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across to the kitchen door and suddenly pushing it ajar. As she had expected, the door did not open far, and there was a muttered exclamation from behind it.
    “Oh, I’m so sorry! Did I hit somebody?” Nancy asked.
    Mrs. Jemitt was revealed, looking rather dazed and rubbing her ear. “No, not much,” she said sarcastically.
    The woman wheeled about, darted through the kitchen, and vanished into the garden. Nancy was at her heels, but Mr. Drew called her back.
    “You were a little too fast for me.” He smiled. “I just wanted to tell you that Peter Boonton and Jacob Sidney, the two men you told me about, are coming here this morning. We want the will signed and witnessed before they arrive. That’s the reason I’m asking for the greatest possible speed.”
    Nancy nodded and left the house. She saw Jemitt, who seemed to be having difficulty starting his automobile. His wife, her back to Nancy, was beside the car talking and gesticulating violently to him.
    “She’s probably telling him about my errand,” Nancy thought, “so I must hurry. On the other hand, I may never have another opportunity to look at that buried box. I must find out if it belongs to Asa Sidney.”
    Out of sight of the Jemitts, she ran to the barn. It took only a moment to roll away the logs in the improvised woodpile and uncover what Jemitt had buried underneath.
    “If it’s what I think, I’m sure Dad would want me to take the chest to the bank,” the young sleuth told herself.
    The loose dirt was easy to brush aside, and anxiety gave Nancy added strength. She saw at a glance that the chest was indeed the one with the carved twisted candles, and marked Private property of Asa Sidney. She lifted it out.
    Lugging the heavy ebony and brass chest, Nancy went around the far corner of the house and climbed into her car. She started the motor, locked the doors, and sped off.
    The highway ahead was clear. Nancy glanced into her rear-vision mirror to see if anyone was on the road behind. What she had feared was true. Frank Jemitt’s big car had lurched into the road and was roaring after her!
    “Does he know where I’m going, and why?” she thought.
    Jemitt’s car, although left behind by Nancy’s first burst of speed, began to crawl up.
    “There’s no doubt about it, he’s after me,” Nancy told herself. “Either he’s going to prevent my bringing Mr. Hill, or force me to give up the stolen chest!”

CHAPTER VII
    The Race
    THE convertible sped along as fast as Nancy dared go. But Jemitt’s more powerful car was slowly catching up. Would he force her off the road? A second glimpse in the rear-view mirror disclosed Carol’s foster father crouched over the wheel of his car, his teeth clenched, his face red.
    “If I can only reach the turn to Smith’s Ferry,” Nancy thought, “maybe I can outwit him.”
    Calculating her speed and the road with precision, she pretended to pass the intersecting highway. Then, with a quick twist of the wheel she shot into the fork. The low-slung convertible hugged the road and with squealing tires made the sharp curve safely.
    Nancy slowed down a moment to glance behind her. A look of relief spread over her face.
    Jemitt had fallen into the trap. Nancy’s abrupt turn had caught him unawares, and he had shot ahead in the direction of River Heights. When he jammed on his brakes, the speeding car skidded off the road into a small ditch.
    “Sorry, Mr. Jemitt.” Nancy grinned.
    In a short time she was driving up the main street of Smith’s Ferry at a sedate pace. She found the bank without difficulty and parked, then picked up the chest and entered the building.
    “I should like to speak with Mr. Hill—Mr. Raymond Hill,” Nancy told the woman receptionist.
    “Do you have an appointment?”
    “No, but if you’ll tell him I’m here for Carson Drew on important business, I’m sure he’ll see me,” Nancy replied.
    The woman smiled and went off. Presently she returned and ushered her into Mr.