McGlory was under the impression that Matt had sent for him. In spite
of the strange proceedings through which the cowboy had passed, he
still believed that Tibbits had brought him on that long ride according
to the wishes of his friend. Even the locking of the door, after Matt
had entered the room, did not appear to have aroused any suspicions in
McGlory’s mind.
Matt looked around. He was in a large room, lined with bookcases. At
one end of the apartment was a magnificent fireplace. A thick carpet,
that gave one the impression of walking on down, covered the floor.
White busts looked out from niches in the wall, and comfortable chairs
were scattered around. A light, suspended from the ceiling, cast a warm
glow over the room, and over a table, heaped with food, and set with
places for two.
“I’ve been waiting here for an hour,” grumbled McGlory. “Where have you
been, pard, and what sort of a layout is this that you’ve brought me
into?”
Matt removed his hat and threw it upon a couch; then, seating himself
in a chair, he began rubbing his hands and arms and staring at his chum.
“What’s the trouble with you, pard?” asked McGlory. “You act as though
you were in a trance.”
“I am,” returned Matt. “I’m hardly able to credit my senses. In the
first place, Joe, I never sent for you and asked you to come here.”
The cowboy gave a jump.
“Why, the driver of that red car told me----”
“I guess he told you what some one else told me. I was informed that
you had come into the country with Mr. Random, of Random & Griggs, and
that you wanted me to follow you. That’s why I’m here.”
McGlory slumped into a chair, and brushed a hand across his forehead.
“Sufferin’ brain twisters!” he muttered. “I came out here to find you,
and you came out here to find me!”
“And here we are,” laughed Matt.
“And what are we here for?” gasped McGlory.
“Give it up. But I think somebody has made a big mistake, and that
they’re going to find it out before they’re many hours older. If that’s
our supper on the table, suppose we get busy with it. I haven’t had
anything to eat since morning.”
“I had dinner in Bridgeport,” said McGlory. “I was mighty well treated,
I’ll say that--and that only makes it harder for me to understand
what’s in the wind. I don’t think any one would run away with us just
for the fun of the thing.”
“It would be more of a joke on the other fellows than it would on us,”
averred Matt, moving to the table and taking a seat. “How long has this
supper been here, Joe?”
“About half an hour,” returned the cowboy, taking a chair opposite his
chum. “Random is here,” he said suddenly.
“Random, of Random & Griggs?” inquired Matt, showing some surprise.
“What other Random could it be?”
Matt helped himself to a cold roast beef sandwich and a glass of
lemonade.
“Tell me what happened to you, Joe,” said he. “I can eat and listen
at the same time. Besides, I guess I’m hungrier than you are. You had
dinner, and I didn’t.”
McGlory told of his call at the Liberty Street office, of meeting
Random, of his talk with Random in the restaurant, of Random’s going
with him to the Flatiron Building, of the failure to find Matt, and of
the yarn told by the driver of the red car.
“We came through the country lickety-whoop,” the cowboy finished, “but
it was the longest kind of a ride, and I wondered what in Sam Hill you
were doing ’way over in Massachusetts. It was after sundown when we got
to this place. Some one met the driver of the red car at the door, and
said that Motor Matt hadn’t come yet, and that we were to wait for him.
Random and I came into this room. By and by, a servant began to spread
the table for chuck-pile, but layin’ covers for only two. I guessed a
little about that, and asked the servant who he was intending to leave
out, Random or Motor Matt. It was orders, he said, and that was all he
knew about it.
“After a while, Random got up, told me to wait, and said he would try
and find some one who could tell him something. Next thing I know,
_you_ walk in on me, and the door is locked behind you. Speak to me
about this! Where’s Random?”
“The man’s name isn’t Random, Joe,” said Matt, “but Tibbits.”
“Tibbits?” echoed McGlory blankly. “But he met me at Random’s office.”
“That may be, but he’s Tibbits, just the same.”
“If he’s Tibbits, why did he tell me his label was Random?”
“Because that was part of the plot. By posing as Random, Tibbits knew
he would have a lot more influence over you. He kept you from going to
the bank, he accompanied you to the Flatiron Building, and he came out
here with you. He might not have been able to do all that if you had
known he wasn’t Random, and that he wasn’t interested in the ‘Pauper’s
Dream.’”
The cowboy scowled, and drummed his fingers on the table. Matt helped
himself to a piece of pie, and another glass of lemonade.
“Can’t you choke off, pard,” begged the cowboy, “and tell me how they
played tag with you? Sufferin’ tenterhooks, but this business has got
me all at sea.”
“I’m at sea, too,” said Matt, “but we’re pretty comfortable, so far,
and I guess we can wait a little for the thing to work itself out.
That’s the way with most mysteries. If you leave them alone they’ll
solve themselves.”
“What happened to you? Bat it up to me!”
Matt recounted the manner in which he had been beguiled into the open
country by the supposed messenger; and he told about the accident to
the taxicab, the revelation that the supposed youth was a girl, the
finding of the driver, the passing of the red touring car with McGlory
in the tonneau, the work of Dimmock and Sanders, a mile west of Rye,
and the journey through Connecticut and into Massachusetts, finishing
with his meeting with McGlory.
The cowboy listened, spellbound.
“You’ve had the hot end of this, so far, pard,” said he, “and no
mistake. But wouldn’t the whole game just naturally rattle your spurs?
What’s the good of it? How are Tibbits, Dimmock, and the rest going to
make anything by their work?”
“That’s where I’m muddled, too,” acknowledged Matt, drawing away from
the table and resuming his easy-chair. “I think, Joe, that Tibbits, who
seems to have been the one that planned this thing, has made an error.”
“That he’s bobbled, and thinks we’re some other fellows?”
“Not that, exactly, for they appear to know a whole lot about us, and
our business. Where they’ve made their mistake, it strikes me, is in
thinking that we’re mixed up in some affair we don’t know anything
about. If that’s the case, then the fact will come out, before very
long. All we’ve got to do is to wait until Tibbits comes for a talk
with us.”
“I’m hanged if I want to wait!” fumed McGlory. “They’ve fooled us,
they’ve got us here, and I’m a Piute if I’m going to stay!”
Jumping up, he ran to one of the two windows of the room. Pushing back
the heavy hangings, he raised the lower sash. As he did so, a voice
called up from the darkness outside:
“Git back in there, an’ close the winder! If ye don’t, I’ll shoot.”
The cowboy appeared dashed.
“You might have expected that, Joe,” laughed Matt. “You didn’t think,
did you, that Tibbits would go to all this trouble and then leave us
free to leave the house if we wanted to?”
McGlory closed the window and returned dazedly to his chair.
“Sufferin’ poorhouses!” he mumbled. “I reckon they think we’re
millionaires in disguise, and that our folks will hand over a lot of
money to ransom us. The laugh’s on them, and no mistake.”
“Let’s take things easy,” advised Matt, “until we can learn more about
the game the gang are playing.”
As Matt finished, the key rattled in the lock, the door was pushed
open, and Tibbits entered. He had some wearing apparel thrown over his
arm, and dropped it the moment he was inside the room. The door was
closed behind him, by unseen hands, and again locked.
With an angry exclamation, McGlory sprang to his feet and started
toward Tibbits. The latter, with a quick movement, brought out the
weapon which Matt had already become acquainted with.
“Steady,” warned Tibbits, smiling, but none the less determined. “Let’s
all be nice and comfortable,” he begged, “and no harm will be done.
You lads are my guests. Consider yourselves so, and we’ll get along
swimmingly. It was a cold supper I provided, but it was the best I
could do, under the circumstances. If you----”
“See here, you!” shouted McGlory. “Tell me whether your name is Tibbits
or Random.”
“Tibbits,” was the reply.
“And you haven’t anything to do with that brokerage firm in Liberty
Street?”
“Not a thing. The first time I was ever there was this morning.”
“What did you----”
“If you’ll give me a chance, McGlory,” interposed Tibbits, “I’ll
explain everything to the complete satisfaction of Motor Matt and
yourself.”
“‘Complete satisfaction!’” muttered McGlory. “That means you’re to fill
a pretty big order. But go ahead, Tibbits, and let’s find out where we
stand.”