“There’s only one thing we can do,” Dean had said despondently. “We have got to run out each road we come to until we reach some shop or garage where the people would be likely to have noticed the Hoffs. They may have stopped somewhere, or we may meet some one coming toward us who will remember having passed them.” “It seems like a wild-goose chase,” said Jane, “but I suppose there is nothing else to do.” The strain of their bitter disappointment was telling on both of them. Each felt inclined to blame the other for their having fallen so far behind. They rode along in silence, their nerves becoming more and more keyed up as their hopes grew less. At garage after garage they paused to question the employees. “Did a big gray car with two men, an old man with a beard and a young man driving, pass this way about an hour ago?” “I don’t remember any such car,” was the invariable answer. Time and time again they repeated their query, wording it always the same, except for lengthening the interval of time in which the car might have passed, for the afternoon was rapidly passing. In their circuit they had now reached the roads pointing to the southward. “We’ll try this one more garage,” said Dean, as they approached a wayside shed bearing a large sign “Gasoline.” “I fear it is only wasting time,” said Jane wearily. “Don’t you want the Hoffs caught?” snapped her companion. “Of course I do,” she retorted heatedly, “but I don’t see you catching them.” “I believe you are half glad of it,” snarled her escort as he brought the machine to a stop and repeated his usual question. “Sure there was a car with two men in it like you describe passed here,” the man replied to their amazement and delight. “They stopped here for gas, as they generally do. About three hours ago, I guess it musta been.” Dean shot a triumphant glance at Jane. “An old man with a gray beard and a smooth-shaven young man driving—does that describe them?” he repeated. “That’s them,” said the garage proprietor. “They come through here every few days, always about the same time.” “Where do they go?” questioned Dean eagerly, feeling at last that the scent was growing hot. The man shook his head in a puzzled way. “I’ve often wondered about that. They’re always heading south and appear to be in a powerful hurry, but the funny part of it is I ain’t never seen them coming back.” “Do you know their names?” “No, I can’t say I do, though it seems as if I’d heard one of them called Fred. I can’t say which it was.” “Do they always come by on the same day—on Wednesday?” asked Jane, forgetful once more of Dean’s warning to let him do the talking lest her voice should betray her sex. “Come to think of it,” said the man, apparently noticing nothing unusual, “I guess it always is on a Wednesday they come by.” “Is the number of their car anything like this?” asked Dean, exhibiting an entry in his notebook.