“They’ll probably think it was stalled and that the owner went to get help.”
“That’s right, too,” Joe agreed. “I guess we can chance it.”
“We’ll put the top up to protect ourselves. And, anyway, it’s dry in the locker.”
“The rain will be the least of our worries in there,” said Joe, with a grin. “Let’s be going.”
They went out to the garage and put up the top of the roadster, then got in. As they drove down High Street there was a low rumble of thunder and a splash of rain against the windshield.
“Storm’s coming, right enough,” Frank said. “Still, I have a hunch.”
Ever since the previous night he had been possessed by a feeling that their next venture would be crowned with success. He could not explain it, but the feeling was there nevertheless.
They spied Con Riley, in oilskins against the approaching downpour, patrolling his beat, and drew up at the curb.
“New car, eh?” said Riley, surveying the roadster grimly. “I’ll be runnin’ you in for speeding some of these days, I’ll be bound.”
“Not in this boat,” Frank assured him. “If we ever hit higher than thirty the engine would fly out.”
“Thirty!” scoffed the constable. “That looks like a real racin’ car. You mean ninety.”
“We’ll take you for a drive some time when you’re off duty. We just stopped to ask if there was anything new about the auto thieves.”
Riley looked very grave, as he always did when anyone asked him questions pertaining to police matters.
“Well,” he said, “there is and there isn’t.”
“That means there isn’t.”
“We ain’t found ’em yet. But that don’t mean they won’t be found,” said the officer darkly. “We’re followin’ up clues.”
“What kind of clues?”
“Oh, just clues,” said the officer vaguely. “We’ll have ’em behind the bars before long. But you’d better keep an eye on that car of yours. It’s just the kind somebody would steal.”
“Trust us. There’s been no trace of the other cars, then?”
Riley shook his head.
“Not a sign. But them thieves will go too far some of these fine days, and then we’ll catch ’em.”
“Well, we hope you’re the man who lands them,” said Frank cheerfully, as he edged the car out from the curb again. “So long.”
The boys drove away, and Con Riley patiently resumed his beat.
“The game is still open,” remarked Joe. “If the police had learned anything new, Riley would have heard about it.”
“Whenever he says they’re following up clues, you can be certain that they’re up against it. The thieves are just as much at large as they ever were.”
It was beginning to rain heavily before they reached the outskirts of Bayport and by the time they were well out on the Shore Road the storm was upon them. Thunder rolled and rumbled in the blackening sky and jagged streaks of lightning flickered through the clouds. Rain streamed down in the glare of the headlights.
As the downpour grew in violence, the road became more treacherous. Without chains, the rear wheels of the car skidded and slithered on the greasy surface.
One of the numerous defects of the roadster’s mechanism was a loose steering wheel. Under ordinary circumstances it gave little trouble, but on this treacherous road, Frank experienced difficulty in keeping the car on its course.
Just outside Bayport was a steep hill, dipping to the bluffs that overhung the bay. Under the influence of the rain, the sloping road had become wet and sticky, and as the roadster began the descent Frank knew he was in for trouble.
The car skidded wildly, and the faulty brakes did not readily respond. Once, the nose of the roadster appeared to be heading directly toward the steep bluff, where only a narrow ledge separated the boys from a terrible plunge onto the rocks of the beach below. Joe gave a gasp of apprehension, but Frank bore down on the wheel and managed to swing the car back onto the road again in the nick of time.
But the danger was not yet over.
The car was tobogganing down the slope as though entirely out of control. The rear wheels skidded crazily and several times the car was almost directly across the road, sliding sideways, and when it did regain the ruts it shot ahead with breathtaking speed.
Almost any second the boys expected the roadster would leave the slippery clay and either shoot across the ledge into space or crash into the rocky wall at the left.
Somehow, luck was with them. Luck and Frank’s quick work at the unreliable wheel saved them from disaster.
The car gained the level ground, settled into the ruts, and went speeding on at a more reasonable rate. The lads now breathed more easily.
“Looked like our finish, that time,” observed Joe.
“I’ll say it did! I wouldn’t have given a nickel for our chances when we were about halfway down the hill.”
“Well, a miss is as good as a mile. We’re still alive.”
“And the old boat is still rolling along. When we get back I’m going to have that steering wheel fixed. It very nearly cost us our lives.”
On through the storm the Hardy boys drove, until at last they reached the place where they had parked on the previous night. There was no one in sight as they drove out onto the grass, and Frank turned off the engine and switched out the lights. Quickly, they scrambled out, raised the lid of the locker, and got inside.
The locker was warm and dry. The boys were comfortable enough, aside from being somewhat cramped, and they could hear the rain roaring down on the top of the roadster as the storm grew in violence.
Warned by their former experience, the boys had made themselves more comfortable than they had previously been. On the floor of the locker they had spread a soft rug and they had also supplied themselves with two small but comfortable pillows.
“I am not going to wear out my knees and elbows,” Frank had said. “The last time we were out my left elbow was black and blue.”
“We’ll
