SHOCKS TWO AND THREE.
The motor boys were very much in the dark concerning Philo Grattan's
movements and intentions.
"He was right," observed Matt, referring to Grattan's note, "when he
said I was in the dark as much as he was concerning that piece of
glass. He wasn't fooled very long."
"There's good advice in that note," said McGlory, who was beginning to
have apprehensions that he and Matt were not yet done with the Eye of
Buddha. "I mean where he says that if the mandarin gets into any more
difficulties we'll be wise to let him get out of them alone the best
way he can."
"That's more than a piece of advice, Joe. If I catch the true meaning,
it's a threat."
McGlory at once saw a light in the general gloom.
"Then, if it's a threat, pard, Grattan must be ready to make another
try for the Eye of Buddha!"
"That's the way it strikes me."
"But what can Grattan do? Tsan Ti ought to be whooping it up pretty
well to the west by now. He's got a good long start of Grattan in the
run to 'Frisco."
"What Grattan can do," said Matt reflectively, "is as hard to
understand as what he has already done. We know he has discovered that
this red jewel is a counterfeit, we know he sent some one here to
return the piece of crimson glass to me, and it's a fair inference that
he's going to make another attempt to recover the real ruby. How he has
managed to do all this, however, or what he can possibly accomplish in
overhauling Tsan Ti, is far and away beyond me."
"We're out of it, anyhow," remarked McGlory, with an airy confidence
he was far from feeling. "You've promised not to pay any attention to
any four-eleven alarms you receive from the mandarin, and I'd feel
tolerably comfortable over the outlook if--if----" He paused.
"If what?" queried Matt.
"Why, if I hadn't seen that red-headed idol chasing me in my sleep. I
had two good looks at it. One look means trouble, two looks mean double
trouble. Call me a Piegan if I ever knew it to fail."
Matt laughed.
"Never trouble trouble," he admonished, "till trouble troubles you."
"Fine!" exclaimed McGlory; "but it's like a good many of these keen old
saws--hard to live up to. I'll bet the inventor of that little spiel
died of worry in some poorhouse. I'm always on my toes, shading my eyes
with my hat brim and looking for miles along the trail of life to see
if I can't pick up a little hard luck heading my way. Can't wait till I
come company front with it. Well, maybe it's all right. Life would be
sort of tame if something didn't happen now and then to make us ginger
up. But we're for New York at eleven o'clock, no matter what happens!"
A few minutes later they finished their breakfast and went out into the
office. As Matt pushed up to the desk to ask the amount of his hotel
bill, and settle for it, the clerk shoved a yellow envelope at him.
"Telegram, Matt. Just got here."
"Shock two," groaned McGlory, grabbing at the edge of the desk. "_Now_
what? Oh, tell me!"
Matt tore open the envelope, read the message, stared at it, whistled,
then read it again.
"Somebody want us to run an air ship or go to sea in a submarine?"
palpitated McGlory. "Sufferin' tenterhooks, pard! Stop your staring and
whistling, and hand it to me right off the bat."
Matt caught McGlory's arm and conducted him to a corner where there
were a couple of easy-chairs.
"It's from the mandarin," he announced.
"Sufferin' chinks!" breathed the cowboy. "Didn't I tell you? Say,
_didn't_ I? What's hit him now?"
"I'll read you the message, Joe."
"Go ahead. All I want you to do, pard, is just to remember what you
promised me."
"'Esteemed friend,'" read Matt, "'and highly treasured assistant in
time of storm----'"
"Speak to me about that!" grunted the disgusted McGlory. "His word box
is full of beadwork."
"'Again I call from the bottomless pit of distress,'" continued Matt,
"'and from this place named Gardenville announce the duplicity of Sam
Wing, who suddenly absented himself from the train with my supply of
cash and the Eye of Buddha. Having no money, I have requested of the
honorable telegraph company to receive pay from you. If----'"
"He's lost the ruby!" gasped McGlory, "and Sam Wing is the guilty man!
Oh, Moses, what a throwdown! Why, I had a notion Sam Wing thought the
sun rose and set in Tsan Ti. And Sam Wing lifted the ruby and the
mandarin's funds and hot-footed it for parts unknown! Well, _well_!"
"'If,'" continued Matt, continuing the reading, "'I cannot recover the
priceless gem, then nothing is left for me but the yellow cord. Hasten,
noble youth, and aid in catching the miserable Sam Wing.' That's all,
Joe," finished Matt, with a frown.
"Then drop it in the waste basket and let's settle our bill and start
for the landing. It's a quarter to eleven. While you're paying up I'll
go to the room after our grips."
The cowboy started impatiently to his feet. Matt continued to sit in
his chair, frowning and peering into vacancy.
"Mosey!" urged Joe.
"It seems too bad to turn Tsan Ti down in such cold-blooded fashion,"
said Matt.
"There you go! That's you! Say, pard, the mandarin thinks he's got a
mortgage on you. What's the good of helping a chink who's so locoed he
totes a fifty-thousand-dollar ruby around with him rather than hand it
over to the express company for transportation? Take it from me, you
can keep helping Tsan Ti for the next hundred years, and he'll never
get out of the country till he separates himself from the Eye of Buddha
and let some one else take the risk of getting it to Canton. Are you
going?"
"The poor old duffer," continued Matt, "is always right up in the air
when anything goes wrong with him. We know what the safe return of that
ruby to the Honam joss house means to him, Joe. The ruler of China has
sent him a yellow cord--a royal invitation for him to strangle himself
if the ruby is not found and returned to the forehead of the idol."
"Look here," snapped McGlory, "time's getting scarce. Are you going
down the river with me, pard, or have I got to go alone?"
Before Matt could answer, a well-dressed man hurried into the lobby
from the street and rushed for the desk as though he had something on
his mind.
"That's Martin," said Matt, looking at the man.
Martin was proprietor of the local garage and had been of considerable
assistance to the motor boys during the first days of their stay in
Catskill. It was Martin who owned the two motor cycles which had been
stolen from Matt and McGlory by Bunce and a pal. The boys had had to
put up three hundred dollars to settle for that escapade, but Tsan Ti
had made the amount good.
Martin talked excitedly with the hotel clerk for a moment, and the
clerk leaned over the desk and pointed toward the corner where the
motor boys had seated themselves. Martin, a look of satisfaction
crossing his troubled face, bore down on the corner.
"Look out for shock number three," growled McGlory. "Sufferin' hoodoos!
We've taken root here in Catskill, and I'll bet we won't be able to
pull out for the rest of our natural lives."
The cowboy, apparently discouraged with the outlook, dropped down into
his chair and leaned back in weary resignation.
"Matt!" exclaimed Martin, "you're just the fellow I want to find."
"What's wrong, Mr. Martin?" inquired Matt.
"A three-thousand-dollar car was stolen out of my garage last night.
The night man was attacked, knocked over the head, and then bound hand
and foot. It was a most brazen and dastardly piece of work."
"Too bad," spoke up McGlory, "but things like that will happen
occasionally. Think of Matt and me getting done out of those two motor
cycles of yours."
"But I'll have to put up ten times what you fellows did for the motor
cycles--that is, if we can't get the car back."
"_We!_" boomed McGlory, starting forward in his chair. "If _we_ can't
get the car back! Are Motor Matt and Pard McGlory mixed up in that
'we'?"
"Well, I thought when you knew the circumstances that----"
"Don't hem, and haw, and sidestep," cut in McGlory keenly. "You're in
trouble, and whenever anybody in the whole country stumbles against
something that's gone crosswise, then it's 'Hurrah, boys,' and send for
Motor Matt. I wish I had words to tell you how inexpressibly weary all
this makes me. Didn't you ever stop to think, Martin, that, off and on,
the motor boys might have troubles of their own?"
"But listen. You haven't heard the facts."
"What are the facts, Martin?" asked Matt.
"Why, the night man recognized one of the scoundrels who struck him
down. The rascal was dressed in sailor clothes and had a green patch
over one eye."
"Bunce!" exclaimed Matt, starting up.
"That's it," cried Martin, glad of the impression he was making.
"I knew you and McGlory had been mixed up with that sailor, and I
naturally thought you'd be glad of a chance to help nab him."
"About what time was the car stolen?" asked Matt, quieting McGlory with
a quick look.
"About half-past two," answered Martin. "I've got a car ready to chase
the scoundrels. Have you any notion which way that car ought to go?"
"You're a trifle late taking up the pursuit," remarked Matt. "Here it
is nearly eleven, and the automobile was stolen at half-past two--more
than eight hours ago."
"I was up at Cairo," explained Martin, "and didn't get back till ten
o'clock this morning."
"I've something of a clue," said Matt, "but it may be too late to
follow it."
"Where does the clue lead?"
"To Gardenville."
"Then we'll make a fast run to Gardenville. Will you go along?"
"Yes," said Matt. "Come on, Joe."
And McGlory dutifully went. As he, and Matt, and Martin passed out
of the hotel, the down-river boat from Albany whistled for Catskill
Landing. The cowboy looked at it.
"We'll never get to New York," he murmured; "not in a thousand years.
We're out for two different kinds of trouble, and we'll be into both of
'em up to our eyes before we're many hours older."