He interrupted himself to cross the garage, and peer into the interior of the big machine, underneath which was a workman taking out the damaged brake, ready to put in a new one. "It's there, all right," said our hero, with an air of relief. "What?" asked Innis. "The envelope with the legal papers. Paul's talk gave me a scare. I thought that man might have made off with 'em!" "No, he didn't get a chance for that," said Paul. "I watched him too closely. But he did get me suspicious, all right. However, we're here, and we'll soon be far enough away." "Maybe," said Dick. "I'm not going to take any chances on those brakes after the experience we had. They've got to be perfect, and if we have to lay over a day or so, we'll do it. How about it?" he asked the man, who was crawling out from under the big car. The talk of the young men had been carried on in low tones until Dick asked this question. "She'll have to come out, and a new band be put on," the workman said. "How long will it take?" "Two days. I've either got to send for a new one, or forge one myself." "Then make it here," said Dick. "If you send for one there may be a factory delay, and I don't want that. If you can fix it do so." "I can," said the garage man. "This is a special type of car, and no one would probably have that brake in stock. I can make it." Dick then arranged with him to do the work, and the three chums, after getting some of their belongings out of the car, started off toward the village. "Where are we going to stay to-night?" asked Innis, as they walked slowly along the country road. "In our car!" said Dick, quickly. "What? When there's a fairly good hotel in the village?" asked Innis. "This talk of Paul's has made me a bit nervous," went on our hero. "I think I'd feel safer if I slept in the _Last Word_. I can fix it with the garage man, I think. And if any of Uncle Ezra's spies are hanging about they may try to disable my car if they can't get their hands on the legal papers. They might do it out of spite." "That's right," agreed Innis. "Where are the papers now, Dick?" "Back in the car." "Don't you think that's risky?" "No more so than carrying them about with me. I'm a sort of fatalist. I believe if a thing is going to happen it will happen. But I'll do all I can to stop it. "They're less likely to think the papers are in the car than that I have them. And even if they do pull out that advertising envelope, and look in it, all they'll see at first glance will be an auto catalog. I took the precaution of slipping the legal sheets between the pages of the booklet." "Good, Dick. But supposing the place catches fire?" asked Paul. "Oh, you've got to take some chances in this world, old man; eh, Grit?" and he patted the head of the bulldog that trotted along with the boys toward the village.