THE LION'S MOUTH.
McGlory made a survey of the surface of the water directly in front
of the _Sprite_. A hundred feet away was a large house boat, with the
launch snugged up close to its side. The house boat was of the ordinary
two-deck variety, the upper deck covered with an awning. A short staff
extended upward from the highest point of the boat and supported the
riding light. While the cowboy was looking, a light flashed in the
windows of the house boat's cabin and then settled into a steady gleam.
"I'm not one of those ducks who wear a sixteen collar and a number
five hat, pard," observed McGlory, as he dropped back on the thwart,
"but, at the same time, what you've thrown up to me takes more sense
than I've got to decide. If we leave here and chase over to Tiburon
after a few policemen, these birds we're after may fly the coop while
we're gone. Then, taking it t'other way around, if we go ahead on
our own hook we may make another bobble like that we got tangled up
with at the foot of Clay Street. Those tinhorns are heeled, and you
can chalk that up good and big; so, if us longhorns go prancing in
there and begin pawing for trouble, the result looks like a cinch--for
Brick-whiskers and the trunk check. You say what we're to do."
"I don't think we could accomplish much by coming company-front with
those fellows and demanding Lorry's ten thousand dollars," said Matt.
"As a matter of fact, we don't know whether they have the money with
them, or whether they've spent it, or whether they've left it somewhere
ashore."
"They've got it in their clothes, Matt, I'll gamble on that. When these
tinhorns freeze to a roll of that size, they keep it handy and quiet."
Matt flashed a look at the house boat.
"They seem to be the only ones aboard the house boat," said he, "and
they're evidently having a talk in the cabin. I believe we'll run
alongside the other launch and then I'll leave you and Ping to watch
the _Sprite_ while I do a little reconnoitring."
"Meaning," added McGlory, "to get right in among 'em, big as life, and
run the risk of having them put the kibosh on you?"
"It's not much risk, Joe, if I'm at all careful."
"Mebby not, but what's the good?"
"Perhaps I can find out something of importance about the money."
"You're putting your head in the lion's mouth. If the mouth should
happen to close----" McGlory finished with a shrug and a gurgle. "Speak
to me about that!"
"If that should happen," said Matt, "I'll have you and Ping to fall
back on."
"Don't fall too hard, that's all."
Matt started up the motor again, proceeding slowly and as noiselessly
as he could. McGlory went forward over the hood of the motor and
prepared to make the _Sprite's_ painter fast to the larger launch.
The noise of the motor did not arouse any one in the cabin--at least,
no doors were opened and no one showed himself on the house boat.
Shutting off the power as soon as the _Sprite_ had gathered headway
enough to carry her to the other launch, Matt lay over the wheel and
watched while McGlory leaned out and gripped the upright supporting the
canopy over the cockpit of the larger boat. Then, pulling the _Sprite_
along hand over hand, the cowboy came to the bow and made the painter
fast to an iron ring.
A mumble of voices could be heard coming from the cabin of the house
boat. When all was fast, McGlory came back and got down off the hood.
"How'd it be if I went with you, Matt?" he whispered.
"A good deal worse, Joe, than for me to go it alone," was Matt's
equally guarded reply. "One can crawl around, and be more quiet about
it, than two."
"Keno."
"Mebby so my makee go with Motol Matt," murmured Ping, who, for the
most part of that trip across the bay, had been content to use his eyes
and ears and let his tongue rest.
Every move Matt made about the machinery had been watched by the
Chinese, and so intently that he had not complained when McGlory used
his queue for a support while standing up in the boat.
"That _would_ fix things," muttered the cowboy. "Why, you little
rat-eater, you'd get Matt into more trouble than he could take care of.
You'll stay right here with me, and that shot goes as it lays."
"Awri," whispered Ping meekly.
Matt went forward on hands and knees. In getting up to step from one
boat to the other, the name of the larger boat stood out clearly under
the falling rays of the lamp. She was the _San Bruno_. The young
motorist made mental note of the name, for it might be of value in
catching Red-whiskers and his pals in case the work of the night proved
useless.
Crossing the forward deck of the _San Bruno_, Matt stepped easily to
the passage that ran along the side of the house boat's cabin. Then,
on all fours, he crawled to the window through which came the glow of
light.
Rising up cautiously, he peered into the cabin. The three men were
there, seated on the cushioned benches that ran along the sides of the
little room. All were smoking cigars, and the air was thick with the
vapor. The rascals had thrown off their hats and removed their coats,
so Matt had a good chance to study their evil faces.
Red-whiskers' mole was in plain evidence, but it could hardly be called
a disfigurement, as the face itself was brutal and mercenary in every
line.
The other two men were of like calibre, if their features could be
relied upon. They were talking, but it was impossible for Matt to
overhear what they were saying. From their earnestness, however, it
seemed plain that an important topic was being discussed.
Presently, as Matt continued to look, Red-whiskers bent down and pulled
a satchel out from under the bench on which he sat. The other two
craned their necks toward him as he took the satchel on his knees and
opened it.
Shoving one hand into the bag, the red-whiskered man removed a thick
packet of banknotes and held it up. The packet was encircled by a paper
band, and Matt's heart thumped sharply against his ribs as he realized
that this was certainly the money stolen from Lorry.
While the red-whiskered man held the packet in his hand, the other two
talked to him. They appeared to be pleading or arguing, Matt could not
decide which.
Abruptly the money was dropped back into the bag and the bag shoved
under the bench once more, the red-whiskered man shaking his head as he
straightened up on his seat.
"They wanted him to divide it, and he refused," was the thought that
ran through Matt's head.
This was followed by another idea, whose audacity caused Matt to catch
his breath.
Wouldn't it be possible to take the satchel out of the cabin? If Matt
could get the money, he would be perfectly satisfied to let the thieves
keep their liberty.
For the king of the motor boys and his two companions to attempt to
capture the three men would have been foolish, and no doubt have ended
in disaster; but to secure the satchel by stealth, or through some
ruse, seemed feasible and worth trying.
Dropping to the deck again, Matt crawled to the end of the house boat.
At each end there was a wider strip of deck than at the sides, so that
the young motorist had ample room to manoeuvre without making any noise.
A door opened out of the end of the cabin upon the rear deck, and
beside the door was a flight of steep stairs leading to the cabin roof.
There was nothing to be gained by going to the upper deck, and to open
the door and get inside the cabin promised more danger than Matt deemed
it wise to face. The strip of deck on the starboard side of the cabin
might repay investigation, and Matt started around the corner.
But he did not turn the corner. He had no more than reached a point
where he could get a view of the starboard alley than his startled eyes
rested on a figure tilted back in a chair against the cabin wall.
Well for motor Matt was it that the man was asleep. Had he been awake,
the lad would surely have been discovered, and every hope of securing
the satchel and its contents would have gone glimmering.
Drawing back. Matt crouched on the deck and turned the situation over
in his mind.
What could he do to secure that satchel?
His plans, whatever they were to be, would have to be laid quickly, for
there was no telling how long the sleeping man would remain asleep,
nor how long it would be before Red-whiskers, Kinky, and Ross finished
their discussion and came out of the cabin.
One move after another passed through Matt's mind, only to be rejected
and cast aside.
There was a window in the starboard wall directly back of the place
where the red-whiskered man was sitting. In seeking to gain the
starboard alley, Matt had had that window prominently in mind. But what
he could do when he reached that window had not yet occurred to him.
Any move on that part of the deck was out of the question, so long as
the man occupied the chair.
The king of the motor boys, usually so resourceful in expedients, could
think of nothing, at that moment, that pointed the way to possible
success in the matter of the satchel. The only ruse that suggested
itself was to have McGlory and Ping start some sort of a row that would
draw the three men out of the cabin, thus affording Matt a chance to
run in through a door, or climb in at a window, and secure the grip.
But this plan had many disadvantages--for what would it avail Matt, or
Lorry, if he was to secure the satchel and then be left on the house
boat with it, at the mercy of the red-whiskered man and his two pals?
A talk with McGlory was advisable, in the circumstances, and Matt began
crawling across the after deck of the house boat toward the _San Bruno_.
Before he had covered half the distance that separated him from the
edge of the house boat's deck his knee rested heavily on some hard
object attached to the boards. It proved to be an iron ring, made fast
in a hatch cover.
Instantly the young motorist's plans underwent a change. He would not
leave the house boat just yet, but would open the hatch, drop below and
explore the lower part of the boat. If there was another hatch leading
up under the part of the cabin where the three men were holding their
secret session, then fortune might point a way for something worth
while.
The hatch cover was hinged. Softly Matt lifted the trap and threw it
back; then, letting himself down into the scowlike hulk, he lifted the
hatch again and cautiously lowered it.