Thoroughly tired out from their long day and excitement, the party slept till late the next day.  The first thing after breakfast plans for the continuance of the trip were discussed, and the day’s program mapped out.  This done, the girls and boys set out for the stable to look over the machines.

They found a pompous-looking policeman on guard in front of the place, ostentatiously pacing up and down.  On identifying themselves they were at once admitted however.  The man explained that he had only been on guard for an hour or two, and that during that time nothing worthy of mention had occurred.

While Jimsy was talking to him Roy and the others entered the stable.  An instant later Roy, too excited to talk, came rushing out of the dis-used livery barn.

“What’s up now, Roy?” demanded Jimsy, gazing at his chum, who for his part appeared to be too excited to get his words out.

“There’s only three!” gasped Roy.

“Three what?” cried Jimsy.

“Three aeroplanes,” returned Roy.

“Rubbish, you haven’t got your eyes open yet.”

“I’m right, I tell you; come in and count them if you don’t believe me.”

“Roy is right,” cried Peggy, running up to the group; “the Golden Butterfly has been stolen!”

“Stolen!” interjected Jimsy.

“That’s right!” cried Jess; “those stupid police people left the barn unguarded.  Whoever tried to set it on fire must have returned and stolen the Butterfly.”

They regarded each other blankly.  Was this Sky Cruise that they had looked forward to with such eager anticipation to be nothing but a series of mishaps?

“It’s awful!” gasped Peggy; “nothing but trouble since we started out.”

“D’ye think it was stolen?” asked the policeman with startling intelligence.

“Well, it didn’t fly of its own accord,” was Peggy’s rejoinder, delivered with blighting sarcasm.

The patrolman subsided.

“Maybe we can find it yet,” suggested Jess.

“I’d like to know how,” put in Jimsy disgustedly.

“Perhaps we can trace it.  It must have been wheeled away.”

“Ginger!  That’s so,” cried Roy, snapping his fingers; “it would leave an odd track too, wouldn’t it?”

“Well there’s no harm in trying to trace it,” admitted Jimsy, who appeared rather skeptical.

“Come on, then; get busy,” urged Roy eagerly.

The next instant there came a cry from Peggy.

“I’ve struck the trail!” she cried.

“Where?”

The word came in chorus.

“Here!  Look; you know the Butterfly had peculiar kind of tires.  See, it was wheeled up the street in that direction.”

She pointed to where the village main thoroughfare ended in a country road.

“I’m not after takin’ much stock in that,” remarked the policeman.

“We won’t bother you,” rejoined Roy rather heatedly; “I guess we won’t wait till your local Sherlock Holmes gets on the trail, we’ll follow it ourselves.”