MATT MEETS AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.
Matt's pursuit of the street car reminded him of his old motor-cycle
days in Arizona. The familiar hum of the twin cylinders between his
knees carried his mind back to his ill-fated gasoline marvel, the
_Comet_, in honor of which he had named the aëroplane he was using with
the show.
The borrowed motor cycle had all the improvements, and the way it could
run warmed the cockles of Matt's heart. In less than a minute after
leaving Burton and the machine's owner, the king of the motor boys was
shooting along the road like a bullet out of a gun.
He was pursuing an electric car that ran at a high rate of speed, but
the motor cycle must have been going five feet to the car's one. Before
Matt fairly realized it he was within sight of the car.
When he was close enough to be heard he began to call to the conductor
to stop. The passengers heard him, as the row of heads thrust out from
each side of the car conclusively proved; and the conductor also heard
him, for he appeared on the rear platform.
Matt could see the conductor reaching for the bell rope. At the same
time, Wily Bill rushed out on the back platform, took in the situation
at a startled glance, and then dropped dexterously from the car at the
track side.
Matt was so wrapped up in what Wily Bill was doing that Ping's leap
from the front platform escaped him entirely.
Wily Bill scurried for the side of the road, and Matt shut off the
power and glided after him.
"Hold up there, Wily!" cried Matt.
The "barker" paid no attention, but plunged up the bank and darted off
into the timber.
By that time Motor Matt's blood was up. He knew that a great deal
depended on the capture of Wily. If the "barker" could be made to tell
when and how he had received that note in Hindoostanee, a clue to
the whereabouts of Ben Ali and the missing Margaret Manners would be
secured.
Appreciating fully the exigencies of the case, Matt sprang from the
wheel and leaped up the bank. From the top of the rise he could see
nothing of Wily, but a crashing of the undergrowth told him plainly in
which direction the man had gone. He was but an instant in taking after
him.
Wily's actions were those of a guilty man; in fact, they inferred a
deeper guilt than the mere possession of a note in Hindoostanee would
indicate.
This, naturally, made the fellow's capture all the more important.
For a quarter of a mile, Matt judged, Wily led him a chase through the
woods. The "barker" had lost a little of his lead, but was keeping up
his fierce pace with a good deal of vigor. Then, suddenly, he began to
double. Matt would run on, looking and listening, only to find that
there was no thrashing brush ahead. When he stopped, the sounds made
by the fleeing fugitive had changed their direction, and the young
motorist had to whirl and take another course.
For some time this variation of the game of hare and hounds continued,
Matt drawing steadily nearer and nearer.
At last Matt caught his first glimpse of Wily, since he had fled over
the bank from the street car, at the rear of a house whose windows were
closed with green shutters.
Wily stood out against the house wall, his form sharply defined, just
as Matt rushed from a fringe of hazels. The "barker" cast a look over
his shoulder, gave vent to a panting exclamation, and darted around the
end of the house.
When Matt reached the front of the structure, Wily had vanished. The
key to his disappearance was furnished by the wide-swinging front door,
key still in the lock. Besides, Wily had not had time to go around the
other side of the house, or to get into the woods again, so Matt knew
he must have entered the building.
With scarcely a moment's hesitation, the king of the motor boys
followed the fugitive.
Coming in out of the bright sunshine, the darkness of the shut-in hall
was intense. As Matt ran on past one of the doors leading to a room on
the right a sinewy, turbaned form leaped out and a fist shot through
the gloom, landing on the back of Matt's head with tremendous force.
Matt staggered, regained his balance, and whirled around. His brain
was reeling, but, looking toward the light that entered at the open
door, he saw that the man who had struck him was not Wily, as he had
imagined, but a Hindoo--none other than his old acquaintance, Dhondaram.
Flinging out his arms, he leaped at the Hindoo. Then it was that Wily
completed the work that Dhondaram had begun. Another blow from behind,
savagely given with all the "barker's" strength, caused Matt to sink to
his knees and then straighten out unconscious on the bare floor.
"You saw what was goin' on?" asked Wily breathlessly.
"Even so, sahib," answered the other, in a low tone.
"I'm in luck to find you here. Wasn't intendin' to blow in at this
place till night--but any port in a storm. Pick him up and let's get
away somewhere."
"The kitchen, sahib."
Between them, the unconscious king of the motor boys was lifted and
carried into the kitchen.
"Hang it!" growled Wily, floundering through the soot pile; "this
won't do. There may be more after me. There's another place, under the
stairs. Sharp's the word, now. Carry him there."
Matt was not bereft of his senses for long. There was too much steel
and whalebone in his athletic body to keep him steeped in oblivion for
any great length of time.
The first thing he saw, when his eyes slowly opened, was a candle
planted in the earth.
He was lying, hands and feet bound and a cloth over his mouth, in a
sort of pit. Above him were the stringers and boards of a floor.
A few moments passed while he was picking up the thread of events.
While he was piecing details together, he heard a light footfall on the
floor overhead, advancing and retreating. Later there came the creaking
of boards as of some one climbing a flight of stairs.
Wily and Dhondaram, silent and motionless as statues, knelt in the
earth, the fluttering gleam of the candle over them, and were listening
to the footfalls with bated breath.
From the manner of these two Matt understood forthwith that the person
in the upper part of the house must be one whom his captors feared.
Had it not been for the cloth that smothered his lips, Matt would have
shouted at the top of his voice and so have informed a possible friend
where he was.
Inasmuch as he could neither move nor make an audible sound, the
prisoner lay quiet.
There was no cellar under this house with the green shutters, only
a scooped-out place in the earth where possibly potatoes and other
vegetables had been kept.
Presently the footsteps once more descended the stairs and could be
heard leaving the house. Wily turned to Dhondaram with a deep breath of
relief.
"That was a close call," he muttered. "If we'd been a second later
gettin' down here----"
He bit off his words quickly. The door had slammed and the grating of a
key could be heard.
"_Maskee!_" rumbled Dhondaram. "The door has been closed and locked,
sahib. You left the key in the door."
"I was in too big a hurry to do anythin' else. As it was, Motor Matt
came within one of layin' hands on me. See if he's got his wits back."
On hands and knees the Hindoo crept to Matt's side and peered into his
face. Matt kept his eyes closed.
"Not yet, sahib," answered Dhondaram. "It is well. He shall not waken
in this world. The goddess Kali----"
Dhondaram did not finish the sentence. He had referred to the malign
Hindoo deity invoked by thugs, and it may be he thought the talk
unsuited to American ears. Lifting himself on his knees, he drew from
the breast of his jacket a glittering blade.
The next moment Wily Bill had caught his arm.
"Chuck it!" he growled sternly.
The Hindoo turned his glittering eyes on the "barker."
"Sahib, you do not understood," said he, in a hissing voice.
"I understood you're intendin' to use the knife," answered Wily Bill,
"an' I won't have it. What d'you take me for? They don't hang people
in this State, but I don't intend to pass the rest o' my days in the
'pen.' Put that knife back where you took it from."
"It is my duty to do this thing," flared the Hindoo.
"Go on!"
"Ben Ali saved my life in my own country, and I joined the show of
Burra Burton because he told me. I tried to remove Motor Matt because
he told me. That will pay my debt to Ben Ali. I failed in my work while
I was with the show, but now----"
"You're goin' to fail here, too. I've got a tender regard for my
liberty, an' that's why I was runnin' away from the show grounds. There
was a fracas turned on in the side-show tent, an' I got mixed up in
it. Durin' the row I lost a letter that came to me by mail--a letter
that contained somethin' for you. Ben Ali, in my letter, said where he
wanted to meet you. I don't know what he said in your letter, as that
was in Hindoostanee."
Dhondaram's eyes glowed expectantly, and he held out his hand.
"The writing, sahib."
"I haven't got it. Didn't I just tell you it was lost? That's what made
me bolt from the grounds. One of Motor Matt's friends got the thing,
and when I tried to get it, Burton took possession of it. If that
letter's ever translated, I'll bet it contains stuff that would make
the show too hot to hold me. I got away while there was time--but there
wasn't any too much time, at that. If----"
Dhondaram drew back.
"Motor Matt, sahib," muttered Dhondaram, "he's listening to your talk."
The prisoner had opened his eyes, and the keen glance of the Hindoo had
detected it. Both Dhondaram and Wily turned their gaze on Matt.