WHERE IS MOTOR MATT?
Matt and Carl did not occupy the same apartment in the hotel. Their
rooms were adjoining, but there was no means of communication between
them save by way of the hall.
On the night the mystifying event happened, Carl went up to his room a
few minutes after Matt had sent down for the ice water. He tried Matt's
door, but it was locked. In answer to his rap Matt called out a cheery
good-night, and Carl went on to his own quarters and tumbled into bed.
The ringing of the breakfast bell always got Carl up on the jump.
With the morning, he was up with the first beat of the clapper and
scrambling into his clothes.
As he passed Matt's room on his way down he tried the door. Usually
Matt left the door ajar when he went to breakfast, but this morning it
was closed. Carl found it locked. He was about to rap and get his chum
up, when he thought how tired he must have been the night before, and
turned away.
"Matt has peen vorking like a horse," he said to himself, "und he has
der righdt to shleep a leedle late on Suntay morning. I von't make some
disturpances mit him. Ven he geds t'roo snoozing he vill come down."
Carl ate his breakfast, missing his chum sadly during the meal.
Across from him at the table sat a young fellow who seemed to be a
newcomer--at least, Carl had never seen him about the hotel before.
He had a freckled face and red hair, and the clothes he wore were
almost painfully new. He ate slowly and seemed to be watching the chair
in which Matt usually sat.
"For vy you look like dot at der blace next py me?" inquired Carl
curiously. "You don'd got a mortgage on it, meppy?"
The red-headed boy grinned.
"Mebby not, Tow-head," said he, "but here's a chance for you to put me
wise."
"Ret-head yourseluf!" returned Carl. "Vat I pud you vise aboudt?"
"Why, by letting me know whether that chair is the one usually occupied
by Matt King, the three-ply wonder of the racing world who is sometimes
called Motor Matt?"
Carl braced up in his chair and glowered.
"Vas you making some chokes?" he demanded. "I skelp anypody vat makes
some chokes aboudt Modor Matt."
"So will I. Why, Matt used to be my pard."
"Iss dot so?" queried Carl, softening. "Vell, he iss my bard yet. Ah,
ha! Vat iss der name vat you go by?"
"Mark McReady, otherwise Reddy McReady, otherwise just plain Chub."
Carl gurgled delightedly, let go his knife and fork and reached over
the top of the castor to grab Chub McReady's hand.
"Ach, vat a habbiness!" he beamed. "Matt shpeaks many dimes aboudt
you! Yah, py shiminy, he dell me all aboudt vat you dit mit each odder
in Arizona. Der lapel vat I tote iss Carl Pretzel. Don'd you know
somet'ing aboudt me?"
"Well, Je-ru-sa-lem!" grinned Chub. "Say, I guess I _have_ heard about
you. The last letter I got from Matt had a long spiel about some work
you and he did down near Lamy, New Mexico. Didn't Matt get a letter
from me in Denver?"
"Nix, und he don'd got any ledder from dere here, vich vas forwardet.
You wride him, hey?"
"Sure, I wrote him. Told him dad was going to Chicago to close a deal
for his mine, and that Little Chub was going to trail along, drop off
at Ottawa and see the big race. Matt's in it, eh? Had a notion he would
be; and I'll bet a button against a last year's bird's nest that he
_wins_!"
"I'll bed more as dot!" chuckled Carl, tickled out of his shoes to find
some one who liked Matt as well as he did. "Say," he babbled, "I peen
glad as plazes, Chub, dot you habbened aroundt."
"So am I; but where the nation is Matt? I can hardly wait till I grab
hold of him and give his fist a shake."
"He was schnoozing mit himseluf," answered Carl. "He has peen vorking
like der tickens und I bed you he was dired. Oof you haf got t'roo mit
your preakfast, vy nod valk oop to his room mit me? He vill be so habby
as I don'd know ven he findts oudt dot you vas here."
"Go you!" and Chub pushed back from the table and got up.
Together the two boys left the dining-room, passed through the office
and climbed the stairs. Carl was cackling to himself all the way up
the flight, for he knew how surprised Matt would be and how mightily
pleased to meet his old friend, Chub.
The door was still closed. Carl listened to see if he could hear Matt
moving around.
"Der olt maferick iss shleeping like a house afire dis morning,"
chuckled Carl. "Now I vake him," and he pounded on the door.
The emphatic summons brought no answer.
"Meppyso I pedder ged a cannon," giggled Carl. "He iss shleeping his
olt headt off."
"He never used to pound his ear like that," remarked Chub.
"He nefed got so tired in Arizony like he dit in Gansas," Carl
explained, rattling at the door in a way that would have wakened the
occupant of every room on that floor.
But still there was no response from Matt. Carl began to get alarmed.
"Maybe he locked the door and went out?" suggested Chub.
"Der fairst blace he vould go vould be to preakfast," returned Carl,
"und he don'd vas dere. Der madder is somet'ing to be infestigated. You
peen as t'ick t'roo as me, so I don'd guess ve eider oof us couldt ged
t'roo der dransom; aber ve can look t'roo, anyvay. I got some feelings
dot dere has somet'ing gone crossvays. Vat it iss I don'd know, aber,
py shinks, ve find it oudt."
Carl went for a chair that was standing farther along the hall, placed
it in front of the door, climbed up and peered through the open transom.
"Donnervetter!" he exclaimed in astonishment. "Now vat do you t'ink oof
dot!"
"What's to pay?" asked Chub.
"He don'd vas dere."
"Well, that proves what I said a moment ago, that he has gone out."
"Vy, der ped don'd vas shlept in lasdt nighdt! How you aggount for dot?"
"Why, he may not have been here last night, Carl."
"Yah, so! Ditn't I say goot-nighdt mit him ven I vent to ped mineseluf?
Yah, so helup me! I vonder vat's oop?"
"We'll probably find him downstairs," said Chub.
"I got some hunches dot dere iss a nigger in der vood-pile," declared
Carl, climbing down from the chair, his face full of apprehension. "It
don'd vas like Matt to pull oudt like dot. Ve go downshdairs und make
some questions aboudt it."
On their way down they met the bellboy coming up.
"Say, vonce!" said Carl, catching the boy's arm, "haf you seen Modor
Matt dis morning yet?"
"Naw," answered the youngster; "mebby he hasn't got up."
"He ain'd in der room, und der door iss locked."
"Then he's hiked out some'rs."
"He vonldn't do dot. Vat habbened ven you dook oop der vater lasdt
nighdt?"
"What happened? Why, I met that Slocum feller on the way, an' he wanted
to know if I was takin' the pitcher to Sercomb's room. We gassed for
a minit er two an' he gave me a quarter to go right back down and see
if there was any mail for him. He asked me to do it before I gave the
pitcher to Motor Matt. There wasn't any mail. When I came back, I
picked up the pitcher and went on. Motor Matt took it in--and that's
all there was to it."
"Dot looks like a lod oof monkey-doodle pitzness for nodding," muttered
Carl. "Vere does der nighdt clerk shleep?"
"In that room at the end of the hall."
The bellboy went on, and Carl turned and started back up the stairs.
"What are you going to see the night clerk for, Carl?" inquired Chub.
"Vell, Matt ditn't shleep in der ped, und dot means he ditn't shday in
der room. I vant to ask der nighdt clerk oof he vent oudt."
The night clerk answered their summons in a sleepy voice and opened the
door.
"Dit you see Modor Matt leaf der hodel lasdt nighdt?" asked Carl.
"Yes," was the astonishing reply, "he went out about midnight and took
his grip with him. Looked like he was going away."
"For vy shouldt he go avay?" gasped Carl. "He vas in der race, und he
vouldn't leaf town on a bet, schust now."
"I thought it was mighty funny," said the clerk. "He didn't say a word
about paying his bill, or where he was going, or anything else. I
called to him and asked if he was going to make a trip somewhere, and
he turned around and stared at me. He didn't seem to know what he was
doing. He never said a word, but went on out."
"Ach, himmelblitzen!" muttered Carl, rubbing a dazed hand over his
eyes. "Vouldn't dot knock you shlap-sitet? Vent avay! Modor Matt vent
avay und nefer say nodding mit me aboudt it! Dere iss something wrong,
you ped you!"
"I didn't know whether I ought to tell you or not, Carl," went on the
clerk. "These racing folks are coming and going all the time, and,
for the most part, they're a queer lot. Motor Matt, somehow, seemed
different, but last night I hadn't a notion what was bothering him and
I didn't want to pry into his business. Supposed he knew what he was
up to. Why don't you go and see Trueman? He may be able to tell you
something."
"Who's Trueman?" asked Chub.
"He iss der feller Matt iss triving der car for in der race," replied
Carl. "Meppy ve pedder go und shbeak mit him."
The clerk drew back into his room, and Carl and Chub started along the
hall toward the stairs. When they were about halfway down the hall a
door opened as they were passing it and Slocum showed himself.
There was a guilty look on his face--or so it seemed to Carl--and
before he could draw back Carl had leaped at him and grabbed him by the
shoulder.
Slocum muttered an oath, and one hand darted toward his hip. When the
hand reappeared from under his long coat it held a revolver.
"Oh, that's your game, is it?" cried Chub.
The next moment he had grabbed the hand holding the revolver, and he
and Carl, between them, had pushed Slocum back into the room.
With a quick move Chub wrenched the weapon out of Slocum's hand and
trained it on him.
"That'll do for you," said he menacingly. "Now sit down and get
peaceable. Carl, here, has got somethin' he wants to say."