“Well, don’t you know anything about his habits? Does he live near his workshops?”
“As I said before, I don’t really know much about Mr. Peregrine,” replied Jack, wondering more and more what could be the object of all these questions.
“Then you haven’t heard anything about a new invention of his? Something he is designing for the government?”
It was on the tip of Jack’s tongue to say that they were going over to Pokeville the very next day in connection with this identical thing; but some instinct checked him. He could not have told why for the life of him, but somehow he mistrusted these two men in the yellow auto. So in reply he merely shook his head.
“Well, we’ve got to be getting on,” said the red-bearded one, as the rain came down harder than ever; “many thanks for your help, and good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” responded both boys, and the yellow auto chugged off down the road through the rain.
A minute later Jack started his machine, and whizzed along after them. But badly as the yellow auto had behaved in the mud, it proved a flyer on the road. It maintained its lead, its occupants from time to time turning their heads and looking back at the two lads in the Flying Road Racer. As the boys turned into the gate of High Towers the yellow car was still speeding through the downpour, as if it were on very urgent business indeed.
“What do you think of those chaps?” asked Tom, as they sped up the driveway.
“I hardly know what to say,” said Jack; “they may be just two tourists going through the country, as they implied, or they may be—something quite different. I don’t know why, but I didn’t half like that red-whiskered chap.”
“Nor did I,” was the prompt rejoinder.