“So I understand.  And wasn’t there some mystery connected with it?”

“Indeed, there was.  You know, they found the empty wallet in the tool-box of my car.”

“Yes, so I heard.  Quite remarkable.  But can’t the detectives find out who stole the money and hid the pocketbook there?”

Cora was grateful for the neat way he put that, to avoid referring to the suspicions that had been cast on her and on her friends.

“The police don’t appear able to do anything,” was her answer.  “It does seem very strange.”

“Have they inquired of all the people who were on hand at the time of the robbery—­or loss—­when, I understand, it was very likely that the empty wallet was put in your tool-box?”

“Oh, yes, they have questioned all of us—­and I can tell you that they were not any too polite about it, either.  I thought I would never get over their quizzing.”

“Well, I suppose they have to be sharp,” remarked Paul.  “But I’ve not yet explained to you the reason why I am in such a hurry and the nature of the position I am after.  You see, a firm in New City advertised for a chauffeur to drive their machine across the country in a big race.  I replied, and was as good as engaged.  I expected to go over this morning, but some one told me that Sid Wilcox had taken the early train and was going to beat me out—­It’s a case of first come—­get the job, you see.”

“Sidney Wilcox!” exclaimed Cora in astonishment.

“Yes.  You know him, of course.  It seems that he wants to make the trip, and is willing to run the machine without pay.  I can’t afford to do that, and that gives him an advantage over me.  If Sid gets there first, and offers to do it for nothing, it means that they’ll take him.”

“Well, he’ll not get there first!” exclaimed Cora very determinedly.

Suddenly they both heard the distant whistle of the train.  “There she is!” cried Paul; and a little later they caught sight of the cars, flying over the track.

“We’re too late,” said Paul.

“Not yet,” answered Cora.  “We can take a shorter route, even if they can go faster than we can.”

She was already running on third speed, and the motor was taking about all the gasolene it could use.  She adjusted the spark to give the best service, and now, as an additional means of inducing speed, she cut out the muffler.  The explosions of the motor played a tattoo on the dusty road.

“I’m going to turn here!” cried Cora as she swung around a corner.  “Look out!”

Paul needed no warning, for he was an expert autoist.  The machine skidded a bit and tilted somewhat, but was soon flying down the straight, level stretch.

“I cannot understand why Sid Wilcox wants to run in a cross-country race—­and for nothing,” said Cora.

“Because he knows I want the place.  He hates me and wants to make trouble for me.”

“Is that so?  Then we have a double reason for beating him.  And I think we’ll do it.  His train has to wait for the accommodation to pass it at the junction.  We’ll gain on him there.”