CHAPTER III.
An Enemy by Chance.
FRANTICALLY, Stanley Downs searched all over the interior of the big car. It did not seem to be much damaged, although it was soaked with water and showed mud where it had struck the bottom of the lake.
There were no signs of the packet of money. The door pocket seemed to have been wrenched open, and it was easy to imagine that the money might have slipped out as the machine tumbled over.
For a few moments Stanley could hardly realize the full extent of his misfortune. He soon made sure that the package was not lying anywhere in the car. Karl, too, searched carefully, without result.
“Get the car to the road as soon as you can, Karl,” directed Stanley, forcing himself to speak calmly. “Then run it into the garage and overhaul it. We shall probably go on to New York to-day.”
“Very well, sir.”
“How about the other car, the Fanchon? Are they going to get it up without much trouble?”
“I think so,” replied Karl. “But it was underneath our car, and it may take all day. I’m afraid there isn’t much left of the Fanchon. Bits of it are floating on the water. You can see some of the wooden spokes of the wheels, and one of the mud guards came up on the grappling irons a while ago.”
“My poor car!” exclaimed a sweet voice behind them. “You really think it is done for, then?”