The door leading into the back yard, as they had already discovered, was unlocked. The rear premises were enclosed by a high board fence, and the beacons that capped the neighboring chimneys lighted the enclosure sufficiently so that the lantern was not needed.
There was a very perceptible odor of gasolene in the back yard. The moment Carl sniffed it, he gave vent to a stifled yell and grabbed the policeman's arm with both hands.
"What's to pay now?" demanded the policeman.
"Der air-ship!" gasped Carl.
The officer threw a startled look at the sky.
"No, no, it ain'd oop dere," went on Carl. "It vas in dis pack yardt—yah, so helup me! Der gasolene used in der modor make der shmell. Don'd you ondershtand? Dey filled der tank here, und shpilled some oof der gasolene! Dose fellers haf run off from dis blace mit Matt, und dey have dook him along. Ach, himmelblitzen, vat a luck!"
[CHAPTER VII.]
JERROLD, BRADY'S RIVAL.
"Thunder!" cried the policeman, catching the Dutch boy's drift, "you're right, as sure as my name is Sam Harris! Your friend went off in that air-ship."