The Auto Boys' Vacation Part 2

"More likely he doesn't care. He got insurance money, so why bother any more about it? That would explain the whole thing--the whole reason why our telegram was never answered," Dave reasoned.

"It looks that way," Phil replied. "And our chasing the Torpedo is chasing right away from the car we want to find. Blame it all! We don't seem to get anywhere. Here we go stumbling into things about the Torpedo but no clues at all to the Six!" All of which, and the disgruntled tone, were both unusual words and manner in young Mr. Way.

The day had long since closed. The boys found a comfortable hotel and went to bed, leaving a call for half-past five as the train for Pittsfield left Albany at six-thirty. The distance was not great and as several important automobile routes branched out from the Ma.s.sachusetts town, it was considered a likely source of information.

Tired as they were, Phil and Dave must and did discuss at length the day's developments before they fell asleep. A sense of duty that they should report at once the apparent fact that they had found the stolen Harkville car, weighed somewhat upon their minds.

"But what if we do? What happens?" they reasoned. "We are put out just that much in hunting for the Six. We lose time being called as witnesses, and a lot of botheration, just when we need every minute, and nothing much is gained. A few days will make no difference with regard to the Torpedo, long ago given up as beyond recovery."

And so resolving to stick to the more important business first, but to report the finding of the stolen Harkville car just so soon as details of identification and the law's red tape would not be so inconvenient, they put the subject aside.

Thanks to Chief Fobes, in part, and also thanks to their own error, in part, the boys were making a costly mistake by believing the trail of the Torpedo had no connection with the theft of their own car. Or so it would seem, would it not? And yet, even if the thieves who first stole the Harkville car were the same who, later on, made off with the Big Six, what could be gained by going back along the route to deliver the one recovered machine instead of pursuing diligently the more recently stolen property?

"We'll never see our car again; that I know," said Dave MacLester, glum and despondent. He pulled on his shoes in the stuffy little hotel room next morning, as if life were to him a barren, barren waste.

"It's mostly the time of day, Mack," said Way good-humoredly. "Half-past five has a mighty blue appearance after you've been eating strange grub, and staying up till midnight the day before. You'll brighten up like the s.h.i.+ning sun if we can only get out where there is such a thing--that and get hold of a little news to-day."

"We haven't got hold of any _yet_," a.s.serted MacLester, not a bit more cheerfully.

And his words were the truth, cold and harsh, as the truth may sometimes be, beyond a doubt.

CHAPTER III

MR. BILLY WORTH DOES SOME THINKING

"h.e.l.lo! What's all the feverish bustle about? Good news, I hope!"

This from Mr. Wagg as Billy and Paul, very warm and very red, hustled into that gentleman's hotel and suddenly stopped, as if they had at that moment forgotten what they came for.

"No,--not exactly," said Billy. "Fact is, we have no news at all and it just makes us feel that we've got to get busy; and that's what we've been doing--hustling up here as hard as ever we could."

"What for? What scent are you on now?" asked the landlord, peering over his gla.s.ses as he leaned upon the register counter. There was a trace of amus.e.m.e.nt in his voice.

"That's just it," put in Paul. "We don't know just what scent we _are_ on but, by thunder! we've _got_ to get some news of that car!"

"Well, I suppose that nothing succeeds like determination," observed Mr.

Wagg kindly. "Still, there's a lot o' misdirected energy in the world."

With a sigh he sat down and resumed the afternoon nap which the swift entrance of the boys had broken in upon.

A large part of Griffin seemed to be occupied quite as was Landlord Wagg. How very quiet the little town was this tranquil June afternoon!

"Ginger! I'd just like to take a nap myself; but we've got to keep busy," mused Billy. The two were seated in big armchairs of the hotel office.

"Our basket, Willie Creek's lamp and that old raincoat are in our room.

Mr. Hipp brought them and the porter carried them up. Told me so just after dinner," suggested Paul. "We might tote Willie's lamp over to the garage."

Straightway up the stairs dashed the two boys. Yes, there at the foot of the bed the articles in question were deposited. Again the boys examined the lunch hamper inside and out. Again they searched pockets, lining, every shred of the muddy, dirty, wrinkled coat.

How freshly the garment, splashed with the rain and the thick pools of the road, brought back to Billy's mind the dismal afternoon when first they ventured upon the lonely South Fork! Again, in mental vision, he saw the Torpedo come over the hill, saw the impossibility of pa.s.sing the machine if it did not quickly turn out! Then he recalled--how vividly!--the dreadful scene, the Big Six ditched, the rain, the heavy, mist-laden air, the gloom, of approaching darkness.

And in the same train of thought, as he went forward, he seemed to see the man Hipp and Earnest had told of seeing, marching stolidly along the wet road, carrying the basket stolen from the Six, wearing this very raincoat and on his head a low, soft cap, his top boots or leggins splashed with mud, the rain pelting him till he stumbled as he walked.

How easily the lad's imagination drew for him the picture Alfred Earnest and his friend Hipp described! Then suddenly----

"For the love of cats, Paul Jones, I am one large punkin head! And so are _you!_ And so are _all_ of us!"

Quite naturally young Mr. Jones looked up suddenly, startled not a little by the extraordinary accusation.

"Wh----"

Paul's intended response was violently interrupted. Knocking his own head with one pair of knuckles, Billy brought those of his other hand down forcibly on his friend's tawny hair, at the same time and not once, but repeatedly.

Not until Jones escaped beyond reach, which he did by tumbling ungracefully backward over a chair, as he retreated from the mysterious attack, did Worth explain himself.

"That man--the drunken fellow we saw Fobes arrest on Sat.u.r.day night--you remember? He's the fellow who wore this raincoat, stole our basket and--who knows?--maybe the car! Plain as daylight! Why didn't we see it before? The cap, the leather leggins all caked with mud--I couldn't see it all plainer if he stood in this very room!"

For a few seconds Paul was lost in a confusion of thoughts, but he extricated himself at last, saying:

"Thunder! I do remember that that fellow Fobes got wore leggins--yes, and the cap! But--why, a lot of people wear 'em for fis.h.i.+ng trips and----"

"Yes, and chauffeurs wear 'em," put in Billy, heatedly. "I say, come on!

We'll have a look and we'll get something out of this, you bet!"

Whether Paul would or would not wager, however, he did not say. What he did reply was: "Honest, Bill, I hope there's something to it, but--anyhow, let's not be too sure!"

Chief Fobes, dozing the early afternoon away in his dingy office, sleepily called to the boys, "Come in!"

They entered. Needless to say, also, the haste and earnestness in Billy's manner fully awakened the officer of the law rather more abruptly than often happened.

"We want to find out about a fellow you arrested Sat.u.r.day evening. Wore a cap and high boots or leggins," spoke young Mr. Worth in a single breath.

"Soaked for ten days in the cooler," said Mr. Fobes, indifferently. By which it will be understood that the village magistrate had imposed upon the man a fine of ten days in jail.

"Well, who is he? Can we see him?" Worth continued rapidly.

"He's just a b.u.m, I guess. I don't know him and--well, you can ask Willie Creek whether I know everybody around here or whether I don't. He was hanging around all Sat.u.r.day afternoon and drinking. By night I had to pinch him."

With a show of real interest Chief Fobes now heard the story Billy told and the belief that the man in the lockup could throw light on the disappearance of the Big Six. Slowly, very slowly, nevertheless, the officer rose, yawned and led the way to the corridor below, so conducting the boys to a group of steel cells in a bas.e.m.e.nt at the rear of the building. The man they sought was lying on an iron bunk. He stepped forward when Mr. Fobes called sharply, "Here, you! Step up!"

quite as if the unfortunate were a refractory horse.

"Might I ask you a question?" began Billy. He and Paul were both keeping pretty close to Mr. Fobes as the prisoner, still in the mud-stained boots and garments, approached the bars.

"I'll do the talkin'," put in the officer bluntly. Then to the man who peered out from the gloomy cell, "What was you doing on the South Fork road last--last Friday?"

"I don't know anything about any South Fork road. What ye givin' us? I come in here from Rochester, hittin' the road an' lookin' fer a job in the country, an' I told the judge the same thing, didn't I?"