Chapter VIII: In Most Excellent Good Season

Almost as he ceased speaking the detective, peering forward, as if not quite certain of the road, it was so dark, placed a detaining hand on Davy's arm. "Right to one side here and stop," he said.

Without jar or sound, save the slight squeak of a brake, the Big Six came to a halt. The wonder of the Auto Boys was doubled, if such a thing were possible. Another hundred yards would have placed them directly in front of the dwelling of Mr. Peek.

"_He_ had nothing to do with stealing that car, or ours," Paul Jones could not refrain from whispering to Billy, at his side.

Lost in his own questioning thoughts, Worth did not answer.

"Keep right behind me, Philip, the gun in your right hand and pointed to the ground." Mr. Rack was out of the car now, and taking Phil by the sleeve as he spoke, that young gentleman also stepped softly down. "If you boys are as quiet as mice," said the detective to the others, "you will hear me call instructions, should I do so. We may be gone for some time."

In silent wonder the three in the car obeyed the order so gently given, but so imperatively attuned. Without misgiving, but trembling from the multitude of questions rushing to his mind, Way followed Mr. Rack. Walking upright, but without noise, the two approached the dark and lonely farmhouse.

Stationing Way behind the trunk of an old apple tree, Mr. Rack left him. For a quarter of an hour he was absent. Vastly to Phil's surprise he came creeping on hands and knees and was fairly beside the boy ere the latter discovered him.

"We are too late, or too early. It will take some time----"

A terrific scream burst suddenly on the air. Coming in unexpected violence, and from within the old house, the sound was terrifying beyond description.

"Don't forget the signal!" said Robert Rack calmly.

"Close in," Phil whispered, to show he remembered, but the detective was gone.

The seconds seemed like hours to Philip Way and no less so to the three in the car who had heard the frightful scream.

Suddenly there came a wild cry, like violent, threatening anger, like the howl of a wolf at bay. And then----

"Close in!" It was the voice of Bob Rack, and what a contrast with the other! It might have been a father calling a son to breakfast, so cool, collected, calm it was.

Instantly Way rushed forward through the dark. _Close in!_ Yes, but where? How? Soon he found himself groping for the door at the side porch. A feeble light shone from the kitchen. With a crash the door was suddenly flung open. A heavy figure leaped forth. Phil threw himself forward, arms outstretched, just as many a time he had tackled on the gridiron, and the heavy body went tumbling to the ground beside the doorstep, Way with it, but keeping the uppermost position.

"Nicely done, Philip, nicely!" No disturbed note, no ruffled sound, no excitement whatever,--just Bob Rack saying a word or two in his calm and tranquil way, both then and an instant later: "Sit up, Adam! Let him rise, Phil. I think we were here just in good season. You see how Mr. Peek is, Phil,--back there in the front room. You'll find another lamp in the kitchen, no doubt."

Nothing surprised Phil more, perhaps, than the effect of the detective's low and even tones upon himself. Though panting for breath, after the recent struggle and his exertion, he noticed that he experienced no sense of fear or apprehension. He found a lamp on a low mantel and lighted it. As he went toward the room adjoining, he heard Mr. Rack call cheerily, "Light up the car, boys! Drive up to the yard here, if you will."

The scene Phil discovered in the front room would have been horrifying but for the calm upon him, to which allusion has just been made. Mr. Peek, dressed as if for work, sat on the edge of the bed, his face covered by his hands while blood stained his fingers and dripped, like the dropping of water, upon the oil-cloth covering the floor.

Hastily Way helped the old man to rise. He wanted the outer air he said--his chair near the kitchen door. The lad led him as he wished, then brought water and a towel. Helping himself, then, Mr. Peek bathed an ugly wound above and to the left of his left eyebrow. A revolver in his hand, Mr. Rack sat on the lower steps of the porch. His prisoner sat on the ground before him and the detective had taken the precaution of slipping handcuffs upon him.

Billy, Paul and Dave had now arrived upon the scene, but not one ventured a word.

"Are you able to ride to town, Mr. Peek?" asked Mr. Rack. "You'll be so much better there than here."

But no, the old gentleman would not go. He was not much hurt, he said, and would feel perfectly safe to remain alone. "Safer than I have really been for many a day, I don't doubt," he added. "But if he had struck the temple, as he surely tried to, he would have killed me," shuddered the aged farmer. "Lord, I have suffered as I have deserved!"

The latter words were low, as if spoken in prayer. Then quite aloud again, "Take him with you. You might drop in to-morrow. Maybe my boys will be out this way." The latter words were accompanied by a smile. "You and your automobile did good work to-night, boys! However you happened along, I can't think! And this gentleman with you?"

"It's quite a story, Mr. Peek. I'll tell you all about it when you've rested some," said Way, holding a lamp, while Billy tied a soft, clean handkerchief over the wound. Worth was gentle and clever as a woman at such things.

"Thunder and lightning! It's _Pickem!_ I thought----"

Paul's violent exclamation caused all the boys to look at once to the man on the ground. The dull glow of the lamp had suddenly fallen upon the fellow's face.

"So did I! I thought----"

"That it was Coster," broke in Bob Rack gently. "But it is neither he nor any other than Mr. Adam W. Kull, of Harkville, New York."

"By thunder! _We_ called him Pickem!" cried Paul, in amazement. "How did _he_ get here?"

"I think he ran out in his Torpedo. The car stands by the roadside, just above," said Mr. Rack, pleasantly.