“The owner of the manufacturing plant was in it,” said Barney, very soberly and sadly. “Mr. Tredway was flying it himself. He wanted to deliver it in person—for a reason.”
“For a reason?” Bob repeated, inquiringly.
“Yes,” said Barney. “There is a mystery behind that crack-up—it’s more likely it’s a ‘washout.’ Anyhow, there is something behind the smash, and—I’ve heard there is a private detective, a Mr. Wright, at Forty-one Elm. If you can tell me the quickest way to get there, I’ll appreciate it. I want to consult him—on this case.”
Bob, Curt and Al stared.
“That’s father!” said Al.
“Indeed! Then I am glad I offered you a ‘lift.’”
They directed him, and eventually he drew up the car before the neat, cozy cottage. Curtis, accepting the invitation to stay for their somewhat belated breakfast, sat, with Bob and Al, in the cheerful breakfast room, finishing up a stack of pancakes thickly syruped, when Bob was sent for.
Returning, after a few minutes, he showed his younger brother and his best friend a face of elation.
“There is a mystery, all righty,” he declared. “And you’re to come with me——”
“Why?” asked Curt.