“I think so,” returned Nick, musingly.
He was “up a stump,” so to speak.
Something was wrong, for this Chicago information did not jibe with his own deductions—and he was ready to bank on his deductions.
“What in Sam Hill are you running that machine for?” queried the curious chief.
“Following out a theory,” returned Nick. Then he suddenly aroused himself. “We may be watched from the house,” said he, “and you hadn’t ought to hang around long.”
“I’m ready to go now.”
“Wait. I’m expecting two of my assistants from New York—Chick and Patsy. It’s ten to one that I’ll be bowling along through the country in this machine before many hours have passed, and I want Chick and Patsy to follow in another auto.”
“Where’ll they get the auto?”
“There’s one, subject to my order, in the Central House stable—a machine belonging to Mr. Clarkson, one of the directors of the People’s National Bank.”
“I know the machine well. Clarkson has been hauled up half a dozen times for exceeding the speed limit.”