thirty-five miles an hour.

Stubbs leaned forward and called to Hal.

"How far do you suppose we are from the Dutch border?"

"Don't know," was the reply, "but it's a long ways. We're not more
than 70 miles from Berlin."

Several times during the next few hours they were halted, but were
permitted to pass on, after showing their passports. Apparently the
Berlin authorities had not wired ahead, and Hal was unable to account
for this satisfactorily.

"Something peculiar about it," he muttered, as he bent over the wheel.

For the next few hours the automobile proceeded on its way without
interruption, save for a single stop to replenish gasoline and air.

It was well along toward evening when Stubbs announced that the Dutch
frontier was only a few miles distant. Once over the line they would
be comparatively safe.

A foreboding of trouble swept over Hal.

Chester had slept during most of the trip thus far. McKenzie had
examined the lad carefully and discovered that he was suffering from a
flesh wound in the left side. The Canadian had bound this up as well
as he could as the automobile jostled along.