"Hey, there, quick!" called the sheriff. "He's got away!"
But Mr. Hand had already thought what was best to be done.
"Come on, here's another machine. We'll chase him!" he cried, as he went for the white motorcar, standing farther back under the trees. It had to be cranked, which required some seconds, but presently they were off—Hand and the sheriff, in hot pursuit after Straker's car.
Chamberlain and Aleck, triumphantly leading the horse, came back in time to see the settling cloud of dust.
"Mr. Chamberlain—Mr. Van Camp!" cried Agatha. "They've gone! They've got away!"
"Who's got away?" demanded Chamberlain.
"All of them!" groaned Agatha, as she sank down on the piazza steps.
"Jimminy Christmas!" ejaculated Mr. Straker. "This beats any ten-twenty-thirty I ever saw. Regular Dick Deadwood game! And he's run off with my new racer!"
"What!" yelled Chamberlain. "Did that bloomin' sheriff let that bloomin' rascal get away?"
"He isn't anybody I'd care to keep!" chuckled Straker. "But you know that new racer's worth something."