. Don't need to tell him I was in on the wrecking of the car at
all. That wouldn't help any. These records might. And if I can help to
find him and bring him back, then, oh, boy! Oh you baby fortune! Five
thousand big, red, round dollars!"

He sat back trying to measure the meaning of the possession of five
thousand dollars which did not have to be spent for bed, board and
clothing. At last he gave it up in despair.

The morning papers assured the interested city that the son of their
money king was still missing. To make sure that this report was correct,
Curlie called up the mansion and inquired about it. When he learned that
it was indeed true, he requested the servant who answered the telephone
to inform the millionaire that a representative of the Secret Service of
the Air would arrive at his residence with copies of certain radiophone
messages sent out by his son previous to his mysterious disappearance,
which might shed some light on the subject.

Shortly after that he leaped into the driver's seat on the Humming Bird
and motored away to the west.

Arrived at the Forest Preserve, he backed the car into the deserted
roadway in the forest at the very spot where he and Joe had concealed
themselves the night of the race.

"Have to leave you here, old thing," he whispered. "If a fellow were to
pull up that driveway in such a rakish craft as you are, they might
think him crazy and throw him out.

"Well here goes," he whispered to himself, as, having rounded the last
clump of decorative shrubbery, he came in sight of the red stone
mansion.

"Whew! What a stunner!" whispered Curlie to himself.

The sun was tipping the parapets of that mansion with gold; the dew
sparkled on the perfectly kept green. It was indeed a beautiful
picture.

Tiptoeing up the steps, he was about to lift the heavy bronze knocker
when a porter opened the door and motioned him to enter.

"Are you the man?" he asked in a low tone.

"I'm the boy who wired about the messages."

"Step right this way. He's waiting."

Curlie's heart beat fast. Was he to be ushered at once into the august
presence of the magnate? He had pictured to himself hours of waiting,
interviews by private secretaries and all that.

And yet here he was. In a large room furnished in rich mahogany,
seemingly the rich man's home office, he was being greeted by a stout,
broad-shouldered, brisk and healthy-looking man who was assuring him
that he was speaking to J. Anson