  Although only a misty rain now fell, street gutters raced with water which could not be quickly carried off. In Mr. Hatfield’s car, Fred, Dan and Brad watched the slow-moving traffic ahead. Even taxi-cabs crept along, wary of surface water on the pavement. “It’s hard to see the road ahead,” Mr. Hatfield complained. “What a night!” “You don’t need to take Dan and me home,” Brad said quickly. “We walked to the church and we don’t mind walking back.” “It’s no trouble,” the Cub leader returned. He snapped on the windshield wiper again as a few drops of rain splattered the glass. “Fact is, I’m glad to have company.” Mr. Hatfield fell silent, paying close attention to his driving. From the slight frown which settled over his face, the three boys guessed that he was worrying about the money box. “It’s certainly queer how it came to be in the coal bin,” Dan remarked. “I nearly fell over when my shovel turned it up.” “We never did finish our count of the cash,” Brad recalled. “Seeing that man in the churchyard gave us all a jolt.” “I’ll count the money at home,” Mr. Hatfield promised. “Tell you the truth, I wanted to get the box away from the church. I’ll feel more comfortable after it’s turned over to someone else for safekeeping.” The car had halted at an intersection. As the light turned green, Mr. Hatfield started up too quickly and stalled the engine. “The sparkplugs must be damp,” he complained. As the Cub Scout leader ground his foot repeatedly on the starter pedal, Dan noticed that a car directly behind had not taken advantage of the green light. Although the driver had ample space in which to go around the stalled car, he did not do so. Lowering the car window, he signaled for the other automobile to pull around. Even then it did not do so. “What’s the matter with that dumb cluck anyhow?” he muttered. Just then Mr. Hatfield succeeded in starting the car. Quickly he shifted gears and rolled through the intersection an instant before the light turned red again. Dan glanced back through the rear window to watch the other automobile. The driver had been caught by the red light. To Dan’s astonishment, however, he ignored it, deliberately “crashing.” “That motorist is dizzy,” he commented. “First he waits for a green light—then he goes on the red.” Mr. Hatfield turned at the next corner, heading toward the street where Brad lived. To Dan’s surprise, the automobile directly behind also made the turn. “That driver sticks to us like a burr,” he observed. “Say, you don’t suppose—” “Suppose what?” Fred demanded as Dan broke off. “I was wondering if maybe he’s following us.” Mr. Hatfield glanced quickly into the mirror. At the next street, he deliberately made another turn although it took him slightly off his route. “That other car’s right behind!” Dan announced a moment later. “Where did we pick him up?” Mr. Hatfield asked. “Was he on our tail when we left the church?” No one had noticed. Dan first had observed the car at the intersection. “Note down the license number if you can,” the Cub leader instructed. “The car probably isn’t following us—but it’s just as well to have the license number.” The three boys peered intently through the rear window. The license plate number could not be easily distinguished. “It’s too misty outside,” Dan complained. “He’s dropping farther back too,” Fred observed. “Must have caught on that we’re watching him.” “I got the first two letters and number,” Brad said, jotting it down on a scrap of paper. “FJ-3. I couldn’t make out the last number too well. I think it was 2, though.” The following automobile now had dropped a considerable distance behind. “It may have been our imagination,” Mr. Hatfield said in relief. “Finding that box of money and having it in our possession, has given us all a case of the jitters.” At the next corner, the Cub leader swung back onto the main, well-traveled street. The other car had disappeared from view. “I guess I was wrong,” Dan admitted. “Either that, or the fellow became suspicious that we were watching.” “At any rate, we’ve lost him,” Mr. Hatfield declared. “Hello—what’s this up ahead?” The car approached a railroad underpass. In the depressed area beneath the archway, surface water had failed to run off. The flooded area stretched for a considerable distance ahead. “It doesn’t look very deep,” Mr. Hatfield said, weighing their chances of getting through. “Think we can make it?” “If we don’t, you have three good pushers,” Brad answered. “Anyway, here comes another car.” “They’re going to try it, so I guess we can,” added Dan. The approaching coupe, in which two persons were visible, barely slackened pace as it came to the area of water. Noticing that the flood seemed only hub-cap high, Mr. Hatfield likewise started through it. A moment later, however, he noted that the water rapidly was deepening on the car ahead. It began to falter, and finally came to a standstill. “Stalled!” Fred exclaimed in dismay. “And we’re blocked,” added Brad. “Think we can back out of it?” “I’m going to try,” Mr. Hatfield said grimly. “I should have waited.” Shifting into reverse, he slowly backed away from the stalled coupe. The two cars, however, had churned up high waves. As they slapped against Mr. Hatfield’s automobile, the engine began to sputter. “Oh! Oh!” groaned Fred. “Here we go.” The next instant the motor gave a final wheeze and died. “Come on, fellows, let’s push!” Brad urged, starting to open the door. “No, wait!” Mr. Hatfield directed. “I don’t want you to wreck your clothes unless it’s absolutely necessary. Someone may come along to help—” The Cub leader’s voice trailed off, for his attention had been drawn once more to the stalled car ahead. Quite suddenly, the door on the left hand side had swung open. A boy who might have been twelve or thirteen fairly hurled himself from the car. In his haste to get away, the lad tripped and fell flat in the muddy water which raced through the underpass. “Wow!” exclaimed Brad anxiously. “Did he take a tumble!” The boy was on his feet again almost in an instant. To the astonishment of Mr. Hatfield and the Cubs, he plunged off through the water, moving as fast as he could. At the same time, the right hand door of the coupe shot open. The headlights of Mr. Hatfield’s car revealed the head and shoulders of another occupant of the stalled coupe—a man whom the Cubs recognized as Guy Wentworth, a referee in Juvenile Court. “Jack, come back here!” he shouted. The fleeing boy paid no heed. Mr. Wentworth then sprang from the car and started after the boy. Jack, however, had a good start and the advantage of being more agile. “Try and get me now!” he taunted. “See you in Juvenile Court!” Reaching the sidewalk, he waved derisively at the referee. Then, with a scornful laugh, he turned and darted down an alleyway between two shadowy buildings. |
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