ON THE WAY TO BOSTON
The Rover boys gazed down the road with interest. It ran between a number
of tall trees, and looked to be lonely in the extreme.
“Where does it lead to?” asked Sam.
“It’s an old road, running to Shaville,” answered Tony Carew. “It ain’t
hardly used any more.”
“And that is why those rascals took it,” answered Dick. “They wanted to
keep in the dark as much as possible. How far to Shaville?”
“’Bout two miles.”
“Can you take us over in a carriage? We’ll pay you, of course.”
“To be sure! But, say, honestly, I didn’t have nuthin’ to do with
carryin’ her off!” cried the old farmer.
“I believe you,” answered Dick. “But it’s a pity you didn’t report what
you knew to the Cedarville police.”
“I didn’t want to git in no trouble.”
“Want me any more?” asked Caleb Belcher.
“We may want you,” answered Dick. “Stay here for a couple of hours,
anyway.”
“My price is twenty-five cents an hour.”
“All right—and there’s a dollar on account,” and Dick passed the money
over.
A fairly good horse and wagon were brought from the barn, and the boys
and Tony Carew got in. Then the horse was urged forward, and over the
uneven road they bumped, in the direction of the village of Shaville, a
sleepy community, with one store, a blacksmith shop, a church, and about
a dozen cottages.
When Shaville was reached the boys commenced a diligent search for some
news concerning the carriage with the white and the black horse and the
dilapidated top. At first they could find nobody who had seen such a
turnout, but presently they met a tramp whom Sam stopped, and he gave
them news that was surprising.
“I see ’em!” cried the tramp. “Say, boss, give me a dollar an’ I’ll tell
you all I know.”
“You’ll tell all you know without the dollar!” cried Dick, and grabbed
the knight of the road by the collar. “Come now, tell me, quick!”
“Don’t hurt me!” yelled the tramp. “I was only foolin’. Course I’ll tell
you.”
He was subjected to close questioning, and from him it was learned that
the carriage with the three men and the lady had passed through Shaville
and turned towards Latown. The lady had tried to jump from the carriage
just while it was passing the tramp, but the men had held her back. He
had heard the men mention Latown, and also speak of an automobile.
“One feller was an old gent, who looked like a perfesser,” said the
tramp.
“That must have been Crabtree,” said Tom.
“Can it be that they were going to leave the carriage and take to an auto
at Latown?” came from Sam.
“Perhaps,” answered Dick. “If they did take to an auto it will be mighty
hard to find them.”
Tossing the tramp a quarter, they went on their way, and presently
reached Latown, and there hurried to the only garage the place possessed.
There they learned that the garage owner had rented a touring car out
several days before and it had not yet been returned.
“The fellow who rented it was to pay me ten dollars a day, but I didn’t
think he’d keep it so long,” said the man. “He gave me his card.”
“Why, it is my card!” ejaculated Dick, on glancing at the pasteboard.
“The nerve of him! Of course it was Sobber—or one of his cronies.”
It was not until nightfall that the boys learned what had become of the
touring car. Then they found a boy who had seen the car, with three men
and two women in it, speeding towards the Albany road. This lad took them
to the very spot where he had seen the car.
“One of the ladies was terribly excited,” said the lad. “When she saw me,
she shouted something and then threw one of her hair combs at me. Here is
the comb now.”
“It must be Mrs. Stanhope’s,” was Dick’s comment. “She wanted it to be
used to trace her by.”
“It is hers,” said Sam. “I remember, she had a pair of them.”
“What did she shout?” asked Dick.
“I couldn’t make out, exactly. It sounded like Boston—but I ain’t sure.”
“Boston?” repeated Dick. “Oh, it can’t be! That is too far away.”
“They might be headed for Boston. There is a fine road for autos from
Albany to the Hub—the old post-road,” said Tom.
“I’ll telephone along the line and try to find out where they went,”
answered Dick.
It was not until the next day that word came in from Albany that the
automobile had been seen in that city. It had stopped at a garage to have
a tire fixed. No one was in it at the time but a young man. He appeared
to be in a great hurry, and had paid well for a rapid repair.
From Albany the auto was traced across the Hudson river and to North
Adams. But that was the last heard of it.
“I am going to North Adams,” said Dick.
“It looks as if they did really go to Boston,” said Tom.
“Well, they could make the run in a day if they tried real hard. The
distance is only about a hundred and fifty miles.”
All of the boys resolved to go to North Adams, and sent word to
Cedarville to that effect. In return came a telegram from Mr. Rover,
reading as follows:
“Run them down if you possibly can. Do not spare expense.”
“As if I would spare any expense!” murmured Dick. “I’d give all I possess
to put Mrs. Stanhope back in her home, and put Josiah Crabtree back in
prison!”
“And put Sobber in prison, too,” added Tom.
In North Adams the lads quite unexpectedly ran into Spud Jackson, who had
been spending a few weeks with some relatives in the Berkshires. Spud was
immediately interested in what the Rovers had to tell and proposed
something that met with immediate approval.
“My uncle Dan has got a dandy car—fast as they make ’em,” said Spud. “Can
go about a hundred miles an hour, I guess. Well, he lets me run it
whenever I want to. Say the word and we’ll start for Boston tomorrow, and
make inquiries all along the road.”
“Can you have the use of the car, Spud?” asked Sam.
“Positively. Uncle Dan said I could make a tour of the White Mountains if
I wished, but I don’t care for the scenery much—too much of it, I guess.
But going to Boston, to catch those rascals, would hit me plumb.”
So it was arranged that they should start eastward in the morning, and in
the meantime Dick and his brothers sent out more messages.
“Who do you think the other woman in that touring car can be?” asked Sam.
“I don’t know, Sam,” answered his eldest brother. “Perhaps some
unscrupulous party who was hired by Crabtree to look after Mrs.
Stanhope.”
“Dad said he had heard that Sobber got his money to go to court from a
woman who was his great aunt.”
“Well, she may be the one—most likely she is. I am only afraid of one
thing.”
“What’s that?” asked Tom.
“That by some means old Crabtree will force Mrs. Stanhope to marry him
before we can rescue her.”
“I wonder why she doesn’t try to run away,” came from Sam.
“Probably she has tried, Sam; but they watch her too closely.”
“If they went to Boston, what will they do there?” queried Tom.
“I don’t know—maybe take a liner for Europe, or to some other part of the
earth. You must remember, they are playing for a big stake.”
The touring car that Spud brought around the next morning was certainly
an elegant affair. It seated five and was of sixty-horse power. Spud
quickly demonstrated that he knew how to run the machine, so Dick did not
offer to do so.
“Now you do the bossing,” said Spud. “I’ll run her anywhere you please,
even if you want to go to the top of Mount Washington.”
“We are going after that other auto, that’s all,” answered Dick, grimly.
The weather was ideal for touring and had they not been under such a
mental strain the Rover boys would have enjoyed riding greatly. But they
could think of nothing but Mrs. Stanhope and the missing fortune.
“I suppose Dora is waiting every hour to hear from us,” said Dick.
“Yes, and the Lanings are waiting, too,” added Tom.
“And dad, and the folks at home,” supplemented Sam.
They had sent a number of messages to Cedarville and now sent another,
telling of their plans, and mentioning some towns at which they expected
to stop. To this message no answer was returned until they reached
Worcester, on the afternoon of the following day.
“Hello, here’s news!” cried Dick. “Say, we want to get to Boston just as
soon as we can!”
“What is it?” asked the others, quickly.
“Father has received a postal card, mailed from Boston. It is signed by
Mrs. Stanhope, and asked for help.”
“Does she give any address?” asked Tom.
“He says all there is of the address is 234 Carm. He says the rest is
rubbed out.”
“Maybe we can find out in a directory what Carm stands for,” suggested
Spud.
“Exactly, Spud. Say, will you get us to Boston just as soon as possible?”
“I sure will.”
“How far is it?”
“About thirty-five miles.”
“Then you can make it in an hour.”
“Yes, if——” And Spud closed one eye suggestively.
“If what?”
“If they don’t arrest us for speeding. It’s against the law to run fast,
you know.”
“Oh, well, we’ll have to take a chance,” declared Tom. “It’s a case of
necessity.”
As soon as they were outside of the city limits, Spud turned on the
gasolene and advanced the spark, until the touring car was making forty
and then forty-five miles per hour. On they tore, through Westboro and
other places, and then on towards Wellesley.
“Look out, here, that you don’t run down any college girls!” warned Dick,
as they came in sight of Wellesley College.
“Oh, I wouldn’t run down any girls for the world!” answered Spud, as he
slowed down a bit. Soon the main street of Wellesley was left behind and
on they sped for Newton and the Hub.
“Hi! hi!” came a sudden call from the roadway, and a policeman appeared,
waving his hand frantically.
“Sorry, but we can’t stop to talk!” flung back Spud, and in a minute the
officer of the law became a mere speck in the distance. He had not gotten
their number, so could do nothing.
They were just entering Boston proper when a loud report came from one of
the rear tires. The car swerved to one side, and Spud had all he could do
to keep it from going into a hitching post. Then he shut off the power.
“A blow-out!” announced Tom, as he leaped to the ground.
“That ends running for the present,” said Sam.
“So it does,” agreed Spud, mournfully.