“As it came over the top of that hill yonder. I propose that we drive along the road and see if we can’t pick up some clue to the mystery.”
“An excellent idea. If, as you say, the car can’t have come far, we ought soon to encounter something that will put us in possession of some knowledge of what has happened. Suppose you drive your Flying Road Racer, as you call it. I’ll follow in this yellow machine.”
“Very well,” agreed Tom, who knew that the lawyer could drive and had a car of his own, for Mr. Bowler, in chatting with Tom, had informed the boy of this fact.
Tom walked back to the Flying Road Racer, while the lawyer got into the yellow car and turned it around with a dexterity that showed he was no greenhorn at driving an auto. Tom in the lead drove slowly, keeping his eyes wide open.
“You watch the right-hand side of the road. I’ll watch the left,” he shouted back to Mr. Bowler.
“Very well,” was the lawyer’s reply, and in this way the two autos rolled slowly along the road and over the brow of the hill, over which the yellow car of mystery had appeared. Beyond the rise the road took a dip, but was quite straight.
At the bottom of the dip was a bridge spanning a small creek. The road at each side of the bridge was sandy and soft, and the autos puffed rather heavily through it. All at once Tom checked the Flying Road Racer; he then raised his hand above his head to signal Mr. Bowler to stop the yellow car also.
“Have you found something?” asked the lawyer eagerly, as he applied the brakes and cut off power.
“Yes. Look here in the sand at the side of the road. There are footmarks and—yes, by ginger!—there’s been a struggle of some kind here, Mr. Bowler.”
“Let us get out and examine the footprints more carefully,” suggested the lawyer.