In addition to the rug and pillows the boys had brought along a small box of fancy crackers and also a bottle of cold water, for hiding in the locker for hours had made them both hungry and thirsty.
“I could eat a few crackers right now,” remarked Joe, shortly after they had settled down to their vigil.
“Same here,” answered his brother. “Pass the box over.”
Each lad had several crackers and followed them with a swallow of water. As they munched the crackers the thunder rolled and rolled in the distance and they could see an occasional flash of lightning through a crack of the locker door.
“It sure is a dirty night,” Frank whispered, as they crouched in the darkness of their voluntary prison.
“Even for auto thieves.”
Thunder rolled and grumbled and the rain poured down in drenching torrents. They could hear the beating of the surf on the distant shore of Barmet Bay, far below.
Minutes passed, with only the monotonous roar of the storm.
“What’s the time?” asked Joe finally.
Frank switched on the flashlight and glanced at his watch.
“Half-past nine.”
“Time enough yet.”
They settled down to wait. Scarcely five minutes had passed before they heard a new sound above the clamor of the rain and wind.
Someone stepped up on the running board of the roadster, flung open the door, and sat down behind the wheel. The boys had not heard the intruder’s approach, owing to the noise of the storm, and they sat up, startled.
The newcomer lost no time.
In a moment, the engine roared, and then the car started forward with a jerk.
It lurched across the grassy ground, then climbed up onto the Shore Road. Back in the locker, the lads were bounced and jolted against one another. They did not mind this, for there was wild joy in their hearts. At last their patient vigil had been rewarded.
“Kidnaped!” whispered Frank exultantly.
Once on the road, the car set off at rapidly increasing speed through the storm. The man at the wheel was evidently an expert driver, for he got every ounce of power the engine was capable of, and held the roadster to the highway. The roar of the motor could be heard high above the drumming of the rain.
In the darkness of the locker, the boys sat tight, not knowing where the car was going, not knowing how long this wild journey might last. They kept alert for any turns from the Shore Road, realizing that they might have to find their way back by memory.
For above five minutes, the car held to the Shore Road, and then suddenly swerved to the right.
Neither of the boys had any recollection of a side road in this part of the country, and they were immediately surprised. However, by the violent lurching and jolting of the roadster they were soon aware that they were on no traveled thoroughfare and that they were descending a slope over rough ground. There was a loud swishing of branches and the sharp snapping of twigs, that indicated the roadster was passing through the woods.
The man at the wheel was driving more carefully now that he was off the Shore Road and comparatively safe from observation. He was evidently following a road of sorts, although the car swerved and jolted unmercifully, but at length he came to even more precarious ground.
The rear of the roadster went high in the air and came down with a crash. Frank and Joe were flung violently to the bottom of the locker, and Frank felt a most stunning blow on the head.
Thud!
Another terrific jolt. The car pitched and tossed like a ship in a storm.
Bang!
A tire had blown out.
But this did not appear to worry the driver. The car canted far over on one side, lurched forward, and then came down on all four wheels with a terrific impact.
The boys were badly shaken up. They tried to brace themselves against the sides of the locker, but this was of little use as the roadster’s bumpy and erratic progress inevitably dislodged them. They were thrown against one another, bounced from side to side, bruised and battered.
It was apparent to them that the roadster was being driven over some rocks—not the boulders of the beach, but over a rocky section of ground where there was no road.
They shielded their heads with their arms as well as they could, to prevent themselves from being knocked senseless against the sides of the locker. The speed of the car slackened. Then they felt a long series of short, sharp bumps, as though the car were being driven over pebbles. Stones banged against the mudguards.
“We’re on the beach,” reflected Frank.
They did not suffer the jouncing and jolting that had given them such discomfort a short time previously. The car traveled along the beach for a short distance, then turned to the left and ran quietly and smoothly over what the boys judged to be a stretch of sand. It then began to climb. The ascent flung the lads against the back of the locker.
It was of short duration, however.
The roadster came to level ground again, then rattled and rumbled on over an uneven surface.
The boys noticed a peculiar, hollow sound. The roar of the motor seemed to be echoing from all sides. The car had slowed down, and at last it came to a stop.
Battered and bruised, the lads crouched in their hiding place, wondering what would happen next. They could hear the driver scrambling out of the front seat. Then there was a voice:
“That, you, Alex?”
“Yep.”
“What have you got?”
“Big roadster.”
“The one we were talking about?”
“You bet.”
Other voices followed, voices that echoed and reechoed, and then footsteps clattered on rock.
“A beauty!” exclaimed someone. “Have any trouble?”
“None at all,” said the voice of the man who had been addressed as Alex. “Nobody in sight, so I just hopped in and drove it out.”
“Swell boat!” declared someone else. “Fine night to leave it out in the rain.”
“That’s what I thought,” said Alex.
