Then the automobile disappeared from sight around the curve ahead, roaring away in a cloud of dust.
“The road hog!” gasped Joe, as soon as he had recovered from his surprise.
“He must be crazy!” Frank exclaimed angrily. “Why, he might have pushed us both right over the embankment!”
“At the rate he was going I don’t think he cared whether he ran anyone down or not.”
Both boys were justifiably angry. On such a narrow, treacherous road there was danger enough when an automobile passed them traveling at even a reasonable speed, but the reckless and insane driving of the redheaded motorist was nothing short of criminal.
“If we ever catch up to him I’m going to give him a piece of my mind!” declared Frank. “Not content with almost running us down he had to shake his fist at us.”
“Road hog!” muttered Joe again. “Jail is too good for the likes of him. If it was only his own life he endangered it wouldn’t be so bad. Good thing we only had motorcycles. If we had been in another car there would have been a smashup, sure.”
The boys resumed their journey and by the time they had reached the curve ahead that enabled them to see the village of Willowville lying in a little valley along the bay beneath them, there was no trace of the reckless motorist.
Frank delivered the legal papers his father had given to him, and then the boys had the rest of the day to themselves.
“It’s too early to go back to Bayport just now,” he said to Joe. “What say we go out and visit Chet Morton?”
“Good idea,” agreed Joe. “He has often asked us to come out and see him.”
Chet Morton was a school chum of the Hardy boys. His father was a real estate dealer with an office in Bayport, but the family lived in the country, about a mile from the city. Although Willowville was some distance away, the boys knew of a road that would take them across country to the Morton home, and from there they could return to Bayport. It would make their journey longer, but they would have the pleasure of visiting their chum. Chet was a great favorite with all the boys, not the least of the reasons for his popularity being the fact that he had a roadster of his own, in which he drove to school every day and with which he was very generous in giving rides to his friends after school hours.
The Hardy boys drove along the country roads in the spring sunlight, enjoying the freedom of their holiday as only boys can. When they had reached a culvert not far from the Morton place Frank suddenly brought his motorcycle to a stop and peered down into a clump of bushes in the deep ditch.
“Somebody’s had a spill,” he remarked.
Down in the bushes lay an upturned automobile. The car was a total wreck, and lay bottom upward, a mass of tangled junk.
“Must have been hitting an awful clip to crumple up like that,” Joe commented. “Perhaps there’s someone underneath. Let’s go and see.”
The boys left their motorcycles by the road and went down to the wrecked car. But there was no sign of either driver or passengers.
“If anyone was hurt they’ve been taken away by now. Probably this wreck is a day or so old,” said Frank. “Let’s go. We can’t do any good here.”
They left the wreckage and returned to the road again, resuming their journey.
“I thought at first it might be our redheaded speed fiend,” said Frank. “If it was, he was sure lucky to get out of it alive.”
The boys gave little further thought to the incident and before long they were in sight of the Mortons’ house, a big, homelike, rambling old farmhouse with an apple orchard at the rear. When the boys drove down the lane they saw a figure awaiting them at the barnyard gate.
“That’s Chet,” said Frank. “I’m glad we found him at home. I thought he might have gone out in the car.”
“It is strange,” Joe agreed. “On a holiday like this he doesn’t usually stay around the farm.”
As they approached, they saw Chet leave the gate and come down the lane to meet them. Chet was one of the most popular boys at the Bayport high school, one reason for his popularity being his unfailing good nature and his ability to see fun in almost everything. He was full of jokes and good humor and was rarely seen without a smile on his plump, freckled face.
But today the Hardy boys saw that there was something wrong. Chet’s face had an anxious expression, and as they brought their motorcycles to a stop they saw that their chum’s usually cheery face was clouded.
“What’s the matter?” asked Frank, as their friend hastened up to them.
“You’re just in time,” replied Chet hurriedly. “You didn’t meet a fellow driving my roadster, did you?”
The brothers looked at each other blankly.
“Your roadster? We’d recognize it anywhere. No, we didn’t see it,” said Joe. “What’s happened?”
“It’s been stolen.”
“Stolen?”
“An auto thief stole it from the garage not half an hour ago. He just went in as cool as you please and made away with the car. The hired man saw the roadster disappearing down the lane, but he supposed I was in it so he didn’t think anything of it. Then he saw me out in the yard a little while later, so he got suspicious—and the roadster was gone.”
“Wasn’t it locked?”
“That’s the strange part of it. The car was locked, although the garage door was open. I can’t see how he got away with it.”
“A professional job,” commented Frank. “These auto thieves always carry scores of keys with them. But we’re losing time here. The only thing is to set out in pursuit and to notify the police. The hired man didn’t
