"Is there a road leading off before you get to the house?" asked
Kennedy.
"Yes--it crosses the line into Massachusetts."
"It is worth trying--it is the only thing we can do," decided
Kennedy. "Drive slowly to the crossroads. Perhaps we can pick out
the tire-prints there. They certainly won't show on the road
itself. It is too hard."
At the crossing we stopped and Kennedy dropped down on his hands
and knees again with the light.
"There it is," he exclaimed. "The same make of anti-skid tire, at
least. There was a cut in the rear tire--just like this. See? It
is the finger-print of the motor car. I think we are right. Turn
up here and run slowly."
On we went slowly, Kennedy riding on the running-board of the car
ahead. Suddenly he raised his hand to stop, and jumped down.
We gathered about him. Had he found a continuation of the tire-
tracks? There were tracks but he was not looking at them. He was
looking between them. There ran a thin line.
He stuck his finger in it and sniffed. "Not gas," he remarked. "It
must have been the radiator, leaking. Perhaps he ran his car into
Whitney's--forced it too far to the edge of the road. We can't
tell. But he couldn't have gone far with that leak without finding
water--or cracked cylinders.
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