“Yes, sir; that’s it,” admitted Dan, with a broad smile.
“Jump aboard, then,” said Mr. Briggs. “If Henri wants you to show him how to properly handle a six-cylinder Postlethwaite, why you may do so.”
The Frenchman’s little, waxed mustache shot up toward his eyebrows in a smile, and he slid over and allowed Dan to take the steering wheel of the motor car. The boy laid his axe on the footboard and turned down his lantern and put that in a secure place, too. Then, with a hand on the gear lever and another on the wheel, and his foot on the clutch pedal, he brought the beautiful car into motion as easily as Henri himself could have turned the trick.
“You are going to make one fine chauffeur,” whispered Henri, in Dan’s ear. “That was magnificent!”
There was nobody else on the road. They came down into Riverdale as swiftly—and almost as silently—as a cloud shadow chasing across a wheat-field. The town street lights were quickly in view. They came within sight of Peckham’s Corner, just above the Court House.
And there—right in the roadway—suddenly flashed a lantern. It gyrated curiously, as though the bearer of the lamp was dancing from side to side. And those in the car heard a raucous voice shouting.
“What’s the matter here?” demanded Mr. Briggs, as Dan began to reduce speed.
“Look out, Speedwell!” warned Mr. Armitage. “There’s a rope stretched across the road.”
“It’s right at Josiah Somes’ house,” exclaimed Dan.
“Is that fellow going to hold us up?” demanded Briggs.