"The telegraph office isn't so far away from here. You can cut across
lots, and be there in fifteen or twenty minutes. Tell 'em to rush the
message, and it may be in time yet. Anyhow, we're going to be delayed
because of the accident to the motor, so it won't make so much
difference. But come on, let's start, and we can hurry back."

"I guess that's the best plan," remarked Jack dubiously, for he did not
fancy a half-hour's tramp across the fields and back again. Then, as he
thought of something else, he called out:

"Say, Mark, there's no use of both of us going to the telegraph office.
I'll go alone, as it's my fault, and you can stay here, and watch to
see if that strange man appears on the scene. I'll not be long, and you
can wait for me here."

"How would it be if I went on a little nearer to the Preakness house?"
asked Mark. "I can meet you there just as well as here, and something
may develop."

"Good idea! You go on, and when I come back, I'll take the road that
leads through the old slate quarry, and save some time that way. I'll
meet you right near the old barn that stands on the Gilbert property,
just before you reach the Preakness grounds."

"All right; I'll be there, but don't run your legs off. We're out for
all day, and there isn't anything that needs to be done at home, or
around the projectile, so take your time."

"Oh, I'll not go to sleep," declared Jack. "I want to see if we can't
solve the mystery of the man who writes such queer notes."