“Oh, now, cut it out, I tell you. I don’t mind a joke——”
“A joke?” broke in the highly mystified Blake.
“Yes; a joke! You understand English, I s’pose?”
“No; not this new brand of yours,” murmured Charlie.
“See here, Tom”—Bob Somers laid a hand on the other’s shoulder—“let’s get at this thing. How did you come here?”
“In the motor car, of course.”
“And where are Dave and Victor?”
“Now look here, Bob,” cried Tom, hotly, “you and Charlie know—I don’t. They helped you pull off this little trick and——”
“Great Cæsar! What kind of a mix-up is this?” cried Bob, a glimmer of the true state of affairs entering his brain at last. “So you came here alone?”
“A constable was in the car part way,” said Tom, loftily. “I let ’er out a bit, Bob. And talk ’bout whizzing! Why, all the telegraph poles seemed to be melted into one—honest fact, they did. Now tell me what has become of Dave?”