THE PHANTOM AUTO AGAIN.
Sercomb did not follow the blind trail that led to the main road. He
made for the road, but took his way along a foot-path that led through
the grove.
It was not at all difficult for Matt to shadow him, and the young
motorist was considerably surprised to see Sercomb gain the road at a
point where a heavy touring-car had drawn up. The car was about the
size of the Red Flier and, in the semidarkness, looked very much like
it. But it had a top.
Three men were standing near the head of the machine, in the glow of
the lamps. They were all fairly well dressed, quite young, and there
was little of the ruffian about them.
They greeted Sercomb excitedly, and for several minutes all four of
them engaged in a brisk conversation. Their voices were pitched in too
low a tone, and Matt was too far away to hear what was said.
Undoubtedly, Matt reasoned, these three who had just come in the
automobile had formed part of the number who had been in the up-stairs
room. The fourth member of the party must have been Sercomb, himself.
But how had Sercomb and the other three got away? Their departure from
the house was a mystery. And where had they kept their automobile while
they were in the house? This was another mystery.
They were planning evil things of some sort, and against Dick Ferral.
Matt had a clue. It assured him that Sercomb had not told the truth
when he said he knew nothing about the so-called intruders who had
vanished from the house so strangely. Sercomb, by this stealthy meeting
with the three in the road, proved to Matt that he knew all about the
men.
From their earnest talk it was clear that they were plotting mischief.
Wishing that he could overhear something of what was said, Matt began
creeping carefully along the path. By getting a few yards nearer he was
sure that he would be within ear-shot.
Just as he had nearly reached the coveted point for which he was
making, and the mumble of talk was breaking up into an occasional word
which he could distinguish, the conversation broke off with a chorus of
excited exclamations.
Matt started up, at first fearing he had been seen, and that the four
in the road were coming to capture him. But in this he was mistaken.
All four of them, as a matter of fact, had started in his direction,
but they abruptly halted and whirled around. Matt's heart jumped when
he saw what it was that had claimed their attention.
_It was the phantom auto!_
The white runabout was wheeling swiftly along the road in the direction
of the treacherous cliff trail. The streaming lights of the touring-car
were full upon the ghostly runabout, showing the vacant seats
distinctly. The weird spectacle was more than enough to fill the four
men with momentary panic. They stood as though rooted to the ground,
watching the runabout turn of its own accord from the road, pass the
touring-car, and then come neatly back into the road again.
An oath broke from one of the men. Leaping to the touring-car he
cranked up the machine quickly and hopped into the driver's seat. Two
others jumped in behind him, one in front and the other behind, Sercomb
being the only one who remained at the roadside.
Swiftly the touring-car was turned and headed in pursuit. Then,
suddenly, there came the report of a firearm, shivering through the
still air.
At first, Matt thought one of those in the touring-car had fired at the
runabout; then, a moment more, he knew he was mistaken.
The shot had come from the runabout and had punctured one of the
touring-car's front tires.
The big car limped and slewed until the power was cut off and it came
to a halt. Those who were in the car piled out, sputtering and fuming,
and Sercomb ran forward and joined them. Together, all four watched the
white phantom whisk out of sight.
There followed a good deal of talking and gesticulating among Sercomb
and the three with him. Finally one of them took off the tail lamp and
all made an examination of the damaged tire.
A jack was got out and the forward wheel lifted.
From his actions, Sercomb was nervous and excited. He kept walking from
the road, looking toward the house and listening. He fancied, no doubt,
just as Matt did, that the sound of the shot might have awakened the
sleepers in the house.
However, this did not seem to have been the case.
Leaving one of the men to tinker with the tire, Sercomb took the other
two and led them off through the grove. They passed within a yard of
where Matt was crouching in the bushes, but their plans, whatever they
were, had been settled, and they were doing no talking.
Matt continued to dodge after Sercomb. The course he and the two with
him were taking did not lead toward the house, but angled off through
the grove on a line that would take them fully a hundred feet past the
nearest wall of the adobe building.
Abreast of the house, at that point, there was a circular space, clear
of timber and with only a patch of brush in the center. Matt, not
daring to venture beyond the edge of the timber, stood and watched
while Sercomb and his companions disappeared in the thicket.
Matt's position was such that he could see all around the little patch
of bushes, and he watched for the three men to appear on the other
side. They did not appear, and as minute after minute slipped away,
Matt's amazement and curiosity increased.
The men had gone into that little thicket, and why had they not shown
themselves again? What was there in that bunch of brush to attract them
and keep them so long?
Matt concluded to investigate. There might be danger in doing that, as
there would be three against him if he was discovered, but he knew he
had only to raise his voice to bring Ferral and Carl.
This clue, which he had picked up so unexpectedly in the night, called
upon him to make the most of it and, if possible, discover what Sercomb
was up to.
Hastening across the cleared space, he came to the thicket without a
challenge. Resolutely he plunged into the bushes--and the next moment
the ground seemed to drop out from under him.
Throwing out his hands wildly he plunged downward, struck an incline
and rolled over and over, finally coming to a jolting stop on hard
earth, on his hands and knees.
The suddenness of his fall had bewildered him. He was bruised a little,
but not otherwise hurt, and as his wits returned his curiosity came
uppermost.
What sort of a place was he in?
His groping hands informed him that the incline he had rolled down was
a rude stairway. A patch of starlight above revealed the opening into
which he had stumbled.
Climbing the stairway, he reached a stone landing and lifted himself
erect in the very center of the thicket. A flat slab, tilted upon its
edge, showed how the hole was covered when not in use.
Matt drew a quick breath. The mysteries of La Vita Place were clearing
a little.
Here, undoubtedly, was a passage communicating with the house. Sercomb
and the other three men must have used it in making their strange
escape from the up-stairs room, earlier in the night.
But why were Sercomb and his two companions going back through the
passage?
Instinctively Matt's suspicions flew to Dick Ferral. Sercomb was
planning some evil against him, and the two from the touring-car were
there to help him carry it out.
Matt hesitated a moment, trying to decide whether he should go through
the passage or reach the house by crossing the cleared place and
entering the front door.
He decided upon the passage. The rascals had gone that way and would
probably make their escape in the same manner.
Hurrying down the steps he began making his way along a gallery. The
passage was not wide, for he could stretch out his hands and touch
either side. It ran straight, and Matt pushed rapidly through the
gloom, trailing a hand along one wall.
He knew he had only a hundred feet to go before he should reach the
house, but in his haste he covered the distance before he realized it,
and stumbled against a flight of steps.
While he was picking himself up, he heard a commotion from somewhere
above--a wild scramble of feet, a thump of blows and an overturning of
furniture. Above the hubbub sounded the voice of Carl.
"Vat's der madder mit you? Hoop-a-la! Take dot, oof you like or oof you
don'd like, und dere's anoder! Matt! Come along for der fight _fest_!
Vere you vas, Matt, vile der scrimmage iss going on! Verral! Iss dot
you?"
Just then, as Matt began scrambling upward, a form came hurtling down.
"They're onto us, Joe!" panted a voice. "This way, old pal! Nothing
doing to-night. Cut for it! I ran into something at the foot of the
steps--look out for that!"
Matt, who had been thrown violently against the wall, heard forms
dashing past him. Before he could interfere with them, they were well
along the passage.