The girls looked at each other tragically. Their trunk on the road to
Indianapolis!

"How long ago did he start?" asked Gladys.

"About an hour," answered the repairman.

"We'll have to go after him," said Gladys, resolutely. "We need that
trunk. Can you tell us what the man's name is?"

"Hansen," replied the repairman. "George Hansen. Driving seven
passenger touring car, brown, with black streamer and gold striping. He
was driving to Indianapolis over the road that goes through Huntington,
Marion and Anderson; I heard him talking about it. That's one of the
main roads out of here. You ought to be able to overtake him on the
way; he's a slow driver and his motor was missing pretty badly.
Wouldn't let me fix it though, because it would take too long and he
wanted to get to Indianapolis in time to see the races. He lives there,
so you ought to be able to find him; runs some kind of a store."

He poured out his information eagerly; he seemed anxious to do anything
he could to aid in the recovery of the trunk, since he had put it on
the wrong car. "Funny how well it fitted that other rack!" he said. But
Gladys says there is nothing peculiar about that because the two cars,
being the same make, had the same style rack, and the trunk was the
ordinary one carried by automobilists.

She hastily looked up the route to Indianapolis and started in pursuit
of the unconscious thief. It was then nearly five o'clock in the