CHAPTER XXIII.

A CHASE IN THE NIGHT.

But Rob was disappointed in his hopes of getting back early to Hampton. In fact, he encountered a regular chapter of accidents to delay him. In the first place, the man he had come to see was not in, and he had to wait for an hour till he put in an appearance.

In the meantime, he had telephoned to Hampton that he might not be back till late, so that he knew the drill would go on without him, and this helped to make the wait less aggravating.

He set out for home at a good speed, but hardly had he gone two hundred yards beyond the garage he had visited, than “pop!” went a rear tire. By the light of a detached headlight, Rob examined it and found, to his dismay, that he had run over a broken bottle in the darkness and cut through both inner and outer tubes. That meant a long delay, for he knew what country garages were. However, there was no help for it, and, amid jeering cries of “Get a horse” from East Willitson small boys, he summoned help and wheeled the car back to the repair place.

This was not the sum of his troubles, however. The repair man’s helper was an awkward youth, who apparently knew more about plows and harrows than he did about automobiles. At any rate, he succeeded in smashing part of the steering gear as they were jacking the car up, which required still further time to set it to rights.

As he left the garage, Rob saw, to his amazement (for long as the delay had been, he had not dreamed it was so late) that it was almost midnight.

“Got to hustle if I’m going to get any sleep,” thought the lad to himself as he bade the garage man “good-night,” the latter having magnanimously refused to take any pay for the repairing of the break caused by his helper’s carelessness.

Once out of the place, however, he made good time, till within a mile of home, when something went wrong with the radiator, which necessitated a further delay.

“Good thing we’re an orderly, law-abiding community down here,” thought Rob, smiling to himself, “or I would offer a good opportunity to an enterprising hold-up man. By George! Old Jenkins, the constable, is laid up with a smashed ankle, too. Well, Jenkins wasn’t capable of much anyhow, except to carry that big star around against a suitable background. Now, then, Mr. Radiator, if you’re ready we’ll go on.”

So saying—or rather thinking—the lad got back into the car and set off once more, the cheerful song of the motor delighting him after its temporary fit of backsliding.

In a few minutes he was at the head of the village street, dark, and deserted, of course, at that hour. Presently the white outline of the bank, the only stone building in the village, came into view, and as it did so Rob gave an amazed exclamation:

“Why, there’s a light in there. Wonder who can be working late. I thought Jennings and the rest had——. Hullo!”

The light had gone out as suddenly as if a hand had been placed over it. Plucky as he was, Rob could not repress an involuntary shiver.

“There’s something wrong,” he said to himself. He muffled down the motor and stopped half a block or more from the bank building. Then, with a heart that beat so hard that it shook his frame, he began cautiously tiptoeing down the darkened street. He kept on till he reached the bank, and then catching hold of the window coping, he raised himself silently till he could peer through the big plate glass window into the interior. At first it seemed as black as a pit in there and Rob began to think that his eyes might have played him a trick.

But the next instant he knew they hadn’t. At the rear of the main floor of the bank a sudden tiny glow of light flashed. No bigger than the midget lantern of a fire-fly it seemed, but as Rob’s eyes encountered it he knew that some human agency was at work within.

And now the light began to come closer and Rob guessed that it was a pocket electric torch. Whoever was carrying it came to the door—which was opened, it seemed, and peered out.

“All clear,” this figure muttered to itself, while Rob, who had dropped from the window at its approach, cowered back against the wall as flat as he could make himself.

And now Rob could hear, from the back of the bank, a queer, rasping noise. It sounded not unlike the harsh drone of big bumble bees. What could it be? His ignorance was soon to be enlightened.

“Keep that drill quiet, Dugan,” came from the man at the door; “you will wake the whole town up.”

Instantly the noise stopped, and as it did so the man at the door was joined by another. Hardly had the second dark figure glided into view before there was a muffled roar from within the bank and the ground vibrated under Rob’s feet.

Like a flash, the words of Lieutenant Duvall flashed into his mind:

“Dugan, I have found out, was once an expert safe-blower.”

The second figure had been addressed as Dugan. From what Rob could make out of the hazy outline of his big frame, it was the deserter. Evidently what had just happened was the blowing open of the big safe which served the Hampton bank in place of a strong room. With a swift flash of intuition the lad realized what was taking place. The two rascals, of whom the first was undoubtedly the Jap, were after the plans of Lieutenant Duvall’s equalizer.

“I’ll fix them,” thought Rob, feeling in his pocket for his Boy Scout alarm whistle. Three blasts on it would bring the Eagles and the Hawks about him in a jiffy, all those within hearing, that is.

But before he blew the alarm Rob was prudent enough to softly tiptoe to a safe distance. So silently did he proceed that he did not believe it was possible for the men in the bank to have heard him. But the next instant he was undeceived. Rob had been seen, and the Jap had crept after him as silently as he himself had progressed.

“Drop that whistle or I shall be compelled to shoot you,” said a soft voice in the startled boy’s ear. As the purring accents reached him, Rob could feel the chilly impress of a revolver muzzle against the back of his neck. With a quick, snake-like turn, Rob ducked and fairly slid up under the astonished Jap’s arm before the other could realize what had happened. With a quick wrench the Oriental was dispossessed of the pistol, and Rob, master of the situation, placed the whistle to his lips, while with the other hand he leveled the revolver at the quaking Jap.

Three shrill calls rang out clear and loud on the early morning air.

“Now you stand there till they come and put you in the lock-up,” warned Rob, standing motionless as a statue before the yellow man, and keeping the pistol pointed straight at him.

“Truly you have me in a trap, honorable youth,” said the Jap. “I weep for my native Nippon, which I fear I may never see again.”

He seemed to be overcome with an excess of grief, and moved one hand downward.

“Don’t move,” snapped out Rob, devoutly hoping his companions would be quick.

“My handkerchief, honorable sir,” sobbed the Jap; “may I not dry my tears?”

“I’ll get it for you,” said Rob, sternly, and leaning forward, still keeping the pistol leveled, he drew a square of linen from the other’s breast pocket. As he did so, he became conscious of a strange odor in the air. The next instant a dark figure came leaping out of the bank, clutching something in its grip, and approaching them with leaps and bounds. It was Dugan. But as Rob gazed at the approaching fellow a sudden feeling of terrible lassitude overcame him. Dugan, the Jap, the bank, everything, grew hazy. He felt himself falling backward and tried desperately to catch himself. But his effort was a failure. Dropping the pistol from his nerveless fingers, Rob Blake collapsed in a heap on the sidewalk as Dugan came rushing up.

“Ha! An excellent idea to keep Orhsimi, the Japanese sleeping powder, in my handkerchief; see, honorable Dugan, our young enemy is disposed of.”

Stooping by Rob’s recumbent form, the Jap picked up the pistol and placed it in his pocket.

“Hark!” exclaimed Dugan, suddenly.

A strange sound was in the air. It was the patter-patter of dozens of young feet. The Boy Scouts, roused by the startling summons of their leader, were coming to the rescue.

“We’ve got to get out of this, and get out of it quick,” exclaimed Dugan, excitedly; “we’ll have a whole hornet’s nest about our ears if we don’t.”

“You’ve got the box with the plans in it?”

“Yes, but the smoke was so confounded thick that I could hardly see to get it.”

The last two speeches we have recorded were exchanged while the two rascals were diving down a side street where their automobile was concealed. As the Boy Scouts came pouring round the corner, to be met by a cloud of acrid smoke rolling from the open bank door, there was a sharp “chug-chug!” as the former soldier and the treacherous Jap made off with their spoil.

“What’s the matter? What is it? Who blew the alarm?”

These and a thousand other questions came from the anxious boys as they ran about trying to discover what had happened, and what was the matter. A cry from Merritt summoned them down the street past the bank. The corporal had stumbled over Rob’s unconscious form.

“Rob! Rob! What is it?” he was saying as the others came up.

“Somebody must have struck him and left him here,” said Tubby. “Fan his face, Merritt.”

The corporal produced a handkerchief and vigorously fanned the recumbent lad’s countenance. It so happened that in doing this he removed the subtle powder which the crafty Jap had had concealed in his handkerchief, and as its fumes lost their effect Rob awoke. At first he gazed dazedly about him, but presently all that had happened came rushing back to his mind.

“Did they get away?” he asked in a feeble voice.

“Who, old fellow?” asked Tubby, “whom do you mean?”

“Those chaps who robbed the bank.”

“Robbed the bank?”

“Yes. I’ll explain it all afterward. Did they get away?”

“An auto just chugged off down H street, if that’s what you mean,” volunteered Hiram.

“Down H street,” echoed Rob, “that leads into the New York road, doesn’t it?”

“Why, yes,” rejoined Merritt, “but what has that to do——”

“Everything,” exclaimed Rob, cutting him short; “come on, boys. My dad’s car is just up the street. We’ve got to take after those fellows and have them arrested. They’ve got valuable papers.”

“Rob! They’ve stolen the airship plans?” gasped Tubby, guessing what had happened.

“That’s right. But come on,” exclaimed Rob, frantically tugging at his chum’s coat-sleeves. Leaving the others behind with orders to telephone to the various villages about, to apprehend the robbers if they appeared there, the boy, followed by his chums, made for his automobile which, it will be recalled, he had left a short distance up the street. A few turns of the crank and a quick snap as spark and gasolene were turned on, and then a quick dash round the corner into H street and a flying leap down the country road leading into the turnpike to New York!

“Do you think we’ll catch them, Rob?” asked. Tubby, bending forward eagerly.

“Don’t know,” was the rejoinder; “we don’t even know that they have gone this way. We can only guess at it and hope we are right.”

On and on flew the auto through the night, past sleeping villages, through lonely patches of road where dark woods grew right up to the sides of the road, up hills and down steep grades, but still no sight of the auto they were pursuing.

Suddenly, as they topped a small rise, Tubby gave a shout. Below them, and not more than a quarter of a mile off, they could see the gleam of a tail lamp.

“It’s an auto!” exclaimed Merritt, “but is it the right one?”

The boys, except Rob, who was at the wheel, arose to their feet in their excitement as they drew nearer the car ahead, which appeared to be stationary.

All at once, however, the sharp staccato rattle of its exhaust sounded, and the dim lights were whisked off at what seemed considerable speed. Evidently the car had been halted for something—perhaps to examine the stolen box—and the sight of the approaching lights had warned its occupants that these might be signs of a pursuer.

Such was the guess the boys made anyhow, and it was not long before all doubts as to who was in the front car were dissipated.

“Stop that car or I’ll fire at you,” roared back a voice which the boys recognized as Dugan’s.

The only answer they vouchsafed was to keep on going.

Bang!

A bullet screamed past from the car in front and whistled by the boys’ ears. They could see the red flash of the discharged pistol against the blackness ahead of them.

“That’s to show you we mean business. The next will come closer,” came the same voice.

“He’s only bluffing. He can’t see anything in this light,” whispered Tubby.

Suddenly from somewhere to the eastward there came a hoarse, harsh whistle.

“A train!” cried Rob, as he heard; “must be a night freight.”

“Reckon that’s what it is. This must be the central division of the Long Island Railroad,” said Tubby. “Wow, we’ve come way out of our way.”

“They must be off, too,” said Rob; “we simply followed our leaders.”

“Say, hold on, Rob!” cried Merritt, suddenly; “look! that train’s almost at the crossing now!”

“That’s right, I just saw the headlight among the trees,” echoed Tubby; “better slow down.”

“Guess so,” assented Rob, as the thunder of the approaching train was borne plainly to their ears. It was evidently, as they had guessed, a night freight, and from the noise the locomotive was making it must have been a big one.

“Woo-oo-oo-ough!”

“There goes the whistle. I guess there are no gates ahead,” said Merritt. “Now’s our chance to sneak upon those other fellows, they—Gee whiz, look at that!”

As he spoke the other auto, which had hesitated for an instant as the whistle of the approaching train sounded, dashed on ahead.

“They’re going to try to beat the train to the crossing,” exclaimed Rob.

“They’ll never do it,” was Merritt’s rejoinder. “Look! Oh, good gracious!”

A sound of splintering wood and ripped mechanism drowned his cry of horror, and those of the other lads. Before their very eyes the locomotive had struck the robbers’ car as it was half way across the tracks and had tossed it to one side—a mass of kindling wood and twisted metal.

“They must both be injured or killed,” cried Rob; “hurry, fellows, maybe we can help.”

The boys jumped out of the auto and ran to the crossing. In the meantime the engine had been brought to a standstill and the train crew were examining the wreck. But although both the railroad men and the boys made a thorough search, they could find no trace of the men who had occupied the machine. Rob and Merritt, as a final recourse, walked some distance back up the track, but without finding any evidence that there had been loss of life or injury.

“They must have been thrown clear of the auto when the crash came, and when they picked themselves up I guess they realized that the best thing to do was to take themselves off,” was the way Rob explained it. Hardly had he completed this theory of what had occurred when his foot struck something. It gave out a metallic ring. Stooping down swiftly, he picked it up and found that it was the tin box from the bank, battered and dented, indeed, but intact and still locked.

Naturally the boys were delighted over their find, which must have been thrown from the auto when it was demolished. As after half an hour more of searching nothing was to be found of Dugan or the Jap, the train crew went back to their train and the boys prepared to turn back, with what pleasant anticipations may be imagined.

“Well, so long, kids,” shouted the conductor of the train after the long line of cars rolled off, “too lucky to happen a second time, I’m thinking.”

Of course, he referred to the fact that no loss of life or injury had occurred in the smash-up, but to the boys his words had an added meaning.

“It is too lucky to happen a second time,” said Rob, hugging the precious tin box.