Suddenly, as they swerved around a bend in the road, Joe gave a cry of delight.
In the distance, on an open stretch, half-hidden by a heavy cloud of dust, a motorcycle was hurtling toward an expanse of paved highway that lay like a white ribbon far beyond the trees.
“That’s him!” Joe shouted.
But Frank had already seen the dark object ahead.
He let the machine out to its fullest speed. He knew that if the fugitive once gained the highway it would be impossible to overtake him. It was now or never.
But the country road was deceptive.
Just a few yards away, he spied a culvert. It had been poorly constructed and a bad bump was inevitable. It was suicidal to take it at their present speed.
He desperately tried to slacken pace, but the machine reached the rise in the road in a moment, lurched over it, seemed to leap through the air, and then hit the road again with a crash. There was a tremendous jolt.
Frank’s grip was almost torn from the handlebars, but he held on tightly. Joe had grasped him tightly around the waist and still retained his seat.
The motorcycle swerved, skidded wildly, and headed toward the ditch.
But Frank had set himself for the shock of going over the culvert and he acted almost instinctively.
Had he been unprepared he would certainly have lost control of the motorcycle and both he and Joe might have been killed. He swung the hurtling machine back into mid-road again just when it seemed that it was about to crash into the deep ditch. He did not slacken speed, for that would have meant a dangerous skid.
By skillful handling, he settled the machine on the smoothest part of the road again and it roared on down the stretch.
The fugitive, too, seemed to be having trouble. The motorcycle ahead was lurching and bouncing in an alarming manner and its speed had slackened. Frank’s experienced eye saw that the thief had encountered a rough and treacherous piece of road that ran for about half a mile before it met the main highway.
Suddenly they saw the machine swerve wildly and go completely over on its side. The driver was thrown into the middle of the road.
“He’s done for!” Frank shouted.
But his joy was short-lived. The thief had not given up yet. He scrambled to his feet and returned to the motorcycle, righted it, and leaped into the saddle. The machine, evidently undamaged, bounded forward again.
However, the accident had given the Hardy boys a chance to make up ground and they had gained considerably. In a few moments they reached the beginning of the rough section of the road and the fugitive was no more than two hundred yards ahead.
The two motorcycles lurched and bounded over the bumpy surface. Frank saw that the thief was not a first-class driver. He seemed to be having a great deal of trouble keeping the stolen machine on the road and did not dare travel at high speed.
As for himself, he saw that he would have to take chances. He shouted to Joe, “Hang on!” and let the motorcycle out as much as he dared.
It was a rough ride. More than once it seemed as though they would crash, but they steadily gained on the fugitive.
The man looked behind. He saw that he had no hope of reaching the highway.
The stolen motorcycle came to a stop. The rider leaped out into the road and ran toward the ditch. Beyond it there was a fence and a high bank of trees. Through the ditch and over the fence scrambled the fugitive. He looked back again just as the Hardy boys drew up beside the abandoned machine and then disappeared among the trees.
The boys were at first inclined to follow, and Joe dashed toward the ditch in pursuit. But Frank’s better counsel prevailed.
“Let him go,” he said. “We’d never find him in that underbrush, and he might just double back to the road again and clear out on the motorcycle. We’ve got the machine back. That’s the main thing.”
Reluctantly, Joe came back.
“Yes, we’ve got the machine. But I’d like to lay my hands on that crook.”
“Didn’t you recognize him?”
Joe shook his head.
“I only caught a glimpse of his face but it seems to me I’ve seen him before.”
“We’ve both seen him before.”
“Where?”
“The Shore Road gang.”
“The auto thieves?”
Frank nodded his head in assent.
“Then,” exclaimed Joe, “that must be Carl Schaum! All the others are in jail.”
“That’s who it is, all right. I recognized him the moment he looked back.”
“I wish I had chased him!” declared Joe.
“He’s likely putting a lot of distance between himself and us just now. I guess the reason he stole the motorcycle was to help him in his getaway, for the police are looking for him since he escaped from jail.”
“If we had caught him we would have had to take him back to Bayport anyway,” Joe remarked philosophically. “It would have interrupted our trip. Perhaps it’s just as well.”
“He’ll be picked up somewhere else. I’m glad he didn’t get my motorcycle. That would have upset the trip even worse.”
Frank examined the machine. It had been slightly damaged by the upset on the rough road and there were a few dents and scrapes, but there was nothing seriously wrong with it. He mounted the motorcycle and its staccato roar soon filled the air.
“Running as good as ever,” he said, with satisfaction.
“Good! Shall we go back now?”
“We may as well. There’s no use chasing Carl Schaum, and the others will be wondering what has happened.”
The brothers rode back toward the swimming pool and then out to the highway, where they found Chet and Biff waiting for them. Not having found any trace of the machine on
