"He ran right over my parcel!" Just then Callie spied Chet Morton, and she pouted at him. "He was a friend of yours, too, Chet Morton, for he was driving your car!" "My car!" gasped Chet. "Your yellow roadster. He came driving along this road at such a terrible speed that I was frightened and I dropped my parcel. Then he ran right over it." "Why, Callie, that's just the fellow we've been looking for!" said Frank quickly. "Chet's car has been stolen!" "Well, whoever stole it, came by here not ten minutes ago," said the girl. "And he's a madman--by the way he was driving." "Why, we're right on his trail then!" declared Frank. "He must have gone into Bayport." "He was heading that way," Callie told them. "But at the rate he was going, you'll have a hard time catching him. Oh, Chet, I'm so sorry your car was stolen." "Don't worry. We'll get it back," replied Chet grimly. "Are you going back home, Callie?" asked Frank. "No, I'm going on up to Mrs. Wills' place. You needn't bother to drive me up. It's only a few yards farther on. I know you're anxious to chase that awful man." "We'll chase him, all right!" declared Frank, as the motorcycles roared. They bade good-bye to the girl and sped on their way into Bayport, leaving Callie to continue her journey to the home of Mrs. Wills, with the remains of the cakes and jelly over which she had spent so much time and care. They sped down the main street of Bayport and headed directly to the police station, where they intended to report the theft of Chet's car and a description of the thief, assuming him to be the red-headed man who had so nearly run down Frank and Joe on the shore road. But when they reached the police station a further surprise was in wait for them. CHAPTER IV THE HOLD-UP Chief Ezra Collig, of the Bayport police force, was a burly, red-faced individual, much given to telling long-winded stories. Usually, Collig was to be found reclining in a swivel chair in his office, with his feet on the desk, reading the comic papers or polishing up his numerous badges, but this day something had happened to shake him out of his customary calm. When the boys went into his office they found the chief painfully writing in a huge notebook and confronted by three excited figures. One of these was Ike Harrity, the old ticket seller at the city steamboat office. The others were Detective Smuff, of the police force, and Policeman Con Riley, both trying their best to look important and composed. Ike Harrity was frankly frightened. It was plain that something very much out of the ordinary had happened. Harrity was a timid and inoffensive old chap who had perched on a high stool behind the wicket at the steamboat office day in and day out for as many years as any one in Bayport could remember.