“Perfectly!”
“I haven’t heard a sound from her that shouldn’t be there.”
“Nor I.”
“All right, Stan! Keep steady! You’ll make it!” reassured Clay Varron. “Hello! That was Burnham!” he added, as a car swept close to them, so that it seemed as if there had been a deliberate attempt at collision. “The man must be crazy!”
Burnham had driven his long, snaky Columbiad so close that Stanley had been obliged to swerve, giving his rival a hundred yards advantage, at least, before the Thunderbolt could recover.
It was a reckless thing to do. If Stanley Downs had not been a splendid driver, he might not have got out of the way in time. But Burnham had figured on that. He knew Stanley was on the alert, and it was worth a little risk to get that much ahead, he thought.
“You’ve got to make up that gap, Stan!” shouted Varron.
Stanley Downs did not trouble to answer. But he let in a little more gas, and his machine jumped forward in response.
“Ah!” chuckled Varron. “That’ll do it. I don’t believe——What’s that?”
A soft crack had reached his ears. It was underneath the car!