Part 3 (1/2)
The place was carefully examined, but the searchlights picked up little. There was such a profusion of tyre tracks on the main road that those of the mystery car could not be detected. Iola, the only one except Joe who had seen the suspect, could give little information other than that he was tall, heavy set, and wore gloves.
”Then we won't find any fingerprints on your car,” the chief said to Frank.
Frank nodded. ”He could be the man who ran from Joe and me at the airport.” Frank told the police about him and gave a fuller description.
”We'll be on the lookout for him, as well as for Joe,” Collig said. ”There's nothing more we can do here, but I'll leave two of my men.”
Solemnly the group left the barn dance and each guest expressed a hope for Joe's speedy return. The Mortons tried to comfort Frank and discussed whether or not they should call Mrs Hardy and tell her the disturbing news.
”I don't see that anything can be gained by that,” Chet's mother said. ”Let's wait.”
She insisted Frank try to get some sleep, but he lay wide awake, hoping the phone would ring with good news from Collig. But none came. Chet, in the same room, was restless.
Finally at five o'clock he said, ”Where do we go from here?”
”I'm not sure.” Frank sighed. ”We've absolutely no clue. In fact, we don't even have a description of the car we heard drive off last night.”
”Joe could be miles from here by now,” his chum remarked.
Frank thought for a moment. ”Let's drive down the road and make some inquiries at the farmhouses along the way. There's a slim chance someone may have spotted the kidnap car.”
The boys left the house quietly and jumped into the Hardys' convertible. They waved to the patrolling police guards. Frank drove along the narrow, tree-lined road. As they feared, all their inquiries were fruitless. Most of the farmers they questioned had retired long before midnight, and had neither seen nor heard anything.
”Guess we may as well go home,” Chet suggested.
But Frank was not ready to give up. ”Let's drive on a little farther,” he said.
About six-thirty, the boys spotted a farmer cutting weeds by the roadside and stopped to question him.
He rubbed his chin dubiously while listening to their story.
”Quite a few cars go past my place every night,” he said. ”But now you come to mention it, there was an automobile came whizzin' along and stopped here right after midnight. It woke me up, what with two men in it shoutin' at each other.”
”Did you see the car?” Frank asked.
”No. I didn't get up. Course my home is right beside the road, and I couldn't help but hear some o' what the men were sayin'. The car come along at a mighty lively clip, but when it got in front of the house, the driver slammed on the brakes and stopped.
”There was an argument. I heard him tellin' somebody they must have gone past the crossroads in the dark. The other man started jawin' at him and they had quite a row. Finally they turned the car round and went back.”
”To the crossroads?” said Chet.
”Yes. That's about two miles back.”
”I remember. One road goes to Gresham, the other heads up through the market gardens.”
Frank and Chet returned to the crossroads. But which way should they go? Right to the market gardens, left to Gresham?
”The kidnappers might have hidden Joe on one of the market gardens,” Chet suggested.
”Yes, except that all those farms are close together and everybody knows everybody else's business,”
said Frank. ”I'd rather tackle the road to Gresham. If we don't find Joe, we can come back and try the other road.” He took the turn to the left.
As they sped along, the boys spotted the wreckage of a black car in a roadside ditch. Afraid that this was the kidnap car, Frank pulled up.
”Some accident!” Chet observed.
The licence plates had already been removed from the badly smashed-up car.
”If anybody was hurt,” Frank said, ”they'll know it in Gresham. We'll ask the police there.”
Suddenly a black saloon swung out of a lane some distance ahead and roared off towards the town.
Frank stared fixedly at the back seat.
”Look!” he exclaimed, gripping Chet's arm. ”Do you see what I see?”
”What?”
”A hand. Isn't that someone signalling?”
Chet gazed ahead and saw a hand wave frantically for a moment at the rear window, then suddenly withdraw.
”You're right!” Chet snapped. ”Joe!”
Frank started the convertible and sped off in pursuit.
The other car had a good lead and was increasing speed. It was almost obscured by a cloud of dust, but Frank memorized the out-of-state licence number.
”We're gaining on them!” Chet declared.
Frank nodded. Inch by inch the intervening distance lessened. Trees, farms, and hedges flashed by. At times the boys could hardly see the saloon through the swirling clouds of dust.
Suddenly the steady hum of the convertible's engine changed its rhythm. The motor spluttered.
Chet groaned. ”Now what?” he muttered as the car slowed down.
The boys' hearts sank when the engine stopped completely. They looked dismally at the other car as it disappeared round a distant bend in the road.
CHAPTER V.
The Hunt FRANTICALLY Frank flung open the hood and examined the engine. In a few minutes he discovered the trouble.
”Fuel pump,” he announced.
”Oh-oh!” Chet sighed. ”And we're miles from a service garage.”