"No, I guess there isn't. We'll keep on."
Again the two plunged forward along the muddy road. They blessed their lucky stars that had given them the forethought to put on rubber boots and coats before venturing around and into the old house.
Tom, also, was glad he had equipped his car with those heavy and peculiarly marked tires, for they were very easy to follow, even under the adverse circumstances of rain and darkness.
In spite of the fact that the noise of the storm would seem to preclude their hearing any sound made by the car ahead of them, Tom and Ned stopped several more times and listened for any faint echo of a motor ahead of them. But they heard nothing.
"Maybe I'm wrong, Ned," said Tom, after a while, pausing at a sandy stretch in the road, where the wheel marks were very plain, "but doesn't it strike you that these tire impressions are fresher than they have been for some time back?"
"Fresher? Anybody would think we were trailing an elephant or some wild animal."
"Well, we are, in a way. But you see the rain has the effect of washing out the marks after a certain time. Now these marks here are sharp and fresh."
"Yes, I admit it," said Ned. "But what of it?"
"Well," and Tom's voice had a note of triumph in it, "to me this means that my House has passed here within a short time—minutes I should say—otherwise the hard rain would have washed down some of the tire ridges."
"Tom, you're right!" cried Ned. "She ought to be close now."