“And you could find no trace of him?”
It was the next morning in Mr. Bowler’s office, and that man of the law
was seated at his desk with Tom Jesson beside him. Tom had just finished
telling of the events of the preceding night. The lad was pale and his
eyes were red from lack of sleep, but there was a ring of determination
in his voice as he replied to Mr. Bowler’s query.
“I’ve told you all there is to tell, sir; but if Jack Chadwick’s on top
of the earth I’m not going to give up the search till he is found.”
“That’s the right spirit, my lad,” commented Mr. Bowler, “but at the
same time we appear to be up against a stone wall. The last you saw of
him was when he vanished into that house. There is no question in my
mind but that the men who have harassed you seized him to save
themselves from the police. But the question is, what have they done
with him?”
“That’s just it,” said Tom despairingly, “there isn’t a single clue to
go upon. As you say, we’ve run into a stone wall. But knowing Jack as I
do, I’m sure that we’ll get track of him again somehow.”
But the lawyer did not appear so hopeful.
“This gang, or rather the agents of the rich men who are trying to
secure this invention, appear to have a far better organized and
desperate plan of campaign than we imagined,” he said; “however, I will
engage detectives and, in the meantime, we must notify Mr. Peregrine.
The news can be kept from him no longer.”
Tom agreed to this, although he knew that the inventor would be driven
almost frantic by the news that his vanishing gun model was in the hands
of his enemies.
“Now, while I get Mr. Peregrine on the long-distance ’phone,” said the
lawyer, “suppose you go over to the garage where you left your machine
and bring it around here. We have a lot of ground to cover if we are to
get on the track of those rascals, and that will be the quickest way to
get about.”
And so it was arranged. While the lawyer got into communication with the
inventor Tom fetched the Flying Road Racer around from the garage where
they had left it. He found Mr. Bowler waiting for him with the
information that Mr. Peregrine had taken the news of his loss more
calmly than he had expected.
“By the way,” he went on, “Mr. Peregrine informed me also of something
that you should know. It appears that your young friend, Ralph
Ingersoll, is being eagerly sought for by the circus men from whom you
took him. They seem to have some strong reason for wishing to get him
back, and even went to the length of offering a large sum for his
recovery, which Mr. Jesson of course refused. He told them, so he
informs me, that if they had a legal right to the boy they could obtain
his custody through the proper channels.”
“I doubt if they could find him through any channels now,” said Tom,
with a grim smile that ended in a sigh as he thought how Jack, too, was
now mysteriously missing.
Mr. Bowler, who knew quite a good deal about autos, tried to divert
Tom’s mind from his troubles during the ride to police headquarters by
discussing the points of the Flying Road Racer with the young inventor.
But Tom only replied listlessly. His thoughts were centered on his
missing chum and cousin.
There was no news of the yellow auto or of its two operators at police
headquarters. This hardly surprised Tom, who had concluded that such
clever rascals as Rook and Radcliff had shown themselves to be, would
surely have had sense enough to cover up their tracks.
As they were leaving the building one of the two policemen who had
helped Tom in his search the night before was coming in. He stopped Tom
and spoke to him.
“Here’s a funny thing,” he said; “you know that house next door to the
one where your friend vanished? Well, it burned down last night. The
flames swept right through it from cellar to garret. Left nothing but
the brick shell.”
This news did not particularly interest Tom. He had no idea that Jack
had been left behind in the burning building by his captors and,
therefore, had no reason to be concerned in the matter.
“It is an odd coincidence,” he said, in reply, as he passed on; “I’m
glad we made sure that my cousin wasn’t in the place or I’d be worried.”
“Well, I hope you find him soon,” rejoined the other; “you can depend on
it, that if he’s in Boston we’ll get a line on him somehow.”
Although Tom was by no means so sure of this, he thanked the bluecoat,
and presently was seated in the Flying Road Racer once more with Mr.
Bowler beside him.
“Too bad,” said the lawyer, “although I really hadn’t much expectation
that we’d learn anything new. These men we are pitted against are much
slicker and smarter than we thought.”
“Do you think that the red-bearded man and his companion are the
principals in this thing?” asked Tom, as the machine moved off.
“No; they are simply the tools of a powerful syndicate in New York,
composed of wealthy but unscrupulous men, who are far too cunning to
undertake the actual rascality. The thing that is bothering me is—are
they still in Boston or have they left with the stolen model?”
“And what bothers me,” said Tom, rather sharply, “is what has become of
my chum?”
The lawyer looked at the boy beside him. When first he had met Jack and
Tom, under circumstances of which we know, he had felt rather inclined
to despise them for the way in which they had let the precious box slip
out of their custody. He had undergone a change of feeling, though,
since he had seen that both boys were as keen-witted and resourceful as
their foes were unscrupulous and rascally.
“There, there, Tom,” he said kindly, “don’t mind me, and don’t feel
annoyed because I seemed for a minute to think more of that box than of
your cousin. I tell you what we’ll do,” he went on; “there’s nothing
like a good spin along a country road to clear one’s head and enable one
to do some stiff thinking. Suppose we take a little run out of town?”
“I think that’s a good idea, sir,” agreed Tom, and soon the Flying Road
Racer was spinning through the suburbs, and then out upon a country road
which ran through a charming landscape, dotted here and there by
farmhouses surrounded by woods and fields. The lawyer appeared to be
thinking deeply, and Tom did not interrupt him. Instead, he attended
strictly to his driving, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. They took a
spin of twenty-five miles or so, and then on Mr. Bowler’s suggestion
they turned back.
They ran back toward the city at a fair speed; but they had not gone
more than a few miles before Tom, his eyes fixed on the road, became
aware of an astonishing thing. The thoroughfare was straight and level,
and out of a cloud of dust ahead there suddenly emerged an automobile.
It was coming toward them at a slow gait.
There was nothing very astonishing in this, of course, and in itself it
formed no reason for Tom’s startled exclamation. The surprising thing
about the approaching car, that Tom first noticed, was that nobody was
driving, or occupied its seats, and the next amazing feature of the
oncoming car was its color. It was a bright yellow—and we know that Tom
had a peculiar interest in yellow touring cars just then.
“Look, sir! Look,” he cried to Mr. Bowler, “if that isn’t the same car
those fellows used it’s the twin of it, and more astonishing still, it
has no driver.”
“Bless my soul, nor has it! There’s some mystery here.”
Tom slowed down the Flying Road Racer and began to climb out on the
running board. At length he brought his machine to a standstill,
operating the controls with one hand. He had caused the machine to halt
so that it was at one side of the road, offering no obstacle to the
driverless car which was slowly approaching them.
“What are you going to do?” demanded the lawyer, as Tom, holding on with
one hand, leaned far out from the running board of the Flying Road
Racer.
“Find out what this all means, sir,” was Tom’s rejoinder.
Hardly were the words out of his mouth when the driverless car passed
them. As it did so Tom made a flying leap for its running board. He
landed safely, clinging on to the side of the machine. Then, while the
lawyer watched with astonished eyes, the boy clambered into the vacant
driver’s seat and, shutting off the power, applied the footbrake,
bringing the car to an abrupt stop.
“Well, of all astounding things,” exclaimed Tom as, having brought the
car to a stop, he examined it carefully. It was undoubtedly the same car
which had been used by the men who had caused all their troubles. But
what had become of them? How did the car come to be running itself? How
had it kept on a straight course?
The last of these questions was answered when Tom discovered that,
attached to the steering knuckles, was a device which, by an irony of
fate, he and Jack Chadwick had invented and marketed. This device was in
pretty general use and was known as the Automatic Steersman. It
consisted of stout springs attached to each steering knuckle, and
connected with the “helm” of the auto in such a manner that, provided
the wheel was not turned, the car would automatically be kept on a
straight course. The device had been thought out by the boys as an aid
to beginners in auto driving; but it had been found so useful that many
skilled drivers had adopted it. This, then, explained how the car had
kept to the road with no one at the wheel.
But the deeper mystery of how it came to be where it was, and minus its
occupants, was far from a solution.
“There’s something mighty out of the ordinary in all this,” decided Tom
Jesson, in a puzzled tone, as he stood beside the machine on the dusty
road.