For a short space of time the lads were too thunderstruck to speak. Jack was the first to find his voice.

“What on earth are we going to do? How can we ever explain?” he quavered.

“If we hadn’t left the machine alone with Ralph we might have managed to fight the rascals off,” lamented Tom.

“Well, there’s no use crying over spilled milk, as dad says. The thing to do now is to decide on our next move.”

“Shall we go back and tell Mr. Peregrine what has happened?”

“No. There’s a bare chance that we may be able to recover the model and the papers and rescue Ralph.”

“You have a plan, then?”

Jack nodded.

“Not much of a one, though,” he hastened to say, “but it’s the best I can think of right now. Those fellows must have gone a short way up this wood road after putting up that sign to fool us. Maybe they watched us from the bushes. At any rate, we know that, wherever they have gone, they must have taken the wood road.”

“You mean to follow them up along the same road, then?”

“No, we’d stand no chance of overtaking them. My plan is to stick to the main road. I’ve an idea the wood road joins it again further on. At any rate, the main road will bring us to the vicinity of a telephone and we can notify the authorities to be on the lookout for that yellow auto.”

“I guess that’s about all we can do,” agreed Tom ruefully.

The Flying Road Racer was started again, and after about half an hour’s run the boys found themselves in a small town called Old Bridge. There they learned that the yellow auto which they were pursuing had passed through about half an hour ahead of them. The men in it had inquired the road to Boston. The storekeeper, who gave the boys this information, declared that he had seen no boy in the machine with the two men. “They were going like blazes,” he volunteered. “That’s a clue, at any rate,” declared Jack, as they set off for the police station to which the storekeeper had directed them; “we know that the men are bound for Boston.”

“A whole lot of good that does us,” grumbled Tom; “we might as well expect to find a needle in a haystack as find two men, who wish to remain concealed, in a large city.”

The Old Bridge police force—which consisted of three men and a captain, was notified of the happening on the road, and the chief promised to have a thorough search of the woods in the vicinity made, and notify the boys in Boston if he came across any clues. For Jack had made up his mind to keep on to the city and lay the whole case before Mr. Bowler, the lawyer.

“He will know better what to do than we do,” he said, “and may be able to suggest some plan for recovering the model and poor Ralph.”

It was with heavy hearts and doleful countenances that the young inventors soon afterward drove into the city and, having put the Flying Racer up at a garage, set out on foot for Mr. Bowler’s offices.

They found him to be a large, rather stern man, who plainly was exceedingly put out by their news. However, he communicated at once with the police, and was assured that a sharp lookout would be kept for the yellow auto.

“What do you think of notifying Mr. Peregrine?” inquired Jack.

“I don’t think the time is yet ripe for that,” was the reply, which rather relieved the boys’ minds; “Mr. Peregrine, as you have doubtless observed, is a very nervous man, and I don’t wish to cause him a shock until we are sure we have done all we can to recover his property. Allow me to say,” he added, “that you did a very unwise thing in leaving that machine unguarded. However, I suppose you are not so much to blame as might appear on the face of it.”

“Just as if we didn’t feel badly enough already,” said Jack, as they left the office. Mr. Bowler had promised to notify Mr. Peregrine in a non-committal way of their arrival, but to withhold the news of their misfortune for the present. It was also arranged that the boys should stop in Boston for a day or so, in order to try and identify the men, or pick up some clue of value. Mr. Bowler promised to explain the cause of their continued absence to Mr. Peregrine over the long-distance telephone.

Under ordinary circumstances the lads would have devoted at least a part of their time in Boston to sight-seeing. But they were in no mood for this, and, having registered at a quiet hotel, they went at once to their room to talk matters over. But, as might have been expected, their deliberations did not lead them to anything definite. In fact, the more they discussed the case, the more hopeless did it appear to become.

They ate a melancholy enough supper in the hotel and, after disposing of the meal, sallied forth; more because there didn’t seem anything else to do than in the hope of picking up any information concerning the missing model. They walked through gaily lighted streets, and after a while reached a part of the city that was not so well illuminated, and where evidences of squalor and poverty began to abound. The thoroughfares were narrow and dark, and the houses more like rookeries than decent dwelling-places.

In and out of dark doorways, sordid, ragged men and women slipped in a furtive sort of fashion.

“My, we are in the slums with a vengeance!” exclaimed Jack.

“Yes, let’s go back. I don’t much fancy this part of the city, and some of those men look desperate enough for anything.”

In fact, several of the bloated, red-faced beings they had encountered had stared speculatively at the two well-dressed, clean-cut lads, as if wondering what they could be doing in such a part of the city. Moreover, Jack and Tom each had quite a sum of money in his pockets, and it was really tempting fate to walk about in such a section with well-lined pocketbooks.

So they turned to retrace their steps. But in the narrow, badly lighted streets, they inadvertently took a wrong direction, and before long they found themselves in a still more ill-favored section.

“I wish we could see a policeman,” remarked Jack, looking about; “I hardly like to ask the way of any of those ruffianly looking men we’ve passed.”

“Nor I,” was Tom’s rejoinder. “Well, let’s keep right on our way, and hurry up, and we are bound to get out of this neighborhood before long.”

Accordingly they quickened their pace. They were passing a dark doorway leading into a particularly rickety-looking rookery, when a man, who was coming out of it hastily, almost collided with them. He wore ragged clothes, but something about him seemed strangely familiar to Jack. The next instant he knew what it was.

The man, who had a flaming red beard, was the same fellow who had driven the yellow auto.

Jack made an impulsive leap for him.

“I want to speak to you,” he began; “you——”

But the man, after casting a hurried, half-alarmed look at the two lads, dodged back into the doorway like a rabbit into its burrow. Without considering the risk he was running, Jack dashed after him into the dark, ill-smelling hallway of the tumble-down building.

“Stop!” he shouted at the top of his voice, but the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps was the only sound that came back to him from the thick velvety darkness of the hallway.