pleasure of visiting their chum. Chet was a great favorite with all the boys, not the least of the reasons for his popularity being the fact that he had a roadster of his own, in which he drove to school every day and with which he was very generous in giving rides to his friends after school hours.
The Hardy boys drove along the country roads in the spring sunlight, enjoying the freedom of their holiday as only boys can. When they had reached a culvert not far from the Morton place Frank suddenly brought his motorcycle to a stop and peered down into a clump of bushes in the deep ditch.
“Somebody’s had a spill,” he remarked.
Down in the bushes lay an upturned automobile. The car was a total wreck, and lay bottom upward, a mass of tangled junk.
“Must have been hitting an awful clip to crumple up like that,” Joe commented. “Perhaps there’s someone underneath. Let’s go and see.”
The boys left their motorcycles by the road and went down to the wrecked car. But there was no sign of either driver or passengers.
“If anyone was hurt they’ve been taken away by now. Probably this wreck is a day or so old,” said Frank. “Let’s go. We can’t do any good here.”
They left the wreckage and returned to the road again, resuming their journey.
“I thought at first it might be our redheaded speed fiend,” said Frank. “If it was, he was sure lucky to get out of it alive.”
The boys gave little further thought to the incident and before long they were in sight of the Mortons’ house, a big, homelike, rambling old farmhouse with an apple orchard at the rear. When the boys drove down the lane they saw a figure awaiting them at the barnyard gate.