“And this,” grunted McGlory, “is what he calls explaining matters to
our ‘complete satisfaction.’ Satisfaction! Sufferin’ Hottentots! Do I
look satisfied?”
The cowboy, in his dress suit and boiling with rage, looked far from
satisfied. In fact, he presented such a humorous spectacle that Matt
laughed.
“Oh,” he grunted disgustedly, “you’d laugh, Matt, if you were going to
be hung. But think what this means to me! I want to dig up the hatchet
and go on the war-path.”
“There’s nothing we can do just now, Joe,” said Matt, straightening his
face.
“What sort of a girl is that daughter of Dimmock’s, to go helping her
father in lawless work like this?”
“I can’t understand her,” returned Matt. “But I can tell you one thing.”
“Then tell it.”
“If Pearl Dimmock gets into your clothes and tries to palm herself off
as Joe McGlory, the bank people are going to get suspicious.”
“She played the game on you, pard, and you didn’t get suspicious until
you got dumped out of the taxicab.”
“I was thinking more about you, then, than I was about the supposed
messenger. In the matter of the bank, the case is different. Miss
Dimmock goes in there, asks for the bullion, and turns over the
colonel’s order for it. The order is all straight enough, but the bank
won’t let go of that gold until they’re sure the one who brings the
order is Joe McGlory. I’m thinking the hardest part of Tibbits’ work is
yet to come, and that the chances are about even whether he’ll win or
lose.”
“We can’t leave it like that, pard. We’ve got to get out of here and
make a rush for New York. That’s all there is to it. Tibbits, Dimmock,
the girl, and the fellow who’s to understudy you, will get away from
here to-night. That will leave fewer people to watch us, and I don’t
see why we can’t make a break, somehow, and carry it through with
ground to spare.”
“We’ll have to consider it.”
“There’s not much time to think it over. New York’s a long ways off,
and we’ve got to get there by the time the bank opens, to-morrow.”
“Not necessarily.”
McGlory’s face went blank.
“What do you mean by that, pard?” he queried.
Matt hitched his chair closer.
“Suppose we don’t get away from here until to-morrow morning, Joe,”
said he, “why couldn’t we send a telegram to the bank? Wouldn’t that do
just as well as though we dropped in there personally?”
“I’m the prize blockhead, all right,” muttered McGlory. “Of course, a
telegram will do, in case we can’t get out of here in time to reach New
York before the bank opens. But let’s try to break out.”
The cowboy got up and looked around reflectively.
“Where’ll we try first?” asked Matt.
“Watch me!” answered his chum, his face lighting up. He made a dash for
the fireplace.
“Here’s where this clawhammer suit catches it,” said he, crawling into
the opening.
The fireplace was large, and Matt waited eagerly, expecting results. In
a few moments, McGlory reappeared with soot on his hands.
“Not any,” he muttered disappointedly. “There’s a sharp turn in the
flue, and the opening isn’t any more’n six inches wide. No getting out
by the chimney, pard. I’ll try the window again, and see how careful I
can be when I lift it.”
McGlory pushed up the windows with very little noise, but the vigilant
guard outside heard him, nevertheless.
“Back in there,” was the gruff order, boomed from the darkness, “or
I’ll shake a bullet at ye.”
The cowboy closed the window.
“The galoot out there is right on the job,” said he, and moved to the
door.
Bending out a key ring, which he happened to have in his pocket, he
contrived a picklock; but no sooner did he begin operations than a
voice from the hall ordered him to stop.
“You see how it is, Joe,” whispered Matt. “The best thing for us to do
is to lie low for a while. Wait until after Tibbits, Dimmock, and the
others are away.”
“They must be away now.”
“I don’t think so. I haven’t heard any motor cars leaving the place;
and, besides that, it will take some time for Miss Dimmock and the
fellow who’s to play Motor Matt to get ready. Let’s try and get a
little sleep, Joe. If we have some rest, we’ll be better able to cope
with the situation later.”
“Sleep! Why, pard, I couldn’t sleep any more’n I could fly--or aviate,
without anything to aviate with.”
“Well, I’m off for a nap by myself, then. Wake me, Joe, if anything
happens.”
Matt threw himself down on the couch, and was asleep almost as soon
as he had straightened out. It seemed to him that he had no more than
closed his eyes before he felt a tug at his arm. He sat up quickly.
“What is it?” he whispered.
“Listen,” returned McGlory.
What Matt heard was the distinct throbbing of an automobile, dying
swiftly into silence.
“They’re off,” said the cowboy.
“Did that machine leave the house?” Matt asked.
“Yes. Now, what are we going to do?”
“Try the window and the door again, Joe.”
The cowboy repeated his earlier attempts, only to be gruffly warned by
the vigilant guards, outside the house and in the hall.
“How many men do you reckon Tibbits left here?” growled McGlory.
“I wish I knew. He seems to have had quite a gang.”
“And they’re all after a little of that ten thousand dollars!” muttered
McGlory. “Pretty small pickings for fellows like Dimmock and Tibbits. I
can size them up for that sort of grafters.”
“I think we’d better wait till morning before we make any more attempts
to get away,” said Matt.
“I reckon we’ll have to,” answered McGlory, in a discouraged tone.
“What sort of fellow was that who came in here, last night, and put our
supper on the table?”
“A runt of a chap in an apron and a square white cap. Why?”
“Nothing--now.”
Without any further remarks, Matt shifted his position on the couch,
and again went to sleep.
He awoke without being roused, and sat up on the edge of the couch.
Daylight was just glimmering through the trees. McGlory, sprawled out
on the carpet, with the clawhammer coat rolled into a pillow, was
slumbering soundly.
Quietly Matt got up and went to the window, where the cowboy had made
his several attempts the night before.
The window looked off toward the stables. To the right of the house was
a vine-covered pergola, and between the stables and the pergola ran
the graveled drive, leading around the house from the front gate. What
interested Matt particularly, however, was a red touring car in the
drive, close to the pergola.
Undoubtedly it was the same car that had brought McGlory and Tibbits
from New York. Tibbits and Dimmock, on their return to the city, had
used the other car--the one driven by Sanders.
The presence of that car spelled possibilities for the motor boys,
if----
Matt’s gaze dropped to the side of the house. A man was sitting under
the two library windows, smoking a pipe. Across his knees rested a
revolver.
Before the motor boys could avail themselves of the red touring car
they would have to eliminate the guard. How could that be accomplished?
Matt turned from the window, revolving the problem in his mind. He
could think of no method of escape short of boldly leaping from the
window and trusting to luck--and the revolver made such an attempt
too risky. A plan, which he had thought of vaguely during the night,
recurred to him. This idea had the servant for its nucleus, and
promised little better than a sortie by the window.
McGlory, hearing his chum moving around the room, stirred and sat up on
the floor.
“What are you prowling around for, Matt?” he asked, yawning sleepily.
“Averaging up the chances,” Matt answered. “Come here, Joe.”
McGlory got up and went to his chum’s side. Matt pointed to the red
touring car.
“If we could get out of here and get hold of _that_,” he murmured, “we
might do something.”
“The boy with the gun looks sort of fierce,” reflected the cowboy;
“still, you never can tell just what a fellow’s going to do with a
revolver. If----”
The key rattled in the lock. Matt dropped quickly down on the couch and
pretended to be asleep. McGlory, taking his cue from Matt, resumed his
place on the floor.
A man, in white cap and apron, entered the room with a tray of steaming
food. The door was closed and fastened behind him. Without trying
to waken the boys--whom he must have supposed to be asleep--the man
picked his way around McGlory, placed the tray on the table, and began
collecting the scattered remnants of the supper. His back was toward
Matt.
Noiselessly as a gliding serpent, Matt arose and slipped across the
space separating him from the man; then, leaning forward, he caught
him about the middle with his left arm, at the same time covering his
lips with his right hand.
The man began to squirm, kicking out with his feet and fighting
fiercely to get away.
McGlory, who had been watching the progress of events, and wondering
what Matt was trying to do, went to his chum’s aid. The man was forced
to his knees, and then to the floor. Lying on his back, Matt’s hand
still over his mouth, he stared upward with frightened eyes.