“Toot the horn!” she directed.
As Kitty played a staccato tune upon the horn button, she let out the clutch so quickly that the car leaped forward like a playful panther. The girls waved goodbye, as Marshmallow and Dave rushed out on the porch.
“Next time Marshmallow won’t be so uppish about his car,” Doris laughed.
She drove slowly, for she was not familiar with the car and she intended to run no risk of damaging it. Thinking that there would be less traffic on the open road, she selected a street which led to the outskirts of the city. The engine ran so smoothly and quietly that before she realized it the speedometer registered thirty miles an hour.
“Not too fast,” Kitty warned. “If anything should go wrong, Marshmallow never would forgive us.”
The girls had been so engrossed in the road ahead that they did not notice a high-powered car which was rapidly approaching from the rear. They did not realize that they were being followed, until a shrill, long-drawn-out whistle pierced their ears.
“The State Police!” Kitty gasped.
“They can’t want us! We’re not speeding!”
Even as she spoke the police car flashed ahead of them and blocked the road.
“Halt!” came the sharp command.
Doris slammed on the brakes and brought the sedan to a standstill alongside the police car.
“Surely there must be some mistake,” she murmured, uneasily noticing that one of the officers held a revolver in his hand.
“There’s no mistake, young lady,” she was informed coldly. “We’ve been looking for this stolen car for the last week!”
CHAPTER II
The Theft
“Stolen car!” Kitty and Doris gasped.
“Yes,” the officer returned, opening the door of the sedan. “It won’t do you any good to pretend you don’t know what it’s all about, because we’ve got the goods on you. Tumble out before we have to use force!”
Kitty hastily stepped from the car, but Doris, who had begun to grasp the seriousness of the situation, did not move. She was determined not to abandon Marshmallow’s new automobile without a struggle.
“Really,” she said earnestly to the officer, “you’re making a dreadful mistake in trying to arrest us. This car belongs to a friend of ours. He bought it only this afternoon and my chum and I thought we would go for a little ride.”
“What’s your name?” the officer demanded bluntly.
“Doris Force.”
“Force, eh? Not the niece of Wardell Force?”
“Yes, he’s my uncle,” Doris declared eagerly. “And who do you claim owns this car?”
“Marshall Mallow.”
Doris told a straightforward story and spoke in such an earnest manner that the officers were impressed. After a brief conference, the spokesman turned again to the frightened girls.
“If what you say is true, we’ll get this fellow Mallow and let you off. If your story doesn’t prove up, you’ll get a chance to talk to the judge. Now lead the way to where this Mallow lives!”
“Marshall didn’t steal the car,” Doris insisted indignantly. “He owns it.”
The officer laughed shortly.
“This sedan was stolen last week from a wealthy lawyer who lives in Bainbridge.”
He seated himself beside Doris and ordered Kitty to get into the back. He then told Doris to start the car. Nervously she obeyed, but as she let in the clutch the sedan leaped forward with a jerk. The officer looked sharply at her and said sternly:
“None of your tricks, young lady!”
“I tell you I never had my hand on this wheel until this afternoon!” Doris insisted somewhat impatiently, for she was driving as well as she possibly could.
As she guided the sedan down the side streets of Chilton, she was painfully conscious that the police car was following close behind. What would her friends think if they saw her with such an escort? How could she bear to face Marshmallow? She blamed herself for taking the car in the first place. She had only herself to thank for the unpleasant situation.
Doris was supersensitive to public opinion, for though Chilton was a city of average size, she had lived there many years and was known by nearly everybody. Since the death of her parents she had made her home with Wardell Force, her uncle, who occupied a pleasant suite of rooms in the Mallow residence. Mr. Force, retired from active business, was absorbed in charity work and at the present time was engaged in a gigantic campaign to raise money for a fresh-air fund. Doris realized only too well that if her name crept into the newspapers in connection with the stolen car, the resulting publicity would make her uncle’s work more difficult.
She could not believe that Marshmallow or Dave knew they had purchased a stolen automobile, for both young men enjoyed excellent reputations in the community. Dave, an ardent admirer of Doris, was serious-minded and studious. At the aviation school where he was enrolled he was considered one of the most promising young aviators. Marshmallow, the only son of his widowed mother, Mrs. Mallow, was easygoing and full of fun. His greatest interest in life was his appetite.
Marshmallow and Doris had grown up together and were inclined to engage in good-natured arguments now and then. However, they were the best of friends, and Marshmallow had been as pleased as anyone, when Doris learned that a visit to Locked Gates offered the prospect of a fortune.
As is recounted in the first volume of this series, “Doris Force at Locked Gates,” she had gone to the mysterious mansion of the Misses Gates to claim her fortune. Instead of receiving an inheritance, she found herself involved in an intricate plot. With the aid of Jake, a man employed by her uncle, Doris uncovered the fact that a notorious criminal, Joe Jeffery, was attempting to swindle the Misses Gates. Not only did she expose this plan, but she learned that her long-lost uncle, John Trent, had actually left a sum of money in a bank at Cloudy Cove. At the request of the Misses Gates she had promised to settle up the estate, and, if possible, solve the mystery which surrounded her Uncle John Trent’s strange disappearance from home many years before.
As she stopped the sedan in front of the Mallow residence, Doris was thinking that the unfortunate accusation of the police might postpone her trip to Cloudy Cove. She was relieved to see Marshmallow and Dave in the front yard. The two young men hurried over to the curb, but stopped short as they saw the police.
“Ha! Pinched for speeding!” Marshmallow jested.
The grin faded from his face as he saw the sober countenances of the girls and the stern expressions of the officers.
“Are you Mallow?” he was questioned.
Rather uneasily, Marshmallow admitted that he was.
“You own this sedan?”
“I do,” Marshmallow returned proudly. “Bought her today.”
“Where is your bill-of-sale?”
Dave and Marshmallow exchanged quick glances. “Why, we haven’t any,” Marshmallow admitted sheepishly. “We thought the fellow gave it to us, but when we went to look in the envelope, it wasn’t there.”
“So! Well, young fellow, if you haven’t a bill-of-sale, I guess you’ll just have to march along to jail with us!”
“What for? I haven’t done anything.”
“You’re in the possession of stolen property!”
“Look here!” Marshmallow protested heatedly. “There’s something wrong. I bought this car fair and square from a fellow