Creative Books

"I think we're on
the track of a mystery."
"Unless it turns out that some farmer has treated himself to an
auto with new tires of square tread, and is hauling wood," said
Jackson. "It may turn out that way."
"Yes, it may," agreed Tom. "But, taking everything into
consideration, I think we're on the verge of finding out
something. Even if we do discover that the owner of this auto is
only hauling wood, he may be able to help us to a clew as to the
whereabouts of Mr. Nestor."
"How?"
"Well, maybe he was in his machine on the moor the night the
call for help came. He may even have aided to carry Mr. Nestor
away. And if he doesn't know a thing about it--which, of course,
is possible--the man who bought these queer tires can tell us who
makes them, or who deals in them, and we can find out what
autoists around here have their cars equipped with this odd
tread."
"Yes," agreed Jackson, "that can be done."
And so they kept on, scouting here and there to either side of
the half-defined path, until they were far back from the spot
where they had left the Air Scout.


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