A turn in the road brought them into the outskirts of a village. The road itself formed the main street of the place, and while the boys were jogging at a very leisurely gait toward the huddle of store buildings, a man in a flannel shirt and with his trousers tucked in his boot tops, jumped across the road, dragging a rattling chain behind him.
One end of the chain was fastened to a tree, and before the battered car reached the man, the other end had been similarly secured.
“Sufferin’ blockades!” cried McGlory, as Matt shut off the power and put on the brake. “What’s the matter with that Rube?”
The man who had manipulated the chain advanced upon the boys from his side of the road, a badge of authority in the form of a tin star. At the same moment, another man descended upon the car from the opposite side of the pike.
“This looks as though it might prove interesting,” muttered Matt. “What do you want?” he called to the man with the star.
“My name’s Hawkins,” snapped the officer, “and I’m town constable. You two fellers are pinched.”
“Pinched?” echoed McGlory. “Why, neighbor, we weren’t going eight miles an hour.”
“I don’t keer a blame how fast ye was goin’,” proceeded the constable aggressively. “That ain’t why ye’re arrested. Got a telephone message from the old Higbee place, sayin’ as how two fellers, answerin’ your description, had stole a motor car. Hiram an’ me’ll jest git in an’ ride with ye to the lockup.”
Telephone! The motor boys had entirely forgotten that modern, everyday convenience.
They had been trapped in Leeville—and a telephone message had turned the trick!