nine or a little later on Monday night. But I never once thought of connectin' that up with the Maxwell murder! Land! do you think them men did it?"
"Did the men come in? How long did they stay?" said Whiting, impatiently.
"No, they didn't come in; they didn't hardly stop, as you might say. They jus' whizzed up here, stopped a minute, and asked me where the Maxwell place was."
"They did!" we cried, in amazed duet.
"Yes sir, they did! and of course I told 'em, and never thought of it again. Good land! so they wuz the murderers, was they?"
"We don't know," said Tom, "but we're going to find out, and we want you to help us all you can. Can you describe the car?"
"Well, of course, I'm mighty used to cars, as cars go,—but I couldn't just say the make of that one. It was long, extra long, I should say,—and gray,—darkish gray. It was a touring car, and there were four young fellows in it beside the chauffeur. Now, that's jus' about all I know about it."
"Do you know the number?"
"Well, I didn't look at it purposely, but I 'most always glance at a number on general principles. But all I can tell you is, that the first two figures were sixes. The other three I couldn't swear to, though I'm 'most sure one of them was a four. Of course I only caught a glimpse of it, as they swung away, but I'd know that car again anywhere!"
"Well! we may want you to identify it, if we can find it anywhere. What were the men like?"
"I didn't notice them much. It was the chap that sat by the driver that asked me where the Maxwells lived. He was a big man, one of the biggest I ever saw, and with a big, deep voice and a off-hand way,—kind of like a Westerner. The whole crowd was off-hand; kind of laughin' and carryin' on, but I didn't pay much attention to 'em. If I'd a thought anything about it, I'd a thought they was some friends of the Maxwells, but I didn't even think that. If you hadn't brought it up, I'd never have thought of that car again! How are you going to find it?"
"That's just what I don't know," said Whiting, gloomily; "you see, King, we've lost so much time. The trails are all cold, the clues all destroyed, and I confess I don't know which way to look."
The inn-keeper looked on in sympathetic silence, his bland face devoid of any idea or suggestion.
But I had an inspiration. "There's one thing, Whiting," I said; "if those men left the Maxwells' as late as half-past ten, they must have gone somewhere to spend the night Of course, they would want to get pretty well away, but I doubt if they'd travel all night. Now, let's telephone to the most likely places, and see if they know anything about them."
"Now, that's a smart idea," commented Schwartz, the inn-keeper. "I can give you a list or a map of all the hotels and inns in this part of New Jersey."
"It's a pretty slim chance," said Whiting, but his face showed a gleam of hope.
"We've got to take slim chances," said I, "if we take any."
We called up a score of places on the telephone, and spent two good hours doing it. But at one of them we spotted our quarry. About midnight that gray motor-car had put up at a small hotel in Millville, a town some thirty miles away. The hotel man described the car and the party, and said that the man who registered was not the big Westerner, but one of the others, and who signed James Mordaunt and party.
We asked no further information over the wire, but determined to go to Millville early the next morning and learn what he could. Then, if we could trace our men, to go on wherever we might be led.
Chapter XVII.
Big Jack Judson
We went back to the house rather elated with our success; but when we told the others what we proposed to do, our plan did not meet with entire approval. The Maxwells thought it a hopeless quest. Edith Whiting said it could not possibly lead to anything worth while; and as for Hunt, he openly ridiculed the whole thing.
Miss Gardiner, too, endeavored to dissuade us. "Why, Mr. King," she said, "it's utterly absurd to think you can find that car or those people after nearly a week has passed!"
"But we can at least try, Miss Gardiner," I said, wondering at her persistence.
"But what's the use, when you know you can't catch them?"
"What's the use of any endeavor? and there's always a chance that it may succeed."
"Well, then, may I go with you?"
"Why certainly," I replied; "so far as I'm concerned, I should be delighted to have you. Perhaps Mrs. Whiting will go, too."
We spent most of the evening in grave discussion. There was an undercurrent of disturbance that I could not understand. At one moment we would seem to be all working harmoniously in the same direction; and then one or another would fly off at a tangent with some inexplicable remark or criticism. But since Mr. Maxwell and his sister raised no real objection to our going,—though they had little hope of its successful result,—I paid scant heed to others' advices.
Miss Gardiner's attitude bothered me most. She seemed determined to persuade us not to go, but she took no definite stand in the matter. She merely implied her opinions, and made vague suggestions that we might get into trouble by interfering with what was doubtless a party of young men on a pleasure trip.
"Even if that car did come in and go around the house and out again," said Miss Gardiner, almost angrily, "that doesn't prove the men criminals! Why, they might not even have known Philip or Mildred."
"But they asked the inn-keeper where the Maxwells lived," I reminded her.
"Probably because this is the show place of the town, and they wanted to see it," she retorted.
"But they wouldn't come at ten o'clock at night to see it," exclaimed Tom Whiting; "I don't know, Irene, why you're so afraid we'll find those men."
"I'm not afraid of any such thing," responded Miss Gardiner, with a rising color at the implied accusation. "How should I know or care who the men are?"
"You were on the upper veranda when they came," went on Tom.
"And I have told you that I saw no one," and Irene spoke coldly; and rising, immediately left the room.
"Now she's mad," said Whiting, with a sigh; "but I do think that girl is holding something back."
"Oh, surely she can't know anything about it that she won't tell," said Miss Maxwell, looking anxious; "I can't bear to think Irene deceitful."
"She isn't deceitful," I declared; "I don't believe she knows anything she hasn't told, but if she does, you may depend upon it she is withholding it from right motives."
"I can't imagine any right motive for concealing the truth in a case like this," said Whiting, sternly.
"She may be shielding somebody else." Miss Lathrop said this in her most insinuating tones, and I at once had a conviction that she only said it to involve Irene. If so, I determined to call her bluff.
"Just what do you mean by that, Miss Lathrop?" I inquired; "if you know that Miss Gardiner is shielding somebody, surely you ought not to withhold the fact."
"I know nothing about Miss Gardiner," said the nurse, pursing her lips, primly; "it is not for me to have opinions on this matter at all."
"Quite so," I returned coolly, "I admit opinions are of little value; but if you know of any facts you should not conceal them."
"When I learn of any facts I will not conceal them," returned the nurse, and a gleam in her eye made me think that she looked forward hopefully to gaining such knowledge.
Next morning we started on our trip to Millville. Miss Maxwell proposed that we take Miss Lathrop with us to give her some fresh air; and that she herself would sit with Milly in the absence of the