A number of plans for eluding Soapy Gaines and the watchful eyes of his two bosom friends did the Auto Boys formulate. None of them seemed quite satisfactory. A scheme to slip away at night was discarded as being too much like simply running away. Another, which involved the shipping of all supplies to a nearby town and really making the start from there, was considered to necessitate too great a loss of time if the goods were sent by freight and to cost more than the lads felt justified in paying if forwarded by express.

Thus, as for varying reasons every suggestion offered was at last voted undesirable, there appeared no other course than to disregard the Trio entirely. It was in the midst of this extremity that on the Saturday following the wild-goose chase on which the Roadster had been led, Pickton again asked Dave MacLester point blank when "Sinbad's next voyage" was to begin.

"Since you are so good as to inquire, and as it must make a whole lot of difference to you," answered Davy, firing up under Pick's bantering tone, "we're going to start Monday afternoon. If there's anything else you'd like to know, just mention it."

"Say! Are you going to leave Monday?" asked Pickton, doubtingly.

"If it's perfectly convenient to you, we really would like to get away at that time," MacLester answered witheringly. Then fearing he had said too much, he added: "Of course we might come back the same day. Such things have happened."

Pick received this reference to the fruitless chase of a few days previous with a contemptuous "A-h-w!" Yet he went away pretty well satisfied that Monday was the chosen day.

A half hour later, Dave related at the green and yellow shed under the elms all that had been said.

"Don't see what you meant by speaking out that way!" growled Billy Worth. "They'll just be watching all the closer!"

"Yes, sir! They'll be watching all the more," cried Phil Way, with sudden enthusiasm, "and I have a scheme that I think will work." Then in the lowest undertones he told his plan.

In undertones filled with joyous anticipation, also, the suggestion advanced was elaborated upon. And when the four chums separated, each knew just what he must do, and there is no doubt whatever that at this juncture they would not have had Gaines, Pickton and Freddy Perth abandon their plan of pursuit if but a word would have persuaded them to do so. No! The prospect of vanquishing them and of leaving them chagrined and humiliated was quite too delightful to think of the circumstances being other than just as they were.

Monday came. Phil Way and Paul Jones were out in the car when the work of the morning had been finished. Billy Worth was occupied with the lawn mower at his own home and Dave was somewhat similarly engaged in the MacLester family garden. All of these facts the Chosen Trio had gathered in good season. Quite satisfied with the situation, they took the Roadster out for a spin, intent upon the whereabouts of Phil and Paul in the Thirty.

Keeping a sharp eye on all the automobiles in view, the three youths presently turned toward the Ravine road, for it was one the Auto Boys used a great deal. They often went to Tyler Gleason's farm, a short drive beyond the city. Phil and Paul had gone there this very morning, in fact.

And what was this? Soapy Gaines burst suddenly into a laugh not unlike a conqueror's war-whoop and Pickton and Perth joined in his mirth in scarcely less demonstrative fashion.

The Thirty of the Auto Boys was being "towed in."

Yes, it was true. As the Roadster came close, the Chosen Ones found their first glimpse of the predicament of the enemy fully verified. There was George Knight in his big six-cylinder, with Phil Way, glum and silent, in the seat beside him, while tied by ropes behind they hauled the four-cylinder car of the Auto Boys. Paul Jones, steering the car in tow, seemed to be trying to look indifferent—as if he didn't care.

"Give ye a lift?" cried Tom Pickton, slowing up. He was not alone in his anxiety to know how seriously the Thirty was out of commission.

"No, thank you!" Phil Way answered distantly, as Mr. Knight drove ahead without pause or comment.

It is interesting to note how quickly the Gaines party discovered that they were themselves ready to turn toward the city.

This they did, and until town was reached they loafed along a considerable distance in the rear of the towed machine, yet keeping that car plainly in view. In the light of subsequent developments, too, it is interesting to record the zealous watchfulness of the three exultant young gentlemen as they saw the crippled car hauled into Knight & Wilder's garage.

Lacking nothing in brazen audacity, Pickton alighted from the Roadster and, standing in the doorway of the automobile establishment, noted with evident relish that Mr. Wilder, the mechanical genius of the concern, looked very sober and puckered his lips up quite despairingly as he lifted the Thirty's bonnet and seemed carefully to inspect the motor. He spoke a few words to Phil and Paul, then some men came and pushed the Auto Boys' machine through the storage rooms into the repair shop.

An expressive and by no means unhappy smile shone on Pick's countenance—a really disagreeable smile, it was, in those hawk-like eyes of his,—as he climbed into Gaines' machine. Perth was driving,—Soapy rarely ever held the wheel himself—and as the car moved off, all three noticed the evidently disconsolate feelings of Phil and Paul as the latter two emerged from the garage and started homeward on foot.

"Guess maybe that don't simplify matters some!" chuckled Freddy Perth. "Instead of having to watch the whole bunch of 'em, all we need do now is keep our eyes on their shed at Way's to see when they get the machine home again."

"Watch the garage, too!" Gaines put in. "They'll run around to try out some as soon as they get fixed up. Hang it! Why didn't you push right up and see what the matter was, Pick?"

Young Mr. Pickton, although considerably irritated by this question, merely said: "Sure! We've got to watch the garage! Wilder wouldn't tell us anything, though, if we asked him! Knight, either. Remember when I inquired what was wrong with Crossley's limousine, the day it was run in there? 'Who wants to know?' Wilder says. 'Well, I do,' I told him. 'Guess it's the referendum,' he said with never even a grin. Humph! Knight's just about as accommodating as that, too. There's nothing to it but watch for the old boat when they get it to running again. Perth, you go down through the alley and peek into Way's shed about supper time."

Freddy said he would and added the suggestion that the Trio could spend the afternoon at the ball game; that, particularly since their machine was laid up, Way and his crowd would most likely be there. The proposal met with general approval.

A great deal relieved to feel that their vigilance might safely be relaxed for the present were the Chosen Ones as they journeyed to the ball grounds in good season. Sure enough, there were the Auto Boys,—Paul and Phil, at least, standing in line for tickets.

"MacLester and Worth are working some place. You can pretty near count on that. It's their steady system," whispered Pickton, as with Gaines and Perth he fell into line before the ticket window, then a minute later joined the rush through the gate.

And "There they go in!" whispered Paul Jones to Phil, his smile, always expansive, becoming almost alarmingly broad. "They saw us in line and never noticed us sidestep to the window," he added in triumphant manner.

"They think we went inside all right," Phil answered. "Trouble is we don't know whether they'll find out we didn't. It's the only drawback to this scheme. They'll be suspicious if they discover we aren't there. Only thing for it is quick action."

Already the two boys were walking rapidly down a side street. Turning the corner they reached the car line a few blocks from the ball park. From a neighborhood grocer's establishment Phil telephoned instructions to Billy Worth in waiting at Knight & Wilder's. Then, while Paul boarded the first city-bound car, he returned to the ball game.

Very careful was Mr. Philip Way to take note before going inside that Gaines' Roadster was still alongside the curb. Also careful was he to station himself where he could see all who came and went. In short, he was so occupied in these and similar matters concerning the whereabouts of that eminently select party of three, self styled as Chosen, that his thoughts were a long way from the baseball game now in progress. But then the game was one-sided and slow; maybe that was the reason Phil evinced so little interest.

With others of the great throng Way left the grounds when the very lame exhibition was over. A good many were growling about "a mighty poor article of ball," and "village hay tossers;" but Phil made no complaint. The game had served one purpose almost as well as the decisive battle of a pennant series could have done. He even laughed, though inwardly, as he overheard Fred Perth say, "Why, there's Way, now!"

As if quite by chance Phil was walking past the Roadster as its owner and his friends prepared to turn that lumbering vehicle homeward. Even when Gaines sang out, "Oh, I say! The walking's pretty good!" which comment was plainly meant for his ears, he made no answer beyond a deprecating wave of his hand. Not even did he look around—at that time, but he did assure himself of the direction the Trio took and that their manner was that of unsuspecting confidence.

Or perhaps Paul Jones' expression, as Phil told all about it afterward, fits the situation better. "There never was a better case of asleep at the switch," said Paul. And maybe he was right.

Was it merely a coincidence that the Trio in the Roadster twice passed Way's home before supper and again just afterward? Once Phil was on the porch. Once he was loitering near the low, green and yellow garage, now so empty and bare but for the workbench and tools of many kinds, and the desk in one corner.

Later, when the long June day was over, when the sun had set and the good-night twittering of the birds sounded unusually loud and clear as darkness gathered, Way busied himself inside the shed. The big front doors were wide open, to admit the air, no doubt. All three electric lamps in the small building were burning bright.

If Freddy Perth had only known it, in fact, he could have seen from the street that the automobile was not in the home garage at all and that Phil was. He might have saved himself the walk through the dusty alley, and still have made the same report to Gaines and Pickton, the substance of which was that the Thirty was still at Knight & Wilder's and that its owners were at their respective homes. At least Way was for he had seen him.

But if Perth or Pickton or Soapy Gaines, himself, or all three, for that matter, had chanced to board a certain limited suburban trolley car an hour later, the same evening, they might have been surprised to discover that although Phil had been at home he was not at home now. And, also, if appearances were not altogether deceptive, that he had no intention of being again at home in the immediate future. For an extra large suitcase was on the floor before him and a motor coat draped the back of his seat.

"Round trip?" said the conductor when Phil asked the fare to Littleton.

"No, one way," he answered.

"Forty cents," the conductor said. "Ain't bad for twenty-five miles. Cheaper'n automobile travel, at that."

"Oh, cheaper, possibly," said Phil Way, "but—"