“He’s got me,” groaned Smith as he stumbled and fell forward.

On kept Del Mar and the others.  They caught up with the car just as it was starting.  But the chauffeur knocked the gun from Del Mar’s hand before he could get a good aim and fire, at the same time bowling over the man who had come through the panel.

Off the car went, now rapidly gaining speed.  Del Mar had just time to swing on the rear of it.

Around the rapidly-driven car, he climbed, hanging on for dear life, over the mud-guard and toward the running-board.  On sped the car, swaying crazily back and forth, Del Mar crouched on the running-board and working his way slowly and perilously to the front seat.

The chauffeur felt the weight of some one on that side.  Just as he turned to see what it was, Del Mar leaped at him.  Still holding the wheel, the chauffeur fought him off with his free hand, Del Mar holding on to some spare tires with one hand, also.  Handicapped by having the steering-wheel to manage, nevertheless the chauffeur seemed quite well able to give a good account of himself.

. . . . . . .

Somehow, Elaine and I must have been hoodooed that day.

We had not been gone five minutes from Del Mar’s after the accident to the chauffeur, when we heard a mysterious knock in the engine.

“More engine trouble,” I sighed.  “Pull up along the road and I’ll see if I can fix it.”

We stopped and both got out.  There was no fake about this trouble or about the dirt and grease I acquired on my hands and face, tinkering with that motor.  For, regardless of my immaculate flannels, I had to set to work.  A huge spot of grease spattered on me.  Elaine laughed outright.

“Here, let me powder your nose, Walter,” she cried undismayed at our trouble, gayly opening her bag.  “Well—­of all things—­what’s this, and where did it come from?”

I turned from the engine and looked.  She was holding some kind of plan or document in her hand.  In blank surprise she examined it.  It looked like a fort or a series of forts.  But I was sure at a glance that it was not Fort Dale.

“What do you think it is, Walter?” she asked, handing it to me.

I took it and examined it carefully.  Incredible as it seemed, I figured out quickly that it must be nothing short of a plan of the new defenses at Sandy Hook.

“I don’t know what it all means,” I said.  “But I do know that we won’t get any dinner till I get this engine running again.”

I fell to work again, eager to get away with our dangerous prize, Elaine now and then advising me.  Finally I turned the engine over.  For a wonder it ran smoothly.  “Well, that’s all right, at last,” I sighed, wiping the grease off my hands on a piece of waste.

“What’s the matter now?” exclaimed Elaine, turning quickly and looking up the road along which we had just come.