Cricket started, and Patsy walked at his side, still keeping a grip on the comealongs.
The hired man and the dog were just crawling out of the corn crib, and the farmer had mustered up courage to open the door of the house a couple of inches, as the detective passed by with his prisoner.
A feeble plot darted through Cricket’s mind.
“I say,” he shouted, “this man is a highway robber, and he chased me here. Go for him, will you? Help me get away from him!”
“Yeou be derned,” drawled the farmer. “A feller that ’u’d scare honest folks like you did ought tew be robbed.”
“Got anything else you want to tell ’em?” queried Patsy.
Cricket gave a black scowl, and turned away.
“Then it’s us back to the auto,” went on the detective, and marched his prisoner back through the woods to the road.
The two machines were standing side by side, as they had been left, and there was no one around or in them.
“It looks as though I’d make a record for bringing in the first man,” remarked Patsy. “Hello! What’s that?”