CHAPTER XVI.
THE TIRE PRINTS.Jack Cray barely avoided a sudden start at that last remark of Mrs. Simpson’s. He had been hoping for some light on the electric car, but had thought it improbable that he would find any clew at the fugitive’s home.
“So he’s a fool at times, is he?” he thought. “Good enough! That ought to make things easier.”
“So the bug caught him, too, did it?” he asked aloud, with a careless smile. “Did he buy a machine?”
“Oh, no, sir! He rented one in the village, but his idea was to buy one as soon as he could afford it. In fact, he has had a gate made in the back fence, and one of those little, portable garages put up.”
“He meant to enjoy himself, didn’t he?” Cray asked lightly, though the role he was obliged to play was becoming more and more irksome. “There’s a dri
