“Yep.”
“Hear about the robbery of the postoffice there before you started?”
“No!” cried Billy. “Last night?”
“Yes. Cleaned it out. Three or four thousand dollars’ worth of stamps, registered mail, and thirteen hundred dollars in cash. Nice little haul for some band of robbers,” said the hostler.
He went away and Dan and Billy stared at each other for a moment. Billy put his thoughts in words first:
“The maroon car stood in that bridge over the Farmingdale River last night, when we came through. No honest car would have hidden there.”
“Where is Mr. Briggs and the real forty-one car?” demanded Dan.
“Oh, Dan! that couldn’t have been him who drove by us so fast this morning.”
“And scratched number thirty-seven, too,” said Dan.
“It’s the other maroon car,” declared Billy, excitedly. “It’s the bank robbers.”