Less than five minutes later the approaching automobile swept into view.
The boys felt rather uneasy when they saw it, for they knew it instantly
to be the identical yellow machine used by Mr. Peregrine’s enemies. Nor
was their alarm at all allayed by the fact that the front seat was
occupied by two men whom they well knew had no good intentions toward
the inventor.
Worse still, the model and the accompanying papers of explanation were
exposed to full view in the tonneau in case the men should stop and make
an investigation. Tom made a move to cover the box containing the
precious bit of apparatus, but Jack checked him. He knew that their only
chance of escaping interference from the men now approaching them was to
act as if they were merely out on a pleasure jaunt.
He counseled both Tom and Ralph to appear composed.
“There’s a chance that they won’t bother us at all,” he said, “although
it does look as if they must have followed us from Pokeville.”
“How could they know which road we took,” asked Tom, “if that was the
case?”
“Easy enough to trail our peculiar-looking tires,” was Jack’s reply.
He spoke in a low voice, though, for at that moment the yellow auto
rolled up alongside and, as Jack had feared, the red-bearded man, who
was driving, brought his machine to a standstill beside the boys’ Flying
Road Racer.
“Well, once more we meet,” said he, as he shut off the gas and the
spark; “out on a trip?”
The man did not have his goggles on this time, and now that his face was
exposed Jack saw that it was a mean and crafty one. Two small eyes, set
close together and gleaming brightly, seemed to search the lad’s heart
as they were fixed on him.
Jack thought it best, however, not to let his suspicions appear on the
surface. So he answered calmly enough:
“Yes, we are out for a short run through the country. We are thinking of
turning back now, though.”
“Is that so?” was the rejoinder. “Well, we are going on. Got a bit of
wire you can let us have? The insulation on one of ours is worn
through.”
“I think we can spare you a piece,” said Jack, thinking that this would
be a good way to get rid of the men. He rummaged in the tool box and
soon produced what was wanted. The red-bearded man thanked him and,
having adjusted his engine, he and his companion drove off.
“Well, what do you make of that?” exclaimed Jack, in some wonderment;
“the fellow was just as cool as if we hadn’t chased him across Mr.
Peregrine’s estate yesterday.”
“I’m glad you didn’t refer to that,” said Tom; “it might have made
trouble; and our first duty now is to get the model safely to Boston. We
can settle up accounts with those chaps later. By the way, I guess it
was a mere accident—their meeting us here.”
Jack looked rather perplexed.
“I don’t know exactly,” he said, with a dubious shake of the head, “and
yet they didn’t seem to have any idea that we were on an important
mission.”
“Unless they were foxy enough to cover up anything they knew about our
having the model right here with us,” said Tom.
“At any rate, it will be best to wait here a while and let them get on
ahead a good ways,” decided Jack; “the further off from those chaps we
are the better content I am.”
“That’s so,” agreed Tom; “after all, if we get into Boston before dark
it will be plenty of time. I do wish we hadn’t run across those fellows,
though—or rather, that they hadn’t run across us. It’s made me feel
rather uncomfortable.”
In accordance with Jack’s plan the three boys lingered on the woodland
road for an hour or more, by which time they judged that the men would
have got a good distance ahead. Then they resumed their journey. A short
time later they passed through Compton and learned there that the yellow
auto had passed through about an hour before.
“Looks as if they were going to Boston, too,” said Jack; “well, there’s
one good thing, we know that they are ahead of us and not sneaking about
trying to put up any tricks.”
As he had no wish to overtake the yellow car. Jack drove pretty slowly
after they passed through Compton, which was set in the midst of quite a
wild section of country, thickly wooded and hilly. The roads were fairly
good, however, and the journey was without incident till suddenly, at a
spot where a rough-looking track branched off from the main road, they
were confronted by a sign:
“DANGER! ROAD CLOSED FOR REPAIRS.”
Underneath, in smaller letters, were the words, “Take This Road,” with a
rudely painted hand pointing toward the wood road.
“That’s odd,” commented Jack, as he stopped the machine; “they didn’t
say anything to us in Compton about the main road being closed.”
“It is queer, certainly,” mused Tom, who had got out of the car and was
examining the sign; “and, see here, Jack, the paint on this is quite
wet.”
“I wonder if this can be some trick,” pondered Jack seriously; “and yet
if it isn’t, we might get into serious difficulties by sticking to the
main road.”
He got out of the car and joined Tom on the roadside. An examination of
the wood road followed. It was even rougher at a closer view than it had
appeared to be at first. It was grass-grown, too, and evidently but
little used. But Jack’s quick eyes soon noted something.
An automobile had been along it. The fresh tracks were plainly
discernible.
“The yellow auto took the wood road,” he decided; “maybe we are wrong in
suspecting a trick, after all. Tell you what we’ll do, Tom, we’ll
explore the main road a bit, and if we find it torn up further along
we’ll take the wood road.”
“That’s a good idea,” agreed Tom, “but we don’t want to leave the Flying
Road Racer unguarded.”
“No, that’s right,” said Jack; “Ralph could remain on guard while we
went ahead on foot a ways. If you hear or see anything suspicious just
shout to us, Ralph,” he enjoined, as he and Tom struck off down the main
road to investigate. Just beyond where the sign that had stopped them
was nailed up the road took a sharp turn, and bushes grew right down to
the sides of the track.
Thus, a few steps took them out of sight of the Flying Road Racer and
Ralph, who was quite proud of the trust reposed in him. They trudged on
for a few hundred yards, but there was no sign that anything was the
matter with the road.
“It’s just as I thought,” said Jack, “it’s a trick. We ought never to
have left the machine back there. We——”
“Help!”
A shrill boyish cry of fear and alarm was borne to their ears from
behind.
“It’s Ralph! Come on, Tom! Run as you never ran before!” shouted Jack,
dashing off in the direction of the cries.
The boys ran fast; but when they arrived panting at the side of the
Flying Road Racer there was no one there. Ralph had vanished as utterly
as if the earth had swallowed him up, and the boys quickly realized
another disastrous fact.
One look into the tonneau showed them that the model had been taken. The
lads, although they knew it was useless, searched the adjoining bushes
and woods for a trace of Ralph, and wakened the echoes with their
shouts. But no trace of the boy or the model could be found. Indeed,
they had not really expected success.
It was a bitter moment when, standing by the sign that had worked all
this havoc, the two lads looked in each other’s faces and admitted that
they had been tricked. Worse still, although they were certain that the
men in the yellow auto had done this thing, they had not the slightest
clue as to where they had vanished with Ralph and the model.
Jack felt his heart sink. Tom’s face bore a look of utter dejection.
What would Mr. Peregrine say? It did not make the burden any the lighter
to realize that in a measure the fact that they had left the Flying Road
Racer practically alone was responsible for their disaster.