"WELL, I guess we're ready to go," Chet announced as he gave his hands a final wipe in an effort to rid them of some of the grime and grease that stuck after the repair job.

"Will she run?" questioned Frank.

"Like a sewing machine!  Step on the starter and see."

Frank did so.

"All to the Worcestershire sauce," he announced.  "Let's go!"

"Gresham?" questioned Chet.

"Where else?"

"I didn't know but what you had changed tour mind."

"Why should I?"

"Well, you've been thinking pretty hard and I notice that when you do that, something happens."

"Something will happen if I can get hold of the birds who have Joe!" exclaimed Frank, and there was a grim look about his mouth that boded no good for his enemies.

"That's what we're going to do," declared Chet.  "We're going to get a line on those birds in Gresham."

"Maybe." Frank was not very sanguine.  "Anyhow, let's see how the old bus runs."

The car bore out Chet's prediction and not only started with a touch of the electric foot-button, but continued to run over the road that led to Gresham.  The boys rolled into the town, coasting along, somewhat at a loss as to what their first move should be.

"So this is Gresham!" remarked Frank, just as if he didn't know it.

"What there is of it," countered Chet. "Is there any particular part you'd like to see more than another?" he inquired with the manner of a guide to a stranger.

"I guess we'd better go straight to the police," suggested Frank.  "The more I think over what happened, the more I believe we should have some official help and action on this game.  The memory of that big, burly, light-haired man sticks in my mind."

"He was something of a strong-arm man," agreed Chet.  "Yes, I think the police are indicated in a case of this sort."

They stopped the car in front of Headquarters which was typical of the town.

"Well?" half growled the officer behind the desk, which had a brass railing in front.