MATT GOES TROUBLE-HUNTING.
No matter how firmly convinced Colonel Plympton had been regarding
Matt's treacherous intentions, the tremendous shock the note gave him
was too real to be feigned.
"Isn't that your signature, King?" demanded Plympton.
"Yes, sir, so far as I can see; but certainly I never signed any paper
like that. I'm not that sort of a fellow, Colonel Plympton. Did Ralph
Sercomb deliver that paper to you?"
"I don't know why I should make a secret of it. Yes, he did; but it was
because he had the interests of the Stark-Frisbie Company at heart."
"You're wrong, sir," said Matt firmly. "This is a cut-and-dried plot,
all the way through. Sercomb has got it in for me, and this rascal,
Slocum, is helping him spoil my chances with the Stark-Frisbie Company."
The colonel's face hardened.
"Seeing how you took that note, I was ready to believe this the first
time you ever laid eyes on it," said he, "but you are spoiling the good
impression by blaming Sercomb."
"In a case like this I have to put the blame where it belongs."
A blow in the face could not have dazed Matt more than that note had
done. Now, however, his anger and indignation were coming uppermost.
In his case, that always meant that his brain was clearing, and every
muscle steadying itself to the tensity of a fore-stay.
"I can't go into your private quarrels, King," said Colonel Plympton,
"and even if you are innocent of any dealings with a representative
of the Bly-Lambert people, after what has happened I couldn't
conscientiously hire you. Besides, you are virtually a stranger; you
have never driven in a motor-race--which is vastly different from
ordinary driving, and requires experience--and you are rather young to
enter the racing field."
"That isn't the point just now, colonel," said Matt. "I am bound to
get into that race for the Borden cup, now, in order to show that my
intentions are honest--and in order to prove that there is villainous
work afoot and that some one is trying to make me the victim of it. I
owe this to myself, and I also owe it to Mr. Tomlinson, who recommended
me to you. That paper," and he pointed to the document which he had
picked up and laid on the colonel's desk, "is not the one I thought
I was signing. Slocum juggled it around in the place of the other. I
can see that, now that the contemptible plot has come out. Do you know
Sercomb's handwriting, colonel?"
"As well as my own."
Matt fished from his pocket the communication which Carl had brought to
the hotel.
"Please tell me if that is Sercomb's writing," said he.
"No," answered the colonel decidedly.
"Kindly read the note through, anyway. It will show a reason for this
Slocum plot."
Colonel Plympton read the note through carefully, and with a
considerable show of surprise.
"Where did you get that?" he asked.
Matt thereupon told how Carl had been waylaid and taken to the meeting
room of the Drivers' Club, of what had transpired there, and how Carl
had been turned loose in an unknown quarter of the town and sent to the
hotel with the letter.
"This is too incredible, King!" exclaimed the colonel. "It's the
wildest kind of a yarn. No, I'm not disputing your word at all, but
simply suggesting that some of the drivers may be having a little fun
at your expense. That the racing men should band together to keep you
out of the game is too outrageous for belief."
"I thought myself it was all a bluff until this Slocum business came
out," said Matt. He got up. "I'm going to get to the bottom of this,
colonel," said he with a glint in his gray eyes, "and I'm going
to drive a car in that Kansas race. I should like to race for the
Stark-Frisbie Company, but, if that's impossible, I'll go in for
whoever will give me a show."
"I'm afraid it's impossible, King, so far as our people are concerned.
I'm glad you came in here and had this talk with me, though, for I
think a hundred per cent. better of you than I did before. I was
thinking Tomlinson had been deceived in you. I'll not tell him about
this signed paper if you don't want me to."
"I want you to, sir," returned Matt earnestly. "I believe Mr. Tomlinson
has too much confidence in me to take any stock in that thing."
"You're going to Kansas?"
"Yes, sir."
"On your own hook?"
"It seems that I'm not able to go any other way."
"Egad, I like your spirit, anyhow! When do you start?"
"Just as soon as I transact a little business with Slocum, and a few
others who need my attention."
"Well, good luck to you!" The colonel got up and took Matt's hand.
"You've got a way of inspiring confidence, and I wish I could do
something for you, but I'm afraid it's out of the question. Win that
Kansas race, though, and you'll have more offers to drive motor-cars
than you can fill."
Matt experienced a sense of great relief as he left Colonel Plympton's
office. He felt that he had accomplished not a little in ranging the
colonel on his side.
Carl was waiting impatiently for Matt, walking up and down the hotel
office and keeping his eyes constantly on the windows that faced the
street.
As Matt, in a quiet corner of the office, told about the treachery of
Slocum, Carl's rage was so intense that it would have been ludicrous in
any other circumstances.
"Ach, dot sgoundrel! dot fillian!" he wheezed. "Oof I hat him here I
vould make him t'ink a brick house hat fell on him! Der plackguard! Der
tinhorn! Led me go oudt und look for him!"
Carl jumped furiously from his chair, but Matt caught him and pulled
him back.
"There's somebody else we're to look for, Carl," said he.
"Who's dot?"
"Sercomb and his scheming friends."
"Yah, you bed you! Ve vill findt dose fellers, und ven ve do findt dem
ve vill ged some shtrangle-holts on dem und make dem say oudt vere iss
Slocum."
"It's not often that I go hunting trouble," said Matt grimly, "but
that's what I'm going to do now."
"How ve shtart it oudt, Matt?" queried Carl.
"We'll look for that basement club-room."
"Yah, so, aber how ve findt dot?"
"Can't you take me to the alley where the gang set upon you?"
"Easy! Afder dot, how ve going to findt dot cellar-blace? I had
somet'ing ofer my headt ven I vas dook dere, und I don'd see nodding."
"Well, they had an automobile in the cellar. That means that the
basement door was wide enough to take the machine in, and that there
is an incline for the car to climb and descend. That will give us our
clue. I'll warrant that there are not many basement doors of that
description opening upon that alley."
"Pully!" murmured Carl, almost overcome with admiration. "Vat a headt
it iss! Matt, oof I hat a headt like dot, I vouldt haf Rockybuilt
backed off der poard."
"Let's confine our attention to backing Sercomb off the board, and
straightening out this tangle." Matt got up. "Come on, Carl."
"Vill dere be anypody in der clup-room now? Meppy dey don'd come
togedder undil nighdt, und meppy nod efery nighdt, eider."
"We'll go and try to find the place, anyhow," replied Matt. "If there's
no one there we'll go back again to-night."
"Pully!" As they left the hotel and Carl led the way toward the street
where he had been captured, the night before, he remarked with a
chuckle: "Oof I don'd vas aple to use my eyes lashdt nighdt you bed you
I used my ears! I hear how dose raps vas gifen on der toor, und I can
gif dem meinseluf schust der same vay."
A ten minutes' walk carried the two boys to the mouth of the alley
where Carl had been set upon.
"Dis vas der site oof der shdreet, und dis vas der blace," said he.
"Dey must haf dook me oop dere," and he pointed.
The alley was narrow and on both sides was lined with the rear walls of
second-rate store-buildings. Every building, so far as Matt could see,
had a door.
The narrow passage was paved with brick, and this prevented Matt from
seeing the tracks which an automobile might have left on the surface of
bare ground.
Slowly the boys walked along the alley, peering at the doors on left
and right as they advanced. They were about half-way through the alley
when they found what they were seeking, namely, a wide door at the foot
of a steep incline. The descent was not more than two feet downward
from the surface of the alley, and the wide door was set well back, so
that the cut-out place would not interfere with teaming through the
passage.
"Py shinks," whispered Carl excitedly, "ve haf foundt der blace!"
"No doubt of it," answered Matt with a grim feeling of satisfaction.
There were no windows in the basement wall of the building, and those
in the upper stories were dusty and cobwebbed.
Softly Matt descended to the door at the foot of the incline and
motioned for Carl to follow.
The Dutch boy gained his side.
"Now rap," said Matt, "and see how good an imitation you can give of
what you heard last night."
Carl drummed the peculiar tattoo. There was no response. After waiting
a little he drummed it again, but louder.
This, somewhat unexpectedly, brought an answer.
"Who approaches?" demanded a muffled voice from within.
"Tell him 'Two drivers oof racing-cars,' Matt," whispered Carl. "My
voice vouldt gif me avay."
"Two drivers of racing-cars," called Matt.
"Give me the countersign."
"Four speeds forvard und vone referse," whispered Carl.
Matt repeated the words. Instantly the door was opened and a young man
of twenty-two or three stood in front of the boys.
With a bellow of rage Carl jumped forward.
"Higgins! Oof it ain'd! Now vatch, Higgins, vile I show you der
peautiful aurora porealis, und der leedle shooding shdars, und der
comics. Dis meeding makes me so habby as I can't dell!"