The Phantom Motor | Page 3

the
chauffeur gave it a dextrous twist to prevent running down the Special

Constable.
Safely out of its way Baker turned and stared after it, trying to read the
number. He could see there was a number because a white board swung
from the tail axle, but he could not make out the figures. Dust and a
swaying car conspired to defeat him. But he did see that there were four
persons in the car dimly silhouetted against the light reflected from the
road. It was useless, of course, to conjecture as to sex for even as he
looked, the fast receding car swerved around the turn and was lost to
sight.
Again he rushed to the telephone; Bowman responded promptly.
'That car's gone in again,' Baker called. 'Ninety miles an hour. Look
out!'
'I'm looking,' responded Bowman.
'Let me know what happens,' Baker shouted.
With the receiver to his ear he stood for ten or fifteen minutes, then
Bowman hallooed from the other end.
'Well?' Baker responded. 'Get 'em?'
'No car passed through and there's none in sight,' said Bowman.
'But it went in,' insisted Baker.
'Well it didn't come out here,' declared Bowman. 'Walk along the road
till I meet you and look out for it.'
Then was repeated the search of the night before. When the two men
met in the middle of The Trap their faces were blank - blank as the high
stone walls which stared at them from each side.
`Nothing!' said Bowman.
'Nothing!' echoed Baker.

Special Constable Bowman perched his head on one side and scratched
his grizzly chin.
'You're not trying to put up a job on me?' he inquired coldly. 'You did
`see a car?'
'I certainly did,' declared Baker, and a belligerent tone underlay his
manner. 'I certainly saw it, Jim, and if it didn't come out your end, why
- why -'
He paused and glanced quickly behind him. The action inspired a
sudden similar caution on Bowman's part.
`Maybe - maybe -' said Bowman after a minute, 'maybe it's a- a spook
auto?'
'Well it must be,' mused Baker. 'You know as well as I do that no car
can get out of this trap except at the ends. That car came in here, it isn't
here now and it didn't go out your end. Now where is it?'
Bowman stared at him a minute, picked up his lantern, shook his head
solemnly and wandered along the road back to his post. On his way he
glanced around quickly, apprehensively, three times - Baker did the
same thing four times.
On the third night the phantom car appeared and disappeared precisely
as i t had done previously. Again Baker and Bowman met half way
between posts and talked it over.
'I'll tell you what, Baker,' said Bowman in conclusion, 'maybe you're
just imagining that you see a car. Maybe if I was at your end I couldn't
see it.'
Special Constable Baker was distinctly hurt at the insinuation.
'All right, Jim,' he said at last, 'if you think that way about it we'll swap
posts tomorrow night. We won't have to say anything about it when we
report.'

'Now that's the talk,' exclaimed Bowman with an air approaching
enthusiasm. 'I'll bet I don't see it.'
On the following night Special Constable Bowman made himself
comfortable on Special Constable Baker's camp-stool. And he saw the
phantom auto. It came upon him with a rush and a crackling-chug of
engine and then sped on leaving him nerveless. He called Baker over
the wire and Baker watched half an hour for the phantom. It didn't
appear.
Ultimately all things reach the newspapers. So with the story of the
phantom auto. Hutchinson Hatch, reporter, smiled incredulously when
his City Editor laid aside an inevitable cigar and tersely stated the
known facts. The known facts in this instance were meager almost to
the disappearing point. They consisted merely of a corroborated
statement that an automobile, solid and tangible enough to all
appearances, rushed into The Trap each night and totally disappeared.
But there was enough of the bizarre about it to pique the curiosity, to
make one wonder, so Hatch journeyed down to Yarborough County, an
hour's ride from the city, met and talked to Baker and Bowman and
then, in broad daylight strolled along The Trap twice. It was a leisurely,
thorough investigation with the end in view of finding out how an
automobile once inside might get out again without going out either
end.
On the first trip through Hatch paid particular attention to the Thomas
Q. Rogers side of the road. The wall, nine feet high, was an unbroken
line of stone with not the slightest indication of a secret wagon-way
through it anywhere. Secret wagon-way! Hatch smiled at the phrase.
But when