Both boys leaped into the car, and as they chugged off Tom asked Jack if he had heard anything of the cause of the attack on Mr. Dancer.
“He said something about ‘papers’ when he regained consciousness,” rejoined Jack, “but I didn’t question him further.”
“Gollygumption, ef you boys ain’t allers in some sort of conniption fits,” sputtered Jupe; “what’s de conflaggerationous matter now?”
“Just this, Jupe, that by chance we met Mr. Dancer, an inventor. A short time after, he was brutally attacked by that man ahead of us on the motorcycle. The man also stole some papers. We must catch him if possible.”
“We cotch him or bust up dis yar Red Raben!” declared Jupe, using the odd name he had devised for the small but speedy red runabout.
The car roared and swayed as Jupe “opened it up.” It sprang forward with a jump like that of a live thing.
The man on the motorcycle glanced back over his shoulder. He saw that the fast little automobile was overhauling him, and instantly speeded up his machine.
It was a grim race and promised to be a long one, for the motorcycle appeared to be a speedy one, and Duke apparently intended to spare no efforts to escape.