"You're a pretty slick young fellow," he said, "but both of you will stay with us for a while. You are in pretty deep." "How so?" inquired Frank. "As if you didn't know! Perhaps you never heard of this," and he read the message he had just received: "Stop and hold two young men in red runabout Number 1664B. Stolen from chauffeur near Brighton, known to have started for London shortly after eleven o'clock." The message was signed by the Chief of Police of Brighton. "A lovely kettle of fish," commented Gleason. "Do you remember once of telling me that I could get into trouble in a desert island?" "I do and it's true." "It would be still true if I were alone in the middle of the Pacific. But there's one thing about this business which cheers me: you are now a member of the Criminal Club at Yale in good standing." "I'd rather be in good standing up at Queen's Club. Do you realize that the team is at London now and we are in the lock-up?" For the greater part of an hour Frank and Gleason were held in durance vile as automobile thieves, and as a secondary count, breaking the speed limit. But all things finally come to an end. The magistrate was found, and sat with great dignity on the case. One of his first acts was to fine Gleason the sum of five pounds for excessive speed and then to declare him still liable to the charge of theft. Fortunately for the Codfish and Frank, who momentarily expected to be thrown into the village jail, the chauffeur, who had been overcome with the desire to see his parents that morning and who had been the innocent cause of most of the trouble, appeared with the proprietor of the garage where the little red runabout had been obtained. Explanations soon followed. The garage proprietor verified all that the boys said about their being a part of the American team and followers, and his hand being properly greased with American dollars from the plethoric purse of Gleason, was perfectly willing that the car should go on to London, driven by his own chauffeur. "But remember," said the magistrate, "not over twenty miles an hour or you'll be brought in before you get to your journey's end." "At twenty miles an hour," said Frank, "it is no more good to us than an ox-cart. It is nearly one o'clock now and two hours on the road would bring us there too late. I guess it's too late all right," and he turned away, deeply moved by the thought that his hard work, the three thousand-mile trip across the water, the ambitions of himself and of his friends, all went for naught. Tears of chagrin came to his eyes. "Nothing on earth can save us now," acquiesced the Codfish. "O Lord, if I only had an aeroplane with about a hundred horse-power motor in it," he wailed. "Guess they could accommodate you down at Burtside," said the officer who, now the incident was closed, showed a friendly interest in the two young men. "What do you mean?" Frank burst out.