This, on investigation, was not as mysterious as it had at first appeared.  There was a small door in the back of the Nameless’s shed, and at this door there had been waiting, for some moments before the conclusion of the race, a big automobile.  In it were seated a bronzed man, with broad shoulders, and an alert, wideawake expression, and a boy, whose foot was propped up on an extemporized contrivance affixed to the seat.

While the crowd had hovered about the front of the shed, awaiting the reappearance of the girl aviator, whose feat had caused such a furore, this boy had limped from the machine, assisted by his stalwart companion, and had entered the shed by the rear door.  It would have astonished the crowd, and delighted the reporters in search of a story, if they could have seen Peggy rush at the youth, and with a wild cry of: 

“Roy!  You darling!” throw her arms about his neck.

Mr. Bell, for he was the stalwart personage, stood aside with a look of warm satisfaction, as Peggy’s turn over, Jess and Jimsy came forward.  What a joyous reunion that was, I will leave you to imagine.  Then came Mr. Bell’s story of his telegram to Sandy Beach to the judge, who was a friend of his.  The message had announced that he had obtained complete confessions from both Joey Eccles and the unsavory Slim.  Roy’s release from bail and suspicion at once followed.

Eccles had owned up to his part in the mischief that had been wrought against the young Prescotts.  Frankly, and without reserve, he had sworn to a statement before a local attorney, in which he admitted losing the bill with the mark upon it, on the night he had aided in decoying Roy to the old house.  His assistant had been a cast off workman of the Mortlake plant, of whose whereabouts Joey said he was now ignorant.

Then had come Slim’s turn.  Sullenly, but with the alternative of prison staring him in the face, he had admitted to impersonating the foreign spy.  The part of Roy on that eventful night had been played by: 

“Guess whom?” said Mr. Bell, looking round.

They all shook their heads.

“I’ll tell you about that part of it later,” said Mr. Bell.  “There are still one or two things to be cleared up in that connection.  But,” he continued, “Palmer confessed that it was Mortlake who robbed the farm-house safe, the object being, of course, not so much the money, as a chance to put Roy out of the race contest.  It has been a record of vile plotting all the way through,” said the Westerner warmly, “but the toils are closing in about Mortlake & Co.  Of course, my first step was to take the fellows before an attorney—­luckily I knew one in Hampton, and he, as it happened, was a friend of the Sandy Beach judge.  We had to move quickly, but, thanks to the telegraph wire and fast trains, I got Roy released from bail and suspicion, and here in time to greet you.”

They could only look their gratitude.  Just as the strain was becoming almost too taut, Mr. Bell, who had noticed it, broke the tension.