The Phantom Motor | Page 6

a moment. 'But it seems
to me,' he said, 'if there's thirty or forty miles to do I ought to do it on a

motorcycle.'
'Now that's just the point,' explained The Thinking Machine. 'A
motorcycle makes noise and if it could have been used we would have
hired a fast automobile. This proposition briefly is: I want you to ride
without lights behind an automobile which may also run without lights
and find out where it goes. No occupant of the car must suspect that it
is followed.'
'Without lights?' repeated the champion. 'Gee! Rubber shoe, eh?'
The Thinking Machine looked his bewilderment.
'Yes, that's it,' Hatch answered for him.
'I guess it's good for a four column head? Hunh?' inquired the
champion. 'Special pictures posed by the champion? Hunh?'
'Yes,' Hatch replied.
'"Tracked on a Bicycle" sounds good to me. Hunh?'
Hatch nodded.
So arrangements were concluded and then and there The Thinking
Machine gave definite and conclusive instructions to the champion.
While these apparently bore broadly on the problem in hand they
conveyed absolutely no inkling of his plan to the reporter. At the end
the champion arose to go.
'You're a most extraordinary young man, Mr Thalhauer,' commented
The Thinking Machine, not without admiration for the sturdy, powerful
figure.
And as Hatch accompanied the champion out the door and down the
steps Jimmie smiled with easy grace.
'Nutty old guy, ain't he? Hunh?'

Night! Utter blackness, relieved only by a white, ribbon-like road
which winds away mistily under a starless sky. Shadowy hedges line
either side and occasionally a tree thrusts itself upward out of the
sombreness. The murmur of human voices in the shadows, then the
crackling-chug of an engine and an automobile moves slowly, without
lights, into the road. There is the sudden clatter of an engine at high
speed and the car rushes away.
From the hedge comes the faint rustle of leaves as of wind stirring, then
a figure moves impalpably. A moment and it becomes a separate entity;
a quick movement and the creak of a leather bicycle saddle. Silently the
single figure, bent low over the handlebars, moves after the car with
ever increasing momentum.
Then a long, desperate race. For mile after mile, mile after mile the
auto goes on. The silent cyclist has crept up almost to the rear axle and
hangs there doggedly as a racer to his pace. On and on they rush
together through the darkness, the chauffeur moving with a perfect
knowledge of his road, the single rider behind clinging on grimly with
set teeth. The powerful, piston-like legs move up and down to the beat
of the engine.
At last, with dust-dry throat and stinging, aching eyes the cyclist feels
the pace slacken and instantly he drops back out of sight. It is only by
sound that he follows now. The car stops; the cyclist is lost in the
shadows.
For two or three hours the auto stands deserted and silent. At last the
voices are heard again, the car stirs, moves away and the cyclist drops
in behind. Another race which leads off in another direction. Finally,
from a knoll, the lights of a city are seen. Ten minutes elapse, the auto
stops, the headlights flare up and more leisurely it proceeds on its way.
On the following evening The Thinking Machine and Hutchinson
Hatch called upon Fielding Stanwood, President of the Fordyce
National Bank. Mr Stanwood looked at them with interrogative eyes.
'We called to inform you, Mr Stanwood,' explained The Thinking

Machine, 'that a box of securities, probably United States bonds, is
missing from your bank.'
'What?' exclaimed Mr Stanwood, and his face paled. 'Robbery?'
'I only know the bonds were taken out of the vault tonight by Joseph
Marsh, your assistant cashier,' said the scientist, 'and that he, together
with three other men, left the bank with the box and are now at- a place
I can name.'
Mr Stanwood was staring at him in amazement.
'You know where they are?' he demanded.
'I said I did,' replied the scientist, shortly.
'Then we must inform the police at once, and-'
'I don't know that there has been an actual crime,' interrupted the
scientist. 'I do know that every night for a week these bonds have been
taken out through the connivance of your watchman and in each
instance have been returned, intact, before morning. They will be
returned tonight. Therefore I would advise, if you act, not to do so until
the four men return with the bonds.'
It was a singular party which met in the private office of President
Stanwood at the bank just after midnight. Marsh and three companions,
formally under arrest, were present as were President Stanwood, The
Thinking Machine and Hatch, besides detectives. Marsh had the bonds