CARL TURNS A TRICK.
Something has been said about Carl Pretzel having an idea that was almost an inspiration, at the time he was approached by the Hindoo at the aëroplane.
This it was that led him into the monkey wagon. The slam of the door and the grate of the key in the padlock struck a sudden tremor to the Dutch boy's heart.
Was he making a fool of himself or not? Would a trained detective have proceeded in that manner?
His heart failed him, and he gave the wild yell for help.
He had hardly given the cry before he repented of it. What would Motor Matt think of his nerve if he could know the game he had embarked upon, and how he had been stampeded in playing it?
No; if that call had done no harm, Carl would not repeat it. He would see the business through and try and match wits with the Hindoo.
In spite of the noise on the show grounds, Carl heard Ben Ali's heels bang against the end of the wagon, and also the stern voice commanding him to keep silent.
Carl kept silent. He was almost smothered by the closeness of his prison chamber, and the terrific odor that assailed him, but he comforted himself with the thought that detectives don't always have things their own way when they're tracking down a criminal. Anyhow, even his present discomfort was better than the hard knocks his "sleuthing" had so far given him.
He was not long in discovering the hole in the floor of the wagon. The memorandum book he had discovered soon after getting into the borrowed clothes.
Of course he knew that Motor Matt would follow him! That was the kind of fellow the king of the motor boys was; never had he turned his back on a pard in distress.
Carl, too, was morally certain that Ping had seen him get into the monkey wagon. Motor Matt would discover this from the Chinaman, and then would come the pursuit.
The thing for Carl to do was to point the way by which he had been carried off. The hole in the floor, and the memorandum book in his pocket, were not long in giving him the right tip.
Sitting down on the bottom of the cage, Carl occupied himself in tearing the leaves of the book into scraps and poking the scraps through the opening.
How far Ben Ali drove Carl did not know, but it seemed as though the Hindoo had been hours on the road. There was a pain in Carl's back, where the mule had left its token of remembrance, and the jolt of the wagon was far from pleasant.
Presently there came the rapid beat of a horse's hoofs, a whir of wheels, and a sudden stop of the monkey wagon. The other sounds ceased at the same moment.
For a second or two Carl imagined that Matt had overhauled Ben Ali, but this fancy was dispelled by the strange words that passed between Ben Ali and some one else.
The mahout could be heard climbing swiftly down from his perch and moving around to the rear of the wagon. Carl slipped the book into his pocket and drew away from the hole in the floor.
Once more the key grated in the padlock. The door was drawn open and Ben Ali was revealed, looming large in the rush of sunlight, a bared knife in his hand.
"You come, sahib," said Ben Ali.
Carl got up and moved toward the door. There Ben Ali caught his eyes for a space and held them with the same weird looks indulged in near the aëroplane on the show grounds.
The Dutchman instantly grew automatic in his movements, keeping his eyes straight ahead and following Ben Ali's every gesture.
Carl had seen persons hypnotized, and knew how they acted.
"You come," repeated Ben Ali sternly, and Carl jumped down from the wagon.
They were in a country road. There was a smart-looking horse and buggy beside the monkey wagon, and Haidee was on the seat. If appearances were to be believed, she was in another of her spells.
"Sahib get in de buggy," ordered Ben Ali.
Carl climbed over the wheel obediently and sat down beside the girl. She paid not the least attention to him, nor he to her. Ben Ali climbed in beside them, squeezed into the seat, and took the reins from Haidee's hands.
Meanwhile, Carl had been looking at another brown man in a turban who was unhitching the horse from the monkey wagon.
Ben Ali waited until the horse was out of the shafts and the second Hindoo on its back, then he started the Kentucky cob off along the road. His companion trotted along behind.
Dropping any more paper scraps was out of the question. Carl was too tightly wedged in between Ben Ali and Haidee to use his hands; besides, he could not have made a move that would not instantly have been seen.
Presently the Hindoo on the horse called out something in his unknown jargon. Ben Ali answered, and the runabout was turned from the road and into the woods.
Possibly they proceeded a hundred feet into the timber. At the end of that distance their progress was halted by a creek with steep banks.
Ben Ali got out. While standing on the ground facing Carl, he made sinuous movements with his slim brown hands—passes, most probably, designed to keep Carl in a hypnotic state.
The girl shuddered, suddenly, and drew a hand across her eyes.
"Uncle Ben!" she exclaimed, with a sharp cry, "where am I?"
"You are safe," said Ben Ali. "You are not to work with de trapeze any more, not be with de show any more. We are quit with de show.Kabultah, meetoowah?"
"Yes, yes," breathed the girl, "I understand. But where are we going? I don't want to be in a trance any more. I want to know what I say, what I do—all the time."
The man's face hardened.
"You come, Haidee," he said, gently but none the less firmly.
The girl got up and climbed down from the wagon.
"Sahib!" he cried sharply. "You come, too."
Carl likewise climbed to the ground.
"You are asleep," went on Ben Ali, coming up to Carl and bringing his face close. "You know not anything what you do. Sit!"
Carl sank down on the bank of the creek.
The other Hindoo had dismounted. Stepping away from his horse, he turned the runabout rig the other way, so that the cob faced the road. Then he tied the animal.
Meanwhile, Ben Ali, seating himself cross-legged on the ground, had drawn a small black box from his breast. It was a lacquered box and shone like ebony in the gleam of sun that drifted down through the trees.
Haidee uttered an exclamation and stretched out her hands.
"It is mine, Uncle Ben! It belongs to me."
"Yis,meetoowah," agreed Ben Ali, "it belong to you, but I keep it. That is safer, better."
He put down the box and listened, hissing to attract the attention of the other Hindoo.
"Aurung Zeeb!"
The other turned, and Ben Ali motioned toward the road.
The sound of an approaching motor car broke the stillness. It grew rapidly in volume, passed a point abreast of those in the woods, and went on, dying away in the distance.
Excitement shone in the faces of the Hindoos, and there was alarm in the face of the girl.
"What is it?" she cried. "Uncle Ben——"
"Silence,meetooowah!" commanded the Hindoo.
Taking the lacquered box in his hand, Ben Ali leaped erect and chattered wildly with Aurung Zeeb. After that, he came to Carl, his face full of anxiety and alarm, and made more passes.
"You come," he ordered, "get back in de buggy."
Carl followed as Ben Ali backed away in the direction of the runabout. The Hindoo stood close to the wheel until Carl was in the seat.
At that moment a smothered scream came from Haidee. Aurung Zeeb jumped toward her, letting go the bridle of his horse as he did so. Ben Ali muttered something under his breath, put the lacquered box on the runabout seat beside Carl, and started toward Aurung Zeeb and the girl.
"You must tell me what you are doing," panted the girl, facing the Hindoos with flashing eyes. "That is Boss Burton's horse and buggy. Why have you got the rig here? What are we doing here? Tell me, Uncle Ben! I must know."
Ben Ali tried to quiet her. Carl was in a quiver. The lines were twined about the whip on the dashboard of the runabout, and both Hindoos were fully fifteen feet away. It looked like a propitious moment for escape. Carl had not accomplished much, but he was patting himself on the back because of the way he had fooled Ben Ali. Now, if he could get away, and take the runabout with him——
Carl never thought very long over any proposition. Nor did he give much time to this.
Swooping down on the dashboard, he grabbed up the lines and the whip.
"Gid ap mit yourself!" he yelled, and struck the horse.
With a snort the animal bounded forward, breaking the strap that secured him to the tree and almost throwing Carl from the seat.
The other horse took fright and bounded away, while Carl went lurching and plunging in a wild dash for the road.
How he ever reached the road without coming to grief against the many trees he grazed in his dash was something which would have puzzled a wiser head than his.
He paid not the least attention to the Hindoos, nor to Haidee. He was thinking of Carl, and trying to guess how much money he would get for bringing back the stolen horse and runabout.
For once, he thought exultantly, he was making the detective businesspay.
Whirling into the road, he headed the horse back toward town, plying the whip and hustling the best he knew how.
It was a marvel that the runabout held together. But it did. Suddenly a firearm spoke sharply from somewhere in the rear.
Carl did not look behind. He had but one thought, and that was that the Hindoos must be phenomenal runners, and that they were chasing him on foot and firing as they came.
He bent forward over the dashboard and urged the cob to a wilder pace.
Then, while he was using the whip, an angry voice roared from alongside the runabout:
"Stop lashing that horse! Stop, I tell you!"
Carl became faintly aware that there was an automobile dashing along the road side by side with the runabout.
"Carl!" shouted a familiar voice. "Stop your running! Don't you know who we are?"
Then the excited Dutchman became aware of the situation and pulled back on the lines.
He chuckled delightedly as he jerked and sawed on the bit.
He, Carl Pretzel, had been running away from his old pard! What a joke!
And there, in the automobile with Matt, was the manager of the show.
It wouldn't be long, now, before Carl found out how much he was to get for recovering the stolen horse and runabout.
THE LACQUERED BOX.
Probably that Kentucky horse of Burton's had never been treated in his life as he was that afternoon. He was muddy with sweat and dust, and his high-strung spirits, by that time thoroughly aroused, rebelled against the curb.
In order to help Carl out, Motor Matt drove the car past the horse and partly across the road. This served to bring the animal to a halt.
"By Jove!" stormed Burton, "I wouldn't have had this happen for a hundred dollars! It's a wonder if the horse isn't ruined!"
He flopped out of the automobile and approached the horse's head.
"Whoa, Colonel!" he murmured soothingly. "Whoa, old boy!"
Then, getting one hand on the bit, he held the animal while he petted and wheedled and patted the lathered neck.
"Der rig vas shtole py der Hindoo," said Carl, "und I haf recofered it und prought it pack. Dot comes oof being a goot tedectif, py shinks! How mooch iss id vort'?"
"Worth?" scowled Burton. "If the animal is injured I'll charge you up for it. Don't you know how to take care of a horse?"
"Don'd you vas going to pay me someding?" gasped Carl.
"Pay?" snorted Burton, in no mood to consider a reward after seeing his favorite horse mistreated. "Why, I feel like I wanted to use the whip on you! What did you run away from us for?"
"I t'ought you vas der Hindoos," explained Carl feebly. "Say, Matt," he added, turning to his chum, "der feller don't vas going to gif me someding! Vat a miserliness! Und me going droo all vat I dit!"
"Where did you get the runabout, Carl?" asked Matt.
He thought Boss Burton was a little unreasonable, but was not disposed to make any comments. Burton's ways were sometimes far from meeting Matt's approval—and they had never been farther from it than during the events of that exciting day.
"I shteal him from der Hindoos," said Carl, "und make some gedavays by der shkin oof my teet', you bed you! I hat to run der horse, Matt, oder I vouldn't have made der esgape. Vone oof der Hindoos had a knife, und dey vas bot' det safage I can't dell. Der odder horse vat pulled der cage vagon iss somevere aheadt. He got avay und vent like some shdreaks."
"You climb down," snapped Burton, coming back to the side of the runabout. "I'll take the rig back to the grounds and send one of the teamsters for the monkey wagon. You'll bring along the automobile, Matt?" he added, getting into the runabout as Carl got out.
"Yes," answered Matt.
"Ain't you going on with us to look up the Hindoos and Haidee?" asked McGlory. "Going to hang back before we run out the trail, Burton?"
"I don't care anything about them," was the reply, "so long as I've recovered my own property. What's this?" and the showman picked up the lacquered box.
Carl stared at it. Evidently he had forgotten all about it, up to that moment.
"Py chimineddy!" he muttered. "Dot's der Hindoo's! He tropped id on der seat pefore I run avay mit der rig."
"Then I'll take it with me," said Burton. "Perhaps it's of enough value so that the rascal will come after it. If he does, I can read the riot act to him."
"I guess you'd better leave that with Carl, Burton," spoke up Matt. "You don't care to bother with the Hindoos, and we may think it's worth while."
"Oh, well, if that's the way you feel about it," and the showman tossed the box to Carl. "Mind," he added, as he started off, "you're not to get into any trouble with that automobile."
Burton was soon out of sight.
"He's the limit, that fellow!" growled McGlory. "He might have tipped Carl a five-case note, but he wouldn't. He's a skinner."
"Nodding doing in der tedectif pitzness," said Carl resignedly, getting into the automobile beside Matt. "Same like alvays I ged der vorst oof id. Vile vorking on der Manners gase, I haf peen in a row mit Ping, in a row mit a canvasman und a 'parker' for der site-show, in some more rows mit a shtable feller, got kicked in der pack mit a mu-el, und carried avay in some vagons vat shmelled like a glue factory. Und vat I ged? Dot Purton feller he say he vould like to pound me mit der vip. Ach, vell, ve can't pecome greadt tedectifs mitoudt a leedle hardt luck at her shtart."
"Tell us what happened to you, Carl," said Matt, "and be quick about it."
Carl sketched his adventures, with now and then an urging toward brevity from Matt.
"Ven I see dot Hindoo coming, at der time he made some brisoners oof me," expounded Carl, on reaching that part of his recital, "I remempered der girl vat come down in der flying machine, und vat he valked avay mit, und I got der t'ought, like lightning, dot meppy der feller know someding aboudt Markaret Manners, vat iss atverdised for in der Lonton baper. Abner nit, it don'd vas der case. I schust let meinseluf pertend dot I vas mesmerized so dot I could go along by der Hindoo und meppy findt oudt someding. I don't findt oudt anyt'ing."
Carl's disgust was great, and he brought his story to a quick conclusion.
"We'll go look for the Hindoos and Haidee," said Matt. "As I jog along, Carl, you keep watch for the place where you turned from the road. Meanwhile, Joe," Matt added, "you take the lacquered box and open it. We'll see what's inside. The contents may shed a little light on this mystery of the girl."
"Der Hindoos und der girl von't be vere dey vas," remarked Carl, handing the box to McGlory.
"They can't possibly be far away," answered Matt. "They have to travel on foot, now, and will be compelled to go slow."
"This box is locked, pard," called McGlory.
"Force the lid, then," said Matt. "It's necessary, according to my notion, that we try and find out something about Haidee. And for the girl's good."
McGlory opened his pocketknife and inserted the blade between the box and the lid. The lock splintered out under pressure.
"She's open, pard," announced the cowboy.
"What's inside?"
"A bundle of letters tied with a piece of twine."
"Ah!"
"They have English stamps," went on McGlory, "and are postmarked at London."
"Better and better! And they're addressed to——"
"Miss Margaret Manners, Calcutta, India."
Carl nearly fell off the seat.
"Ach, du lieber!" he sputtered, "I vas ketching my breat'. A clue, py shinks! Dot Haidee knows vere der fife-t'ousant-tollar girl iss, I bed you!"
"Knows where the girl is?" echoed Matt.
"Sure t'ing. How vouldt Haidee haf Markaret Manners' ledders oof she ditn't know somet'ing aboudt der English girl? A few more knocks, py shiminy, und I vill make der fife t'ousant tollars!"
"Carl," said Matt, "you've got a wooden head when it comes to sleuthing. Why, Haidee is Margaret Manners herself. I've had a hunch to that effect for two or three hours."
Once more Carl had to hold on with both hands to keep from going by the board. He could only breathe hard and think of what he would do with all the money that was coming to him.
"What else is there in the box, Joe?" asked Matt. "Anything but the letters?"
"Just one thing, pard," replied McGlory. "It looks like a decoration of some kind."
McGlory held the object over Matt's shoulder, so he could see it.
It was a bronze Maltese cross, with a royal crown in the centre surmounted by a lion, and the words "For Valour" stamped on the cross under the crown. The cross hung from a V-shaped piece attached to a bar, and the bar was attached to a faded red ribbon. Across the bar was engraved the name "Lionel Manners."
"I feel like taking off my hat in the presence of that, pards," said Matt.
"Why?" demanded Joe.
"It's a Victoria Cross," returned Matt, "and is only given to persons for a deed of gallantry and daring. When the ribbon is red, it shows that the winner of the cross belonged to the army; when blue, to the navy. Captain Lionel Manners must have been a brave man, and it's a pity his daughter should be treated as she has been. Carl, you've blundered onto a big thing—and you couldn't have blundered so successfully once in a thousand times. Put the letters and the cross back in the box, Joe. We'll keep them safe for the girl. If——"
"Dere's der blace," interrupted Carl, pointing to the roadside.
Motor Matt brought the automobile to a stop.
THE HYPNOTIST'S VICTIM.
"You and I will go and look for the Hindoos, Joe," said Matt, getting out of the car. "Carl will stay here and take care of the automobile."
"Vat oof der Hindoos ged avay from you und come ad me?" queried Carl, in a panic. "I bed you dey vas sore ofer vat I dit."
"If they should happen to attack you," answered Matt, "run away from them. You used to know something about driving a car, Carl."
"All righdt," said Carl, with deep satisfaction. "I'll run avay from some drouples oof any come in my tirection. Look oudt for Ben Ali. He has a knife."
Matt and McGlory, after securing a few further directions from Carl, started into the woods on their way to the creek. They moved warily in single file, Matt taking the lead.
As they made their way onward, they saw evidences of Carl's wild dash for the road in the runabout, broken bushes and trees blazed at about the height of a buggy axle.
"It's a wonder that runabout wasn't strung all the way from the creek to the road," murmured McGlory. "The Dutchman's luck has landed on him all in a bunch."
"Carl has a knack for blundering in the right direction," said Matt. "But he has as much grit as you'll find in any lad of his size. Think how he fooled that Ben Ali! Made the Hindoo believe he was hypnotized."
"And Carl had only the faintest notion what he wasdoing it for!" chuckled McGlory. "Say, pard, I'd like to have seen those Hindoos when Carl woke up and used the whip on that horse of Burton's."
"Hist!" warned Matt, "we're close to the creek."
There were evidences in plenty that the bank of the creek had been recently occupied—broken bushes and an imprint of human feet in the damp soil. As Matt and McGlory had supposed, however, there was no sign of Haidee or the Hindoos in the vicinity.
"Here's where we're up a stump, pard," said McGlory. "I wonder if I could pick up the trail and find which way the outfit went?"
"Try it," said Matt.
McGlory skirmished around for ten minutes.
"I reckon I've got it," he announced, at the end of that time. "Unless I'm far wide of my trail, Matt, they went down the creek."
"Then that's the direction for us. Step off, Joe, and be lively."
Although the boys believed the Hindoos and Haidee must be far in advance of them, yet they moved forward cautiously, being exceedingly careful not to rustle the bushes as they passed or to step on any twigs that would crackle under their feet.
As a matter of fact, they had not been five minutes on their way down the creek before the cowboy whirled abruptly with a finger on his lips; then, motioning to Matt, he dropped to his knees.
Matt followed suit and crept alongside McGlory.
"We're in luck, too," whispered the cowboy. "They're right ahead of us, all three of them. Listen, and you can hear them talking."
Matt raised his head and listened intently. A faint sound of voices was borne to his ears.
"Let's creep up on them, Joe," he suggested. "They're two against us, you know, and they'll make a pretty big handful, if they're armed."
"We know Ben Ali has a knife, but that is probably all the weapons they've got. If they had guns, then Carl would never have made his getaway."
Redoubling their caution, the boys crawled forward, screening their advance by keeping bunches of undergrowth in front of them as much as they could.
The voices grew steadily louder, until it became manifest that the brown men were jabbering in Hindustani.
Finally the boys arrived as close as they deemed it best to go, for they had Ben Ali, Aurung Zeeb, and Haidee in plain view.
The three were in a little oak opening on the creek bank. Haidee was sitting on a log, and the other two were standing and talking rapidly.
A moment after the boys were able to see them and note what was going on, the Hindoos stopping their talking. Aurung Zeeb drew off to one side, and Ben Ali stepped in front of the girl.
"Haidee,meetoowah!" he called.
The girl lifted her head.
"You must go into de trance,meetoowah," said Ben Ali.
With a heart-breaking cry the girl flung herself on her knees in front of him.
"No, no, Uncle Ben!" she wailed, "don't make me do things I can't remember—things I don't want to do! What happened during the parade this morning? And what happened while I was in the air with Motor Matt? You will not tell me and I do not know! Oh, Uncle Ben——"
"Haidee!"
The voice was clear and keen cut. There was something in the tones of it that lifted the girl erect and uncomplaining, and held her as by a magnet with her eyes on the snaky, dancing orbs of Ben Ali.
The power of the Hindoo over the girl must have been tremendous.
The boys, shivering with horror, watched the Hindoo as he waved his arms gracefully and made his sinuous passes. He was no more than a minute or two in effecting his work.
By swift degrees Haidee's face lost its expression and became as though graven from stone; her eyes grew dull and her whole manner listless.
"Haidee, you sleep," came monotonously from Ben Ali, as his hands dropped. "You hear me,meetoowah? You understand?"
"Yes," answered the girl, in the clacking, parrot-like voice with which the boys were somewhat familiar.
"You are never to remember,meetoowah, what you do in de parade, or what you do on de flying machine," continued Ben Ali. "When you wake, you forget all that, and how I tell you to pull the lever when de parade reach de min'ral well, or pin de fireball as it smoulder to de wing of de machine. You forget all that, huh?"
"Yes."
"You are bright, lively girl,meetoowah" went on the Hindoo. "You are gay, happy, but you are under de power, yes, all de time. You go back to de show, and you tell them that Ben Ali and Aurung Zeeb ver' bad mans and run away with Haidee, that you make de escape. Then you get from Boss Burton the money he owe and come to Linton Hotel in Lafayette sometime this night. You understand,meetoowah?"
"Yes."
"And you not let anybody know you come to Linton Hotel,meetoowah."
"No."
"And at all time when you wake you forget you was Margaret Manners, and you remember all time when you wake that you only Haidee."
"Yes."
"Also, you try get back de box that b'long to you, de little lacquered box. Remember that, Haidee. Get de box if you can and bring it with de money to Uncle Ben Ali at de Linton Hotel in Lafayette."
"Yes."
"And you all time forget when you wake dat you Margaret Manners, and——"
Something happened to the hypnotist, right then and there.
Unable to endure longer the scene transpiring under their eyes, the boys had crept forward until they were close to Ben Ali and Aurung Zeeb.
Matt, behind Ben Ali, arose suddenly and caught the Hindoo by the shoulders, flinging him down on his back and holding him there with both hands about his throat.
McGlory, it had been planned, should make a simultaneous attack, in the same manner, upon Aurung Zeeb; but that individual was keener-eyed than his companion. He saw McGlory just as the cowboy was about to spring. With a loud cry of warning, Aurung Zeeb broke away in a panic and fled into the timber.
McGlory did not follow him. Ben Ali, choking and wriggling under the tense fingers of the king of the motor boys, had made a desperate effort and drawn his knife. The cowboy had glimpsed the blade, shimmering in a gleam of sun, and had leaped forward and caught the Hindoo's hand.
"We've got the scoundrel!" exulted McGlory. "I reckon this is the last stunt of this sort he'll ever lay hand to."
Ben Ali tried to speak. Matt saw the attempt and removed his rigid fingers from the prisoner's throat, slipping his hands down and gripping one of the man's arms.
"Hold his other arm, Joe," panted Matt. "I want to talk with him. I've got to talk with him. A great wrong has been done Haidee, and if it is righted Ben Ali is the only one to do it."
McGlory was puzzled, but yielded immediate obedience.
"Look at the girl," he whispered, as he laid both hands on the prisoner's other arm.
There was a look of sharp pain in Haidee's face. Her hands were clutching her throat, and she was swaying where she stood.
"Haidee feel what you do to me," gurgled Ben Ali. "You hurt me, you hurt her. You do not understand de power."
"He's talkin' with two tongues!" declared McGlory.
"No," said Matt, "he tells the truth. As I told you, Joe, we've got to make use of the scoundrel for Haidee's benefit. Don't mind Haidee—she'll be all right by the time we are through with Ben Ali."
"FOR THE SAKE OF HAIDEE!"
Motor Matt knew something about hypnotism, having acquired the knowledge in the casual way most boys learn about such occult and, at times, fascinating subjects.
The young motorist knew, for instance, that if it was suggested to Margaret Manners often enough in a hypnotic state that she was only Haidee, the girl would come to forget her own personality. Even when out of the trance she would be confused and bewildered in trying to recall her real name and her past life.
It was to undo some of this evil that Matt was eager for a talk with the Hindoo.
"Ben Ali," said Matt sternly, "we have the box of letters and Captain Manners' Victoria Cross. In order to make you suffer terribly for what you have done, we have only to turn you over to the authorities and let them cable to London. There is a thousand pounds sterling offered as a reward for the recovery of Margaret Manners; and for you there would be a long term in prison. You understand that, don't you?"
There was a crafty look on the Hindoo's face as he answered.
"Yes, sahib. But you not do anything with me. De girl is in de trance. I have her in my power."
"And we have you in our power," said Matt, appreciating to the full the strong hold Ben Ali had on them, as well as on the girl.
"But, by and by, when we have finished de talk, de young sahib will let me go."
Matt was deeply thoughtful for a few moments.
"Yes," he answered deliberately, "if you will answer my questions, and do what I tell you to do, we will let you go."
"Pard!" remonstrated Joe.
"I know what I am doing, Joe," returned Matt.
"De young sahib is wise," put in the smiling Ben Ali, his eyes beginning to gleam and dance in an attempt to get the king of the motor boys under their influence.
"Pah!" murmured Matt disgustedly. "You can hold his arm with one hand, Joe. Place the other hand over his eyes."
"He's a fiend," growled McGlory, as his palm dropped over the upper part of Ben Ali's face.
The Hindoo laughed noiselessly.
"Will you talk with me frankly and answer my questions, Ben Ali," proceeded Matt, "providing we promise to let you go?"
"Yes, sahib."
"Then, first, who are you?"
"De brother of a great rajah in my own land, and de brother of de great rajah's sister. That sister married de Captain Manners, Margaret's father."
"I see," breathed Matt, his eyes wandering to the girl.
Haidee had grown quiet, her face expressionless and her eyes staring and vacant, as before.
"I, with my rich rajah brother," continued Ben Ali, with bitterness, "was only de driver of his elephants. No more. I work. He live in luxury and do not anything. Captain Manners die. Then his wife, she die, too.Suttee.She burn on de funeral pyre, as our custom is in my land. De husband die, then de widow die. Margaret she live. My brother, de rajah, give me money, send me to Calcutta after Margaret. I go. I get de girl and we take ship to America. Hah! On de way I tell Margaret it is her uncle, de rajah's wish, that she go to de Vassar school in America, that I follow order when I take her there. She believe what I say. On de steamer I begin de trances. She not like them, but she agree at first. By and by she not able to help herself. I tell her she not remember who she is when she wake, that she only Haidee. She b'leeve." The scoundrel laughed. "I have de so great power with the eyes and the hands, sahib."
"Why did you join a show and take the girl with you?" demanded Matt, a feeling of horror and repulsion for Ben Ali growing in his heart.
"I have to live, sahib. My money give out. I know how to drive de elephant, so I hear of de show and go there. Boss Burton hire me. I speak of Haidee. He hire her, too."
"Did she know how to perform on the trapeze—she, the niece of a powerful rajah and daughter of an English gentleman?"
"She know not anything about that. I put her in de trance and tell her she know. Then she perform on de trapeze better than any."
"Why did you want her to go up on the flying machine?"
"Cut it short," growled McGlory huskily. "I feel like using the knife on the villain, pard. He ain't fit to live."
"You listened to me while I was talking with my friends in the calliope tent this morning," continued Matt. "Why was that?"
"I was afraid of de Dutch boy," answered Ben Ali, "and I was more afraid when I hear what he tell. After that, I be afraid of all of you. You understan'? I thought you take Haidee away from me."
"You hypnotized her before the parade and told her to do something to make me trouble?"
"Yes, sahib," was the prompt response. "I wanted you out of de way. I was afraid."
"Scoundrel!" muttered Matt. "Why, you placed Haidee herself in danger."
"I was Rajah's mahout. I could have kept de elephant from hurting Haidee."
"Was she hypnotized when she came to the aëroplane and played that trick to go up in the machine with me?"
"She was, yes, sahib."
"And you gave her something to be used in setting the aëroplane afire?"
"Yes, sahib. It was de smouldering fire ball, with de coal in its heart. When de machine go up, and de win' fan it, den by and by it break into flame and set fire to de machine."
Ben Ali was frank, brutally frank. But he had Motor Matt's promise that he should go free, and he seemed to gloat over his evil deeds and to wish that not a detail be left out.
"She did not act, when she was in the aëroplane, as she did when she was in the parade," said Matt.
"I make her act different, sahib. I tell her how she was to be. I have de so great power I do that. Other fakirs not so great as Ben Ali."
"We've heard enough," said Matt. "Now, as yet, you have only partly earned your freedom, Ben Ali. You have still to do what I shall tell you."
"What is that, sahib?"
"You will, by the aid of hypnotism, undo all the evil you have done, as much as possible. For instance, you will impress on Haidee, as she stands there, the truth that she is Margaret Manners, and that she will remember it, and all her past, when she wakes. After that, you are to waken her and take yourself off."
"Yes," answered the Hindoo. "My freedom is dear to me. Perhaps"—and he smiled—"I have something yet to do with Motor Matt."
"If you cross my path again, Ben Ali," returned the king of the motor boys, "there will be no promise binding me to let you go free. If you are wise, you will stay away from me and my friends, and from Haidee."
"I take my chance, if that is it. To awaken Haidee I must be on my feet."
"You will lie as you are!" declared Matt sharply. "You can do your work as well this way as in any other."
"I will try," said the Hindoo, after a moment's pause. Then, in a loud voice, he called: "Haidee!"
The girl turned her eyes upon him.
"Yes," she answered.
"When you wake,meetoowah, you will remember that you are Margaret Manners."
"Yes."
"You will remember all, everything—Calcutta, your father, Captain Manners, your mother, your mother's brother, de rajah. But you forget Ben Ali, and you think no more of him. You understand?"
"Yes."
This, in a little different language, Ben Ali repeated several times.
"Now, young sahib," said he, "let me up till I wake Haidee."
"Hold to him on that side, Joe," cautioned Matt, "but give him the use of his hands. When Haidee wakes, release him."
"Sufferin' fairy tales!" grumbled McGlory. "I hate to do it, pard, and that's honest, but I reckon, from what I've heard, that you know what you're about. It's a hard way to bring right and justice to the girl by letting this scoundrel escape the law, but there don't seem to be anything else for it."
Slowly the boys got up and permitted Ben Ali to struggle to his feet. When he was erect, both still gripped him by the waist in order to prevent him from committing any treachery.
Ben Ali leaned forward and waved his hands.
"Awake,meetoowah!" he called sharply. "You are yourself again, Margaret Manners! Awake!"
The girl started, and lifted both hands to her temples. It was enough, and Motor Matt was satisfied.
"Let him go, Joe," said Matt, "but keep his knife."
The boys, at the same moment, withdrew their hands and stepped back. Ben Ali, with a wild, snarling laugh, sprang into the woods and vanished.
"What is it?" asked Margaret Manners, in a puzzled voice. "Where am I? Ah, is that you, Motor Matt? And Joe!"
"Yes, sis," returned the cowboy, his voice full of gentleness, "it's your friend McGlory, and the best friend you ever had if you did but know it—Motor Matt."
"Come," said Matt briskly, "we must hustle back to the automobile. Carl will have a fit wondering what has become of us."
THE RAJAH'S NIECE.
The events of that wonderful day all seemed like a dream to Motor Matt when he came to look back on them. The coming of Carl, loaded with a joke sprung upon him by the detectives in Chicago—a joke, by the way, that proved a boomerang—and the dangers and perils that trailed after the Dutch boy and finally ended in most marvelous success—all these seemed but the figments of disordered fancy.
But the damaged aëroplane remained to tell of the dangers, and Carl was there in the flesh, and Margaret Manners was present, freed of the evil shadow that had blighted her young life.
The afternoon performance had been over for some time when Matt, Joe, Carl, and Margaret—for now she must be Margaret and not Haidee—returned to the show grounds.
The owner of the motor car was walking up and down in fretful mood, thinking, perhaps, that he had done a most unwise thing in letting his machine get out of his hands.
Burton was with him and seeking to pacify his fears. But the sight of the motor car alone did that.
"Well," exclaimed Burton, "you've got one of 'em, Matt. She is the most valuable of the lot, to me. Where are the other two?"
"They escaped," answered Matt shortly. "And Haidee, Mr. Burton, is no longer an employee of the Big Consolidated."
"What!" cried Burton. "Do you mean to say she isn't going up on the aëroplane any more, and that she'll not touch off Roman candles or——"
"I told you she'd never do that, some time ago," said Matt keenly.
Burton seemed to have a way of forgetting the things he did not want to hear.
"Well, anyhow," went on the showman, as soon as they had all alighted, and the owner of the car had got into it and tooted joyfully away, "come to the mess tent and tell me what happened."
"Haven't time, Burton," said Matt. "Miss Manners is going to the best hotel in town, and I've got some telegrams to send."
"Telegrams?" Burton pricked up his ears and showed signs of excitement. "There isn't another show trying to hire you away from me, is there? Don't forget your written contract, Matt!"
"I'm not forgetting that," returned Matt, inclined to laugh. "The telegram I am going to send is to the British ambassador at Washington, and the cablegram I am going to get on the wires is to an attorney in London, England."
"Jupiter!" exclaimed Burton. "It looks to me as though you wouldn't get through in time to go on with section two of the show train."
"We won't," continued Matt, "and that's what I'm going to tell you about. We'll be a couple of days making repairs on the aëroplane, and we'll make them here. After the work is done, we'll join the Big Consolidated at the town where it happens to be at that time."
"Your contract, sir!" fumed Burton. "You are——"
"No repairs on the aëroplane would have been necessary," interrupted Motor Matt, "if you had not played that trick on me and substituted Haidee for Le Bon. Just remember that. I shall expect you to pay the bills for the repairs, too."
Burton received these remarks in silence.
"When I and my friends are ready to join you," went on the king of the motor boys, "we'll go by air line in theComet, and if you have any good paper, we'll scatter it all along the route. It will be the biggest kind of an advertisement for you, Burton."
This was a master stroke, if Burton yearned for one thing more than another, it was to make his name a household word.
"Great!" he cried. "But you won't be more than two days here, will you, Matt?"
"We'll try not to be."
"And you'll scatter the paper?"
"Certainly."
"Fine! I'll have it for you. Where'll I send it?"
"To the Bramble House."
"It will be there. Make the bill for repairs as light as possible, and draw on me for the amount. That's fair, ain't it?"
"Just about."
"Ask anybody and they'll tell you Boss Burton is the soul of honesty, and that every promise he makes in his paper is carried out to the letter. What will you do with the aëroplane?"
"McGlory and Ping will look after it to-night. Tomorrow they will have it removed to some place where we can work on it comfortably."
"All right—have it your way. I'm the easiest fellow to get along with that you ever saw, when I see a chap is going to treat me square. Good luck to you—to all of you."
The party separated. McGlory went over into the show grounds to join Ping at the aëroplane, and Matt and Carl escorted Miss Manners to the Bramble House. Carl went to the show, when the tents were being pulled down that night, and got Miss Manners' trunk and his own clothes from the calliope tent. Carl, it will be recalled, was wearing McGlory's work clothes, and McGlory was going to need them.
Most of the luggage belonging to Matt and his friend went on by train with the show impedimenta, to be reclaimed at some town farther along the route.
Matt sent his telegram and his cablegram, and in neither did he conceal the fact that all the glory of the achievement belonged to Carl Pretzel.
The Dutch boy was terribly set up over his success. Until far into the night he kept Matt up, trying to find out what he should do with his five thousand dollars. Carl was about evenly divided, in his opinions, as to whether he should buy an aëroplane of his own, or a circus. Matt discouraged him on both points.
Next morning theComet, under its own power, dragged its battered pinions to a big blacksmith shop, and there the motor boys got actively to work on the repairs.
The damage was confined almost entirely to the canvas covering the left wing. None of the supports were injured.
In two days' time the aëroplane was as good as new. At the close of the second day, when Matt and McGlory reached the hotel with their work finished, so far as theCometwas concerned, they found an English gentleman who represented the British embassy.
This gentleman had come, personally, to assume charge of Miss Manners; and, by this very act, the boys understood that the young woman was something of a personage.
The Englishman said nothing about the reward, and Carl began to worry. Finally he broached the subject himself, only to learn that the five thousand dollars must come from India, and that it would be a month, possibly two months, before it could be turned over.
Carl was disgusted. He had expected to have the money all spent before two months had passed.
"Dot's der vay mit der tedectif pitzness," he remarked gloomily. "Even ven you vin you don't get nodding."
"But you're bound to get it, Carl," laughed McGlory, "sooner or later."
"Meppy so mooch lader dot I vill be olt und gray-heated und not know nodding aboudt how to shpend him. How vas I going to lif in der meandime, huh? Tell me dose."
"Come along with us," said Matt, "and stay with the Big Consolidated until your money comes."
"I don'd like dot Purton feller," growled Carl. "He iss der vorst case oof stingy vat I efer see. Shdill, id iss vort' someding to be mit Modor Matt. Yah, so helup me, I vill go."
Ping was not in love with this arrangement, but had to bow to it.
The gentleman from Washington took the next train back to the capital, arranging to have Miss Manners left in the care of an estimable lady in Lafayette until word should come from India.
THE END.
THE NEXT NUMBER (28) WILL CONTAIN
Motor Matt's "Short Circuit"
OR,
THE MAHOUT'S VOW.
The Serpent Charmer—A Bad Elephant—Burton's Luck—Motor Matt's Courage—Dhondaram's Excuse—Robbery—Between the Wagons—A Peg to Hang Suspicions On—A Waiting Game—A Trick at the Start—In the Air With a Cobra—A Scientific Fact—Ping On the Wrong Track—Facing a Traitor—Meeting the Hindoo—A Bit of a Backset
The Serpent Charmer—A Bad Elephant—Burton's Luck—Motor Matt's Courage—Dhondaram's Excuse—Robbery—Between the Wagons—A Peg to Hang Suspicions On—A Waiting Game—A Trick at the Start—In the Air With a Cobra—A Scientific Fact—Ping On the Wrong Track—Facing a Traitor—Meeting the Hindoo—A Bit of a Backset
NEW YORK, August 28, 1909.
TERMS TO MOTOR STORIES MAIL SUBSCRIBERS.
(Postage Free.)
Single Copies or Back Numbers, 5c. Each.
How to Send Money—By post-office or express money-order, registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk. At your own risk if sent by currency, coin, or postage-stamps in ordinary letter.
Receipts—Receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper change of number on your label. If not correct you have not been properly credited, and should let us know at once.
Winter still reigned, and Louis and Allen Wright were snowshoeing back to the lumber camp where they worked.
It was a small camp upon the Tobago River, near the Ottawa, close to the border between the Provinces of Ontario and Quebec, and the pine had for the most part been cut long ago. There was a little pine left, however, with a good deal of pulp wood and mixed timber to be got out, and the foreman had sent the boys to look over a patch of spruce about twelve miles from the shanty. They were returning with their axes upon the frozen Tobago River, which formed a convenient roadway through the tangled and snowy Canadian forest.
The boys were not professional "lumber jacks," but they were both deeply desirous of acquiring a couple of hundred dollars to cover the expenses of a course in mining engineering, and that winter high wages were being offered for even inexperienced men in the lumber camps.
As they were country-bred youths, they took to the work naturally, and Allen, although he had not yet come to his full strength, speedily developed a surprising dexterity with the axe. He could "lay" a tree within a few inches of where he desired it to fall, and had been the instrument of victory several times in lumbering matches with rival camps.
It was late in February and still bitterly cold, but the deep snow was packing and softening. In a few weeks the ice might break up, and mountains of logs were piled upon the river in readiness for the drive.
About three miles before it reached the shanty the river broke into rapids for about thirty rods before it fell tumultuously over a low ridge of rocks.
It was necessary to make a detour round this obstacle, and Allen went ashore at a cautious distance from the water. Louis, however, remained upon the ice, walking almost to the verge, and looking over into the inky stream.
"Be careful, Lou! That ice is getting rotten!" Allen shouted from the bank.
"It's as strong as rock. Look!" answered Louis, jumping in his rackets with a heavy thud upon the snow.
He proved the reverse of what he intended. There was a dull cracking under the snow and a startled shout from the reckless snowshoer. A great cake of ice broke off, drifting away, with Louis standing on it. He balanced unsteadily for a moment, staggered, and plunged off with a terrified yell, going clean out of sight under the icy water.
The cake of ice drifted over the rapids and broke up. Allen had scarcely time to move before his brother reappeared, struggling feebly, and evidently almost paralyzed by the cold immersion. By good luck he managed to catch the top of a projecting rock at the head of the fall, and there he clung, driven against the rock by the force of the current.
"Hold on a minute, Lou! I'll get you out!" screamed Allen frantically. Louis turned a blue face toward him, without answering.
Allen tore and kicked off his snowshoes, and was on the point of plunging into the water; but common sense returned to him in time. Louis was in the middle of the stream, thirty feet away. Allen could never reach him through that swift, deep current, and if he could, he would be so chilled as to be incapable of giving any sort of help.
But the boy certainly could not hold on long in his present position, and should he let go he would be swept over the rapids and under the ice at the foot. His life hung on seconds.
Allen could think of no plan. He shouted encouraging words without knowing what he said, while his eyes roved desperately up and down the snowy shores in search of some inspiration.
If he had only a rope, or anything to make a bridge—and then his eye fell upon a tall, dead pine "stub," barkless and almost branchless, standing a few feet back from the stream.
It was long enough to reach to the imperiled youth, if it could be felled so accurately as to lie close beside him. But a foot or two above or below him would make it useless, and to aim too closely would be to run a deadly risk of crushing the boy under the falling trunk.
By a queer vagary of his excited brain he remembered William Tell and the apple. He would have to perform a somewhat similar feat of marksmanship; but it was the only chance that he could think of. He plunged through the snow for his axe, wallowed back to the dead stub, and began to chop.
In the need for action his nerves grew suddenly cool. The feat was a more delicate one than he had ever attempted, and his brother's life hung upon his steadiness of nerve and muscle. But he cut quietly and without haste. The great yellow chips flew, and a wide notch grew in the trunk.
In a few moments he shifted to the other side, cut another notch, and sighted for the probable direction of the fall of the stub. He could not tell how the roots held. He would have to leave that important factor to chance, but he cut, now delicately, now strongly, till the tremor through the axe handle told that the trunk was growing unsteady.
It was a critical moment. He sighted again most carefully, and cut out a few small chips here and there. The stub tottered. It was standing poised upon a thin edge of uncut wood, and he stood behind it and pushed, cautiously, and then heavily.
The tall trunk wavered, and the fibres snapped loudly. It hesitated, bowed, and Allen leaped away from the butt. Down came the pine, roaring through the air.
It crashed into the water with a mighty wave and splash that hid boy and rock. Allen had a moment of horrified belief that his brother had been crushed under it. A moment later he saw that Louis was unhurt. But the tree had actually grazed the rock. It had fallen within eight inches of the boy's body.
It made a perfect bridge as it lay, but in his nervous reaction Allen was almost too shaky to walk the trunk and pull his brother out. He did it, although how he got him to land he never quite knew. Louis was almost unconscious, and his wet clothes froze instantly into a mass of ice.
He would certainly have lapsed into sleep and died, but Allen piled the pine chips about the stump and had a fire blazing in a few seconds. The dry stump burned like pitch, producing a furnace-like heat; and Allen partly undressed his brother and rubbed him hard with snow. Under this heroic treatment Louis came back to painful consciousness, and the fierce heat from the pine did the rest. But it was several hours before he was able to resume the tramp, and it was dark when they reached the shanty.
Hamburg, as many know, is the great headquarters of the trade in wild animals for menageries and "zoos." To Hamburg are shipped lions, elephants, and giraffes, captured in South and East Africa, tigers from India, jaguars and tapirs from South America, gorillas from the Congo, orang-outangs from Borneo, and, in fact, about every kind of beast, bird, and reptile from all quarters of the globe.
The warehouses of the two principal firms engaged in this business are interesting places to visit after the arrival of a "beast ship," with news of unusually large specimens of animal life.
The narrator made such a visit some months ago on the arrival of a remarkably large, brilliantly marked python, shipped from Padang, Sumatra. This colubrine giant is more than thirty feet in length, and was bespoken by the Austrian government for a zoo at Budapest.
But the story of its capture is even more interesting than the huge creature itself, for this python had fallen a victim to its fondness for the notes of a violin.
There is a telegraph line extending across Sumatra, from Padang, connecting that port, by means of submarine cables, with Batavia, and Singapore.
Along this line of land wire are a number of interior stations. One of these, called Pali-lo-pom, has been in charge of an operator named Carlos Gambrino, a mestizo from Batavia, Java, educated at the industrial school there.
The station is on a hillock in the valley of the River Kampar, and is adjacent to dense forest, jungle, and a long morass. It is a solitary little place, consisting merely of four or five thatched huts, elevated on posts to a height of six feet from the ground, to be more secure from noxious insects, reptiles, and wild beasts.
As a general rule Gambrino has little enough to do, except listen to the monotonous ticking of the instrument. For solace and company, therefore, he frequently had recourse to his violin.
Thatched houses on posts in Sumatra are not commonly supplied with glass windows; but Gambrino had afforded himself the luxury of a two-pane sash, set to slide in an aperture in the side wall of his hut, and some five or six months ago, during the wet season, he was sitting at this window one afternoon, as he played his violin, when he saw the head of a large serpent rise out of the high grass, at a distance of seventy or eighty yards.
His first impulse was to get his carbine and try to shoot the monster, for he saw that it was a very large python, and not a desirable neighbor. But something in the attitude of the reptile led him to surmise that it had raised itself to hear the violin, and he passed at once to a lively air.
As long as he continued playing the python remained there, apparently motionless; but when he ceased it drew its head down, and he saw nothing more of it that day, although he went out with his gun to look for it.
Nearly a fortnight passed, and the incident had gone from his mind—for large snakes are not uncommon in Sumatra—when one night, as he was playing the violin to some native acquaintances who had come to the hut, they heard the sounds made by a large snake sliding across the bamboo platform or floor of the little veranda. On looking out with a light, one of the party saw a huge mottled python gliding away.
But it was not until the reptile appeared a third time, raising its head near his window, that the telegrapher became certain that it was really his violin which attracted it.
In the meantime the operator at Padang, with whom Gambrino held daily conversations by wire, had told him that the German agent of a Hamburg house at that port would pay ten pounds, English money, for such a python as he described.
Gambrino began scheming to capture the reptile. In one of the huts at the station there was stored a quantity of fibre rope, such as is used in Sumatra for bridging small rivers and ravines.
Gambrino contrived three large nooses from this rope, which he elevated horizontally, on bamboo poles, to the height of his window, and carried the drawing ends of the nooses inside the hut.
This was done after the operator had ascertained that at times the snake would come about the house and raise its head as if it heard the violin.
Some time later the python was beguiled by the music into raising its head inside one of the nooses, which a native, who was on the watch while Gambrino played, instantly jerked tight.
What followed was exciting. The reptile resented the trick with vigor, and showed itself possessed of far more strength than they had expected.
The rope had been made fast to a beam inside, and the snake nearly pulled the entire structure down, making it rock and creak in a way that caused Gambrino and his native ally to leap to the ground in haste from a back entrance. The reptile coiled its body about the posts and pulled desperately to break away. Altogether, it was a wild night at this little remote telegraph station.
The next morning a crowd of natives collected; and as the python had by this time exhausted itself, they contrived to hoist its head as high as the roof of the hut and to secure its tail.
It was then lowered into a molasses hogshead, which was covered over and trussed up securely with ropes.
In this condition the python was drawn to Padang on a bullock cart. It is said to weigh more than four hundred pounds.