“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 motorcycles roared as the three chums set out back along the road toward the place where the upturned automobile had been seen among the bushes. The boys lost no time in reaching the place, for they realized that every second was precious and that the longer they delayed the greater was the advantage to the car thief.

“You’re right, Joe. There’s no mistake. The redheaded driver came to grief in the ditch, just as we said he would, and then he went on to the nearest farmhouse, which happened to be Chet’s place, and stole the first car he saw.”

“The busted car was the one the fellow was running who nearly sent us over the cliff,” Joe declared. “And it’s ten chances to one that he’s the fellow who stole Chet’s roadster. And he’s redheaded. We have those clues, anyway.”

“And he went on past our farmhouse instead of turning back the way he came,” cried Chet. “Come on, fellows⁠—let’s get after him! There was only a little bit of gas in the roadster anyway. Perhaps he’s stalled by this time.”

Thrilling with the excitement of a chase, the boys clambered back onto the motorcycles and within a few moments a cloud of dust rose from the road as the Hardy boys and Chet Morton set out in swift pursuit of the redheaded automobile thief.

Traces of the Thief

Chet Morton’s roadster was a brilliant yellow, not easily mistaken, and the Hardy boys were confident that it would not be difficult to pick up the trail of the auto thief.

“The car is pretty well known around Bayport,” said Chet. “It was certainly a gay-looking speed-wagon. Anyone who saw it would remember it.”

“Seems strange that a thief would take a car like that,” remarked Frank. “Auto thieves usually take cars of a standard make and standard color. They’re easier to get rid of. He would know that a car like yours could be easily traced.”

“I don’t think he stole the car to sell it,” Joe pointed out. “Take it from me, that chap was getting away from some place in a hurry and when his own car was smashed he just took the first one that came to hand. If we keep after him before he has a chance to get rid of it we’ll run him to earth.”

A number of men in a hayfield nearby attracted Frank’s attention, and he brought his motorcycle to a stop.

“I’m going to ask these chaps if they saw him pass.”

Frank scrambled over the fence and went over to talk to the farmhands, who watched his approach with curiosity.

“Didn’t see a yellow roadster pass here within the last hour, did you?”

One of them, a lanky old farmer with a sunburned nose, carefully laid down his scythe, put his hand to his ear and shouted: