't decamped like that last night, we might have put them to work to-night."
"They decamped—as you call it—because your father wouldn't give them any more money," said Regina with flashing eyes, "that was inexcusable folly. They know too many of our secrets to allow them to wander about unwatched."
"Oh, two tramps like that wouldn't have the sense to make any use of what they know," rejoined Fanning easily, "besides——"
But Regina Mortlake's mind was busy on another tack.
"Isn't it against the rules for women or girls to drive machines in this contest?" she asked.
"Say!" Fanning's eyes glistened, "I guess it is. Let's find out. If Peggy Prescott is going to drive that machine we may be able to head them off yet."
The two conspirators hastened across the field to the unpainted wooden shack that housed the committee. A crowd surged about it asking questions and demanding impossible things. It was some time before Fanning, elbowing people right and left as he was, could reach the front. He scanned a printed list of the entries for the contest hung on the wall. As he read it he blamed himself bitterly for not looking at it the day before. Near the bottom was the name "Nameless, entrant Miss Margaret Prescott."
Suddenly the disgruntled youth spied Lieut. Bradbury.
"A moment," he cried. As the young officer turned, Fanning, without a word of greeting, bellowed out: