Some one rapped on the door. McGlory answered the summons and found the frowsy-looking clerk and aboy of about nine in the hall. The clerk pushed the boy forward and pointed to Motor Matt.
"That's him," said the clerk, "an' I'll bet money."
"You Motor Matt?" queried the boy, rushing into the room.
"Yes," answered Matt.
"Den dis here's fer you. Dere's an answer, an' I'll wait fer it."
The boy handed over an envelope. Matt opened the envelope and read the inclosure. A strange light leaped into his gray eyes.
"Who gave you this, my lad?" he asked of the boy.
"Dunno de cove, but he had red lilocks an' a face like er ape."
"Well, I'm not giving him anything till he proves his property, see? You tell him that. Also tell him that I won't meet him in Turk Bremer's Place, but will be at the foot of Clay Street in half an hour. Understand?"
"Sure thing," grinned the boy.
Matt snapped a quarter into the air and the boy grabbed it and made off.
"What's it all about, pard?" asked McGlory.
"Did you tell anybody in Tiburon about my finding that trunk check, Joe?" asked Matt.
"I told the galoot that bossed the raffle."
"Then that explains it," muttered Matt. "Listen."
Thereupon he read the note aloud.
"'Motor Matt: Several days ago I lost a baggage check somewhere in Tiburon, and a couple of hours ago I was told that you had found one there. It's a cinch it's mine. Give it to the boy; or, if my bare word that it belongs to me isn't enough, then come to Turk Bremer's Place on the "Front" in half an hour and I'll prove property.John Smith.'"
"'Motor Matt: Several days ago I lost a baggage check somewhere in Tiburon, and a couple of hours ago I was told that you had found one there. It's a cinch it's mine. Give it to the boy; or, if my bare word that it belongs to me isn't enough, then come to Turk Bremer's Place on the "Front" in half an hour and I'll prove property.
John Smith.'"
McGlory fell back in his chair. Lorry, with a startled exclamation, grabbed the note out of Matt's hand to look at it for himself.
A PLAN THAT FAILED.
Motor Matt was as profoundly surprised at the way matters were falling out as were McGlory and Lorry. As McGlory had said, fate seemed to have selected Matt for the particular work of recovering Lorry's money.
"This is luck!" whispered Lorry. "If you can get back that money for me, Motor Matt, I'll give you five dollars."
"Don't strain yourself, George," grinned McGlory.
"I will," declared Lorry. "But you've got to get it back to-night. There's a boat for the Sandwich Islands to-morrow, and that's the one I was planning to take."
"You're not going to emigrate, George," asserted McGlory. "We need you right here in the United States for a spell yet."
Matt gave the cowboy a swift and expressive look.
"I think, Joe," said he, "that Lorry has been dictated to too much. Leave him alone and let him make his plans."
McGlory stared incredulously.
"That's the talk," expanded Lorry, puffing up like an angry tomtit. "I'd been bossed altogether more than was right or necessary. From this on I'm my own master. You've got a little sense, Motor Matt. I give you credit for that, anyhow."
"Thanks," answered Matt, with an irony so slight Lorry let it get past him. "Will you stay right here in this hotel while Joe and I are getting the money for you?"
"Sure, I will! But I want it to-night."
"We'll get it as quick as we can. Red-whiskers, otherwise John Smith, may not have it about him, so it may be some time before we can lay hands on it."
Lorry's face fell at this.
"You'll get it, though, won't you? You've got to get it. Do that for me and I'll give you five dollars apiece."
"Fine!" rumbled McGlory, with a wink at Matt. "If George's generosity ever strikes in it'll bother him worse than the measles. How did Red-whiskers know we were here, pard?"
"Probably he traced us through theSprite," answered Matt. "He found the launch at the foot of Clay Street, and Ping must have heard us tell the cab driver to drive us to the Bixler House. Ping, of course, told the fellow."
"And he sent the boy with a note, knowing it wasn't healthy to come himself!" crowed McGlory, slapping his hands. "The old rooster didn't know how we had tangled up with George—Ping didn't tell him that."
"We haven't much time to work our plan, Joe," said Matt, starting for the door. "You'll stay right here Lorry, until you hear from us?"
"Of course," answered Lorry. "All I want is that money. Get it so I can sail for Honolulu to-morrow."
"We'll do the best we can," replied Matt, as he and McGlory left the room and the hotel.
"You've got me guessing good and plenty, pard," said the cowboy, while he and Matt hurried toward the water front and the foot of Clay Street. "It wouldn't be right to let George pull out for furrin parts."
"Of course not!" answered Matt.
"But you told him——"
"That he had been dictated to too much. You see, Joe, I wanted to reassure him, as much as I could, so he'd be sure and stay at the hotel. After we recover the money we can do with that cousin of yours whatever we think best."
"That's you! Shucks! Now, I reckon, you understand how much tact I've got. But George—say, ain't he the limit? But he'll not be absent a whole lot at the wind-up, I can promise you that. I'm in this to help Uncle Dan and Aunt Mollie, and you can bet your moccasins that what George wants or don't want won't cut much of a figure in the final scramble. But, tell me: Do things always come your way, like this? As this business opens up more and more, the strangeness of it makes my skin get up and walk over me with cold feet."
"Well," laughed Matt, "just so you don't get 'cold feet' yourself."
McGlory chuckled.
"I come from a country," said he, "where it's too hot for chilblains. But what's the plan?"
"We'll get a policeman," answered Matt, "and have him keep in the background while we're talking with Red-whiskers. As soon as we're sure he's the man we want, we'll signal for the officer to come forward and take him in tow."
"Keno! We'll let the law juggle with Red-whiskers.But wouldn't it have been better to let the law get in its work at Turk Bremer's? There'd be plenty of light there so we could see what's doing."
"Those dives on the 'Front' are dangerous places, Joe, and it's well for us to leave them alone. As it is, we'd better walk in the middle of the road when we get to Clay Street."
"Surely, surely. I reckon your head's as level as they make 'em. How am I for a pard, anyhow?"
"A One," said Matt heartily.
"Shake!" cried McGlory, and they stopped to seal their friendship with a cordial grip.
When close to the "Front" they encountered a policeman and told him as much as necessary in order to get him to lend a helping hand.
"If we're going to make an arrest," demurred the officer, "we ought to have a warrant."
"There's no time for that, officer," said Matt.
"Well, let me see that note this chap you call Red-whiskers sent by the boy."
Matt passed it over, and the policemen withdrew into the glare of a street lamp to read it.
"This here is pretty good evidence that you're handin' me a straight story," said the officer, returning the note, "but I'm a gopher if I'd help you on such a showing if it wasn't that you're Motor Matt. Your picture was in the papers"—here he gave Matt a swift sizing—"and there's no doubt but you're the fellow. Heave ahead, and don't pay any attention to me. When I'm needed just yell 'Come on!' and I'll be in the game before you can say scat."
Matt and McGlory continued on, taking the middle of the street until they reached the "Front." Here, as they passed along the docks with their masses of shipping, they kept a sharp watch for the man they were seeking. For some distance they followed the docks without success, passing the dozing form of Ping Pong curled up at the foot of the post to which theSpritewas moored. Ping did not see them, and they did not let him know they were passing.
"The Chink stacks up pretty well for a heathen," commented McGlory; "and he's bound to go on your pay roll, Matt, whether you want him or not. If he was any——"
"Hist!" warned Matt, his quick eye observing a dark figure emerging from the shadows on the right.
The form came close and halted in front of the two boys, not far from a flickering light. It was the form of a tall man, in a slouch hat and dark, respectable clothes. He had a beaklike nose and red whiskers, but it was too dark for the boys to see the mole mentioned by Lorry. However, there was no doubt about his being the man.
"Motor Matt?" inquired the stranger briefly.
"Yes," replied Matt.
"Well, I'm the man that wants the trunk check. The railroad people won't let me have the trunk unless I pass over that brass tag. Mighty accommodatin' set, I must say."
"Is your name John Smith?"
"Didn't I put that to the note?" demanded the other. "What's that got to do with it, anyhow?"
"Not much, but I'd like to have you tell me where Ross and Kinky are, and——"
The fellow muttered an oath and jumped back. His hand, at the same instant, darted toward his hip pocket.
Matt had mentioned "Ross" and "Kinky" merely to make assurance doubly sure. The man's actions proved that he was one of the three thieves, and that he had come prepared for anything that might develop to his disadvantage.
McGlory, watching Red-whiskers like a hawk, jumped for him and grabbed the hand that was reaching for his hip. Matt likewise jumped forward.
"Come on!" he cried to the officer.
A tramp of running feet was heard—but the sounds came from two directions, from behind the red-whiskered man and also back of Matt and McGlory.
Another moment and Matt saw two figures leaping out of the heavy shadow. One of them came on toward the place where the boys were struggling with Red-whiskers and the other turned aside and set upon the policeman. Matt heard a scuffle, a sound of angry voices, and then athumpas of a savage blow.
Before he could draw a full breath, a heavy fist had struck him in the shoulder and thrown him reeling backward.
"It's a fall!" panted a husky voice. "Cut for it, on the double quick. The launch—it's the only thing for us."
Three figures leaped away along the docks. They were the three men, Red-whiskers, Kinky, and Ross—for, in Matt's mind, it was clear that the two latter had been in hiding, waiting to help their pal if he needed it.
The suggestion about the launch aroused Matt's fears for theSprite. He started toward the place where the launch was moored, but halted when he saw the three men vanishing in another direction.
A CHASE ACROSS THE BAY.
The suddenness with which the red-whiskered man's accomplices had interfered with Motor Matt's plan, and caused it to fail, was as startling as it was unexpected. Matt, standing back toward the edge of the dock with a thumping pain in his shoulder, felt a spasm of chagrin and disappointment.
McGlory picked himself up, assisted the policeman to his feet, and both came toward Matt. The policeman was rubbing his head, and seemed dazed.
"Sufferin' snakes!" exclaimed McGlory. "I'm trying to figure out what happened. Who were the other two that blew in on us, pard, just as we had everything our own way?"
"They must have been Kinky and Ross," replied Matt.
"Who are they?" demanded the officer.
"Two pals of this red-whiskered man. He probably had them waiting in the background, just as we had you waiting to help us, officer."
"This ain't the last of this!" cried the officer hotly. "Which way did they go?"
Matt indicated the direction. The officer started off at a run, tugging at his pocket.
"Why don't you come along?" he demanded over his shoulder.
"One of them said something about getting away in a launch," returned Matt. "I didn't know but it was a boat that I have here, and I think it's well to stand around and see if they come back."
"I'll see where the scoundrels go, anyhow," said the officer, and vanished at a rapid pace.
"Are you hurt, Joe?" inquired Matt.
"My feelin's are badly injured," answered the cowboy. "The rap I got on the block don't count for much, although it was enough to drop me, right where I stood. They're a fine lot, those galoots. I reckon, it's a cinch that they're the chaps we want—and the ones we won't get. George will weep some more when he hears about it."
"Listen!" said Matt.
The exhaust of an engine struck on his ears, faintly but distinctly. It came from somewhere to the south of the place where he and McGlory were standing.
"What is it, pard?" queried the cowboy.
"A boat! Didn't you hear Red-whiskers speak about a launch?"
"Yes, but I reckoned it was theSpritehe meant, and that he changed his mind when he saw you hustling to get between him and the boat."
"It wasn't theSprite, but another launch, and—— Ah, see that!"
Matt pointed into the darkness to the southward. A light could be seen moving around the end of a slip, gliding across the dark water like a star.
"There they go!" cried McGlory excitedly.
"This way, Joe," called Matt, whirling and running toward theSprite. "Hurry!"
The Chinese boy was still dozing by the post, the noise caused by the recent scrimmage not having been sufficiently loud to disturb him. He was on his feet, however, the instant Matt dropped a hand on his shoulder.
"You Motor Matt?" palpitated Ping. "You wantee——"
"Cast off the rope, Ping," cut in Matt, sliding from the edge of the dock into the boat. "Quick! Get in behind, Joe," he added to McGlory. "We haven't an instant to lose."
"Well, hardly," answered the cowboy, scrambling aboard while Matt started the engine. "Time's plenty scarce for us if we're to overhaul that other boat."
The painter fell into the boat and Ping fell along with it.
"I didn't intend to take you, Ping," said Matt, switching the power into the propeller and turning the nose of theSpritetoward the open bay.
"By Klismus," said Ping, with unexpected firmness, "my workee fo' you! Where you makee go, my makee go, allee same. Me plenty fine China boy."
"Got any sand, Ping?" asked McGlory.
"Have got. Fightee allee same like Sam Hill. Whoosh! Plenty big high China boy, allee same Boxer. You watchee, Motol Matt watchee. My workee heap fine fo' Motol Matt. Workee, fightee—him allee same."
While this brief cross-fire was going on between McGlory and Ping, Matt was driving theSpritedown the slip for all she was worth. The water slithered up along her sharp bow and flung itself in spray over the crouching forms of the cowboy and the Chinese. The launch, because of the weight aft, was very much down by the stern; but this, by throwing the bow high, helped the boat to slip over the water.
After dropping from the dock into the launch Matt had not seen the moving light until, when he was halfway out of the slip, the little gleam danced across the open space between the outer ends of the two piers.
"Great spark plugs!" muttered Matt, "that's the other boat."
"She's going north!" exclaimed McGlory.
"Which makes it easy for us to pick up her trail and follow. If she had gone south, she might have got away from us."
"She's rippin' along like an express train," murmured the cowboy, watching the light vanish around the end of the pier.
"She's not speedy enough to leave theSpritebehind," exulted Matt, his nerves quivering in unison with the little tremors the humming cylinders sent through the boat.
"If those tinhorns see us, pard——"
"They won't. We're not carrying any lights, and I'm surprised to see them with one."
"Mebby they can hear us if they can't see us."
"We'll have to drop behind far enough so they won't hear us. Their own boat makes twice as much noise as theSprite, and that will drown the throb of our exhaust and the whir of the cylinders."
Just then theSpritedashed out of the black maw of the slip, wheeled in a foamy arc and turned her nose northward. There were many lights in the bay—red and green side lamps and white masthead lights, and others, but Matt was not confused. The white gleam straight to northward was the one he knew he should follow.
A lightish streak surged in the wake of the other launch. Matt could not make out much about the craft except that she was considerably larger than theSpriteand had a canvas or wooden canopy over the cockpit.
But theSpritewas the faster boat. Matt, studying the distance that separated theSpritefrom the launch ahead, found it necessary to choke down the motor in order to keep from overhauling the three thieves.
"I thought you wanted to catch them," complained McGlory, conscious of the lessening speed.
"What good would it do for us to overhaul them out in the bay?" queried Matt, humping over the wheel and speaking without turning his head. "There are three of the scoundrels, and they're armed and would probably be only too glad to have us tackle them. If Red-whiskers could lay me by the heels, you know, he'd get his trunk check."
"Correct, pard. It wouldn't do to run alongside of them in the bay. But what're you thinking of?"
"We're just shadowing them to find out where they go. When we discover that, we'll hold a council and decide what's to be done next."
"Waugh!" sputtered McGlory. "Queerest ever that I can't ride on the water without getting a gone feeling in the pit of my stomach."
"Have you got it now, Joe?"
"Awful. If I had any supper aboard, I reckon I'd unload. And I can go through all kinds of rough weather on a buckin' bronk! No matter how much a bronk pitches, or bucks, it never makes me squeamish—but boats! Well, the minute I get into one I begin to have cramps. Funny, ain't it? They got a fake boat in a picture gallery in Tucson, and if a galoot wants a tin type of himself, at sea, he gets into the fake boat and lets the camera snap. Honest to Mack, every time I go to that place for a tin type I get seasick."
Matt laughed.
"And yet you like boats!" he exclaimed.
"Achin' for 'em all the time. It's human nature to be contrary with yourself, I—— Sufferin' centipedes! I'm an Injun if that other boat isn't making for Tiburon."
"I don't think so, Joe," said Matt. "There's a place around the point that's called Belvedere Cove. The other boat is either going to put in there or else go farther up the bay. We can tell in a minute."
A little later Matt announced that the other launch had doubled the point and put into the Cove. For a brief space the point of land hid the larger launch from the eyes of those in theSprite; but, as theSpritepushed around the point, a multitude of lights burst suddenly on the gaze of her passengers—stationary lights they were, with the exception of one that was gliding among them like a shooting star.
"Tell me about that!" muttered McGlory, standing up for a better look. "The surface of the cove looks like a town. Where are all those lamps?"
"On houseboats, Joe," replied Matt. "The tide-water inlets, in and about San Francisco Bay, are full of house boats at this season of the year. That's the other launch—that moving light, over there."
McGlory continued to stand up, bracing himself with a hold on Ping's pigtail, which happened to be the most convenient thing handy.
TheSprite, keeping to the trail of the moving white gleam, darted in and out among the house boats. From many of the anchored boats came sounds of mirth, music, and gay talk. Some one, on an ungainly craft which theSpritepassed within a short fathom, shouted a warning for Matt to put out a light. This warning, of course, could not be heeded, and the little launch foamed onward out of earshot.
Suddenly Matt shut off the power and brought the boat to a halt.
"The other launch has tied up alongside a house boat, Joe," he announced, "and we're at the end of our trail. What shall we do? Go to Tiburon after a policeman or two or go on with the work ourselves?"
THE LION'S MOUTH.
McGlory made a survey of the surface of the water directly in front of theSprite. 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 theSpritewhile 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 theSprite'spainter 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 theSpritehad 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 theSpritealong 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.
"Thatwouldfix 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 theSan 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 theSan 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 manœuvre 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 theSan 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.
THE MOUTH CLOSES.
When the hatch was closed, and Matt had shut himself into the hull of the boat, he found that he was in cramped quarters.
The air was stifling, and the smell of bilge water was extremely unpleasant. He could not sit up without knocking his head against the deck beams, and he was entangled in a scattered pile of firewood. But if he got where he wanted to go he must contrive to move forward.
Taking a match from his pocket, he struck it on his trousers, and looked about him in the feeble gleam.
The firewood was not all he had to contend with. In addition to that, the hold was half full of boxes and casks.
Making mental note of a course that would take him forward with least trouble from the fuel and food supplies, he pinched out the match and crawled carefully.
He realized, presently, that the voices from the cabin were coming to his ears in increased volume; in fact, he was hearing them much more distinctly than when he had been at the window outside the cabin. Their distinctness became much more apparent the farther he advanced; not only that, but they served to help him locate himself. When the voices were directly over his head he paused.
The floor boards of the deck had spread slightly, and the cracks were lined with threads of lamplight. This explained the distinctness with which the voices reached his ears. Sitting up, he stifled his breathing while he listened.
"You fellers might just as well understand this from the start off—that money stays together, all in a wad, until we get safe out o' 'Frisco. Then there'll be a divvy, and not before."
Red-whiskers was the speaker. Matt had no difficulty in recognizing his raucous voice.
"Is that square, John?" demanded one of the others. "Ain't Ross an' me entitled to our share, here an' now, if we want it?"
"You're entitled to your share, Kinky, and you're going to get it, but not until we're out of the woods. I'd have whacked up to-night, but for that raw deal we had worked on us at the foot of Clay Street. This Motor Matt, it's as plain as a pikestaff, is trying to help Lorry. Lorry himself wouldn't have the nerve to play a game like that. Why, he stole the money himself, see, and he ain't goin' to ask the law to step in and help him get the stuff back. But this Motor Matt—well, from all I can read about him, he's all nerve and is given to meddling. We've got to quit this house boat and sail on that Jap steamer to-morrow. I'll pay our passage to Honolulu out of the funds, and when we get to where we're going we'll go snucks, share and share alike."
"I want mine now," struck in a third voice.
"That's you, Ross," growled Red-whiskers. "You want to do some gamblin' and drinkin', which is the worst things you could possibly do, not only for yourself, but for Kinky and me. I'll not have it that way. When we get in a safe place, we'll split the loot into three parts, and you can take what's coming to you and go to ballyhack, if you want to. But you can't tune up around 'Frisco while I'm in the town."
"What's to be done with theSan Bruno?" asked a voice which Matt identified as belonging to Kinky.
"We'll use her to take us to 'Frisco, in the morning, just before the steamer leaves. Then we can turn her over to her owner, pay him what's coming, and hustle for the dock where we load ourselves for the Sandwich Islands. I'm calculating we'll be safe enough there."
"O' course," spoke up the voice of Ross, "all I want's to do the right thing by everybody an' have the right thing done by me. I ain't putting up no holler, an' don't think that for a minute; but I'm just about strapped. I haven't got more'n two bits in my jeans."
"Well, you'll have three thousand of your own before you're a week older, Ross, and I'd advise you to do the same as I intend to do—invest it in a pineapple plantation in the islands."
"Oh, splash! I'm going to invest my money in a distillery," and Ross finished with a reckless laugh, only he used a harsher expletive.
"It wouldn't be like you if you didn't," grunted Red-whiskers.
"Speaking along this line," spoke up Kinky, "reminds me that I'm dryer'n the desert of Sahary. Suppose we open a bottle?"
"That hits me," agreed Ross promptly.
"I'll go you—for just one bottle," came from the red-whiskered leader of the trio.
Ross chuckled.
"John likes his nip jest as well as anybody," said he.
"What of it?" demanded the leader. "If I've got the sense to take no more than is good for me, what's the odds? The trouble with you, Ross, is that you never stop until you make a fool of yourself. Let me tell you something: Whisky is the worst enemy a man ever had. It'll give him a little 'Dutch courage' for a piece of crooked work, I grant you, but if a crook hangs onto the drink it will ruin him in the end. That's right."
This was refreshing doctrine to come from such a man as Red-whiskers. Matt listened to his talk with a half smile.
"Get the stuff, Kinky," said the impatient Ross.
There was a sound of moving feet across the floor. The next moment a match was lifted directly over Matt's head and a flood of lamplight revealed him to Kinky. The scoundrel flung back with a wild yell.
Matt waited for no more. With a pounding heart he scrambled over boxes and casks and stove wood on his way toward the other hatch.
A confused babel of voices reached him from the cabin; feet could be heard running over the floor, and some one raised a great clatter dropping into the hold.
"Come out here!" shouted a fierce voice. "Come out, I say, or I'll shoot!"
Matt was willing to run the risk of stopping a bullet, there in the darkness, and he was in altogether too big a hurry to throw up a barricade between him and the man with the gun.
Rising on his knees, he lifted his hands to the hatch. No shot was heard, and Matt reflected that the scoundrels would not dare fire a revolver for fear of attracting attention from the other house boats in the cove.
To throw back the hatch took only an instant, but, as the young motorist scrambled through the opening, he was seized by the shoulders and hurled roughly to the deck.
He was up again almost as soon as he was down.
"Landers!" bellowed a gruff voice; "where the deuce is Landers? Take him, Kinky. I guess the two of us are enough without Landers. I'll head him off on this side."
Matt felt a pair of arms go around him from behind. With a fierce effort, however, he twisted clear of the clutching hands, whirled and struck out with his fist.
An exclamation, more forcible than polite, was jolted out of Kinky.
"Hang it!" the scoundrel added, "he's got a fist like a pile driver. Lay for him, Ross! I'm wabbling."
Before Motor Matt could turn and defend himself against Ross, Red-whiskers bolted through the open cabin door.
"Don't make so much noise, you fellows!" he called angrily. "Every house boat in the cove will be——"
Then he saw Matt. The latter had sprung to the edge of the deck with the plain intention of diving overboard.
Before he could carry out his plan Ross and the leader of the three men had him by each arm and had jerked him roughly back.
Matt struggled with all his power, but there were three against him, and he was thrown to the deck and dragged into the cabin, one of the men holding a hand over his mouth to prevent outcry.
The cabin was divided into two rooms, and Matt was half dragged and half carried through the darkness of the first room into the glaring lamplight of the one beyond.
"Put him in that chair over there," ordered the red-whiskered man. "You needn't be afraid he'll yell, Kinky," he added, with savage menace, "so take your hands from his mouth. If he lets out a whoop, or tries to bolt, I'll fire, even if the noise brings a tender from every house boat in the bay."
One look into the gleaming eyes of Red-whiskers was enough to warn Matt that discretion demanded passive compliance with the wishes of his captors.
Kinky removed his hands from Matt's lips, and Ross released his arms. Both men stepped to one side, glaring at him curiously and vindictively.
Red-whiskers, a revolver lying on his knees, was sitting on the cushioned bench, directly facing Matt. With a steady hand he was lighting a fresh cigar.
"Pull the window shades, Kinky," said he calmly. "Ross, lock both doors and put the keys in your pocket. We'll have a little heart-to-heart talk with Motor Matt, and I don't want Landers to see what we do, or hear what we're talking about."
Motor Matt, blaming himself for what had happened, sat quietly and wondered what was to come.
SURPRISING EVENTS.
"You're a daring youngster," remarked Red-whiskers, leering at the prisoner through the smoke of his cigar. "I suppose you think you're pretty smart, eh? Well, there are others. How did you find out we were here?"
"I found out," said Matt. "I don't think it would help me any if I told you how."
"Don't get gay," admonished Red-whiskers, his eyes dropping significantly to the weapon on his knee. "Remember where you are, Motor Matt. You're interferingwith a game that doesn't concern you in the least. Poor policy, boy, poor policy. You ought to have sense enough to know that without being told. Where did you meet young Lorry?"
"I'm not talking about Lorry or any one else," returned Matt. "You might as well let me go."
"All in due time, my lad, and after you satisfy our curiosity. You rowed over from Tiburon?"
Matt was silent.
"That's what he must have done," spoke up Ross. "How could he have got here if he hadn't rowed over? He didn't swim, that's sure, for he's got on all his clothes an' they're dry as a bone. I'll go out and see if I can discover his boat."
Ross turned to the door, but Red-whiskers lifted a restraining hand.
"We'll look after the boat in due time, Ross," said he. "Just now we'll give all our attention to Motor Matt. I'll trouble you for that trunk check, my lad," he finished, facing the prisoner once more.
Matt, knowing it would be worse than useless to resist, drew the check from his pocket and tossed it to Red-whiskers.
"Much obliged," said the leader grimly, examining the tag. "This is the one, sure enough," he added to Kinky and Ross.
"How did you know I had it?" asked Matt.
"The gent that raffled off that boat put me next. How much pleasanter it would have been," Red-whiskers pursued, slipping the check into his pocket, "if you'd been nice and sociable, over there at the foot of Clay Street, and let me have that brass tag without trying to make trouble. What have you gained, Motor Matt, by roughing things up like you did? And what have you gained by sneaking in here? Are you any better off?"
"Cut it out, John," growled Kinky. "What's the good o' readin' him a lecture?"
Red-whiskers scowled at Kinky.
"Be so good as to dry up," he requested. "You never was able to see anything an inch or two beyond your nose, so you can't guess what I'm driving at. Motor Matt," he went on, to the prisoner, "what did you lug that cop along with you for, when you came to the foot of Clay Street? What was your object? Was you afraid of that part o' town, and was he just a sort of bodyguard?"
Matt laughed at that.
"Hardly that," said he. "You've got ten thousand dollars that belongs to young Lorry, and the policeman was there to get it."
"Well, well!" exclaimed the red-whiskered man, with a humorous glance at Ross and Kinky, "he thinks we've got ten thousand dollars! But," he continued, "assuming that wehavegot that much money, how do you figure that it belongs to Lorry? Did Lorry steal it from his old man? If he did, does that make it his? If it does, Motor Matt, then if we stole the money from young Lorry it ought to belong to us."
"That's foolish," said Matt, trying to guess what Red-whiskers was driving at.
"Possibly it is. Now, you're a pretty good sort of fellow, only a trifle headstrong, and I don't mind saying that wedidtake that ten thousand from young Lorry. And why? Let me tell you it was all perfectly legitimate." He leaned over confidentially and tapped Matt on the knee with the muzzle of the revolver. "We're detectives, Motor Matt, Chicago detectives, and old Mr. Lorry, that lives in Madison, Wisconsin, commissioned us to recover that money. We've recovered it; and you"—Red-whiskers leaned back and laughed softly—"thought we was thieves and tried to have us pinched! What do you think of that for a joke?"
"Then," said Matt, "it's all a joke about you and your pals sailing for Honolulu to-morrow and dividing the money between you when you get there?"
Enjoyment immediately faded out of the situation for the red-whiskered man. He straightened up, pulled at his fiery beard and glared at Motor Matt.
Matt realized that he had made a mistake. By speaking as he had done, he had virtually admitted that he knew more about the plans of the three rascals than they had thought possible.
"Ah," and a crafty smile crossed Red-whiskers' face "I thought you'd let out something, if I prodded you a little, but I'll be hanged if I expected that. This is beginning to look mighty serious for you, Motor Matt. Where did you learn all that?"
"I was under the floor," replied Matt.
"Exactly—under the floor listening to a conversation that didn't concern you. Because of that, you're going to stay two weeks on this boat, and Landers is going to keep you. By then we'll be where we're going and out of harm's way, and it won't be possible for what you know to have any effect. You've only yourself to blame for this. Who's that chink that won the boat in the raffle?"
"I don't know much about him," replied Matt.
"You took his boat across the bay for him, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Well, he knew where you had gone, because he told me. That's how I was able to send that note to the Bixler House. The chink said you had a couple of fellows with you—one, in particular, who had fallen off a ferryboat and whom you had picked up. Was that young Lorry?"
"I'm not saying a word," said Matt, "about Lorry. You say you're going to keep me on this house boat for two weeks. If that's your plan, all right, go ahead with it."
For several minutes Matt, from where he sat, had been trying to locate the satchel under the bench. It was impossible for him to see it, and he supposed that it had either been moved by Red-whiskers, or taken away.
"We're going to leave for parts unknown," continued the leader of the three rogues, "and we're going to take young Lorry with us. I guess if we give him a thousand of his father's money he'll be satisfied."
"You're a scoundrel, on your own showing," cried Matt angrily, "but I don't think you'd be such a contemptible scoundrel as to take that boy away and make him a thief, like you and your pals!"
"Softly, Motor Matt," warned Red-whiskers. "What is the boy now but a thief, and on his own showing, at that? I don't think we can hurt him any, and by taking him away we'll be doing a good thing for him—and for us."
"You'll ruin him, that's what you'll do," proceeded Matt indignantly. "Haven't you a thought for his people, back there in Wisconsin?"
"What are his people to us? I had intended all along to compromise with the cub and give him a thousand, but you got to him before we did. He doesn't dare appeal to the law——"
"There are others who will act for him," broke in Matt. "There's the making of a man in young Lorry, and if you do as you say you intend to, you will end by making him no better than you are."
"You're not very complimentary, it strikes me," said Red-whiskers easily, bending down and groping under the bench with one hand. "We might just as well take our boodle and get away from here. I had planned to stay on the house boat all night, and run over to 'Frisco in the launch in time to catch that steamer to-morrow, but you've compelled us to change our plans. We'll take a night train, and—— Where in blazes is that satchel?"
Failing to find the satchel with one hand, Red-whiskers had used both hands. Even then the treasure grip eluded him, and in a sudden flurry he dropped to the floor on his knees and looked under the bench. The next instant he had leaped up, maddened and furious.
"It's gone!" he shouted.
Kinky and Ross jumped as though they had been touched by a live wire.
"Gone?" they echoed blankly.
"You know something about this!" cried Red-whiskers, facing Ross furiously.
"What're you givin' us?" retorted Ross menacingly. "If you think you can throw any such bluff as that, John, and make it stick, you've got another guess coming. You've taken the satchel yourself! You never intended to whack up with Kinky and me, and this is a move to corral all the money."
"Don't be a fool!" snapped Red-whiskers, studying Ross' face for a moment, and then swerving his eyes to Kinky.
The affair had a dark look, for a space, as both Kinky and Ross had reached their hands under their coats. If the three scoundrels had a quarrel among themselves, Matt felt that he would have a chance of escape. His eager eyes traveled to the doors, and then to the window.
"Look here, you two," went on Red-whiskers, his eyes glittering fiendishly, "the satchel's gone. I'll take back what I said about you two having had anything to do with trying to lift it. Certainly I didn't—you ought to know that. We've all been in this room——"
"Except when we ran aft to ketch that fellow," fumed Ross, indicating Matt with a jerk of the head. "You was in here alone with the satchel then, John. How do we know you didn't hide it on us?"
"Mebby it was him!" stormed Kinky, stepping toward Matt.
"How could it have been him?" objected Ross. "He was under the floor, and we kept him busy every minute until he bobbed up through the after hatch."
"Then it was Landers!" cried Kinky. "I never did like that feller's looks. I'll bet it was Landers! If——"
Just at that moment thechug-chugof a motor was heard outside.
"He's turning over the engine!" cried Red-whiskers, jumping for one of the doors. "Landers has got the satchel and he's getting away with it in the boat."
Red-whiskers threw himself against the door, trying to break it down.
"Wait, confound it!" yelped Ross; "here's the key, John. I'll unlock the door if you'll gi' me a chance."
The three men paid no attention whatever to Matt. As soon as Ross could unlock and throw open the door they all rushed out.
TheSan Brunowas still lying where she had been moored, but the wheeze of a boat could be heard, and a craft, a cable's length away, could be seen vanishing wraithlike into the shadows across the cove.
"Landers has got another boat, somewhere, and he's running away in it!" declared Kinky.
"We'll overhaul him with theSan Bruno," cried Red-whiskers, throwing himself into the launch. "One of you stay behind and look after the prisoner——"
"Hang the prisoner!" answered Kinky. "The money means more to us than he does."
Ross cast off the rope that held the launch alongside the house boat, and both he and Kinky sprang aboard theSan Bruno.
Matt, bewildered by the surprising events that had followed each other so swiftly, stood on the forward deck of the houseboat and watched while theSan Brunogot under way and started on the track of the other boat.
That other boat, of course, Matt knew to be theSprite.But why was she tearing off across the cove like that? Why were McGlory and Ping leaving Matt when they must have known he was in difficulties? Had they started for Tiburon to get a few policemen and bring them back to help their comrade out of his trouble?
As these questions sped through Matt's bewildered mind a laugh echoed behind him—and he turned to face the most surprising of all the events that had happened that night.
M'GLORY'S RUN OF LUCK.
Joe McGlory, judging from the way fortune had turned her back on him during his whole life, was positive that he had not been born "under a lucky star." It was more likely, he thought, that he had been born under the Dipper, and that the Dipper was upside down at the time. Yet, be that as it might, luck had never had much to do with McGlory. Whatever he got came to him always by hard knocks and persistent grubbing. But there was a bright lining to the cloud, and this lining was making ready to show itself.
He sat impatiently on the stern thwarts of theSprite, while Matt was doing his reconnoitring on the house boat, waiting impatiently for him to return and report. Ping was forward at the steering wheel of the launch, feeling casually and with a certain amount of awe of every lever that manipulated the motor and the gear.
The littleSpritewas completely dwarfed by the larger boat alongside of which she cuddled, like a young duck under the lee of its mother, and the gloom of the higher bulwarks overshadowed McGlory and Ping.
From time to time, the cowboy stood up and looked across the cockpit of theSan Brunotoward the house boat. He saw Matt's head silhouetted in the light from the cabin window, and finally he saw him move away and vanish from sight behind the raised forward deck of the larger motor boat.
After that, McGlory champed the bit, and waited. As is usual in such cases, the seconds dragged like minutes, and the minutes were like hours. The cowboy finally made up his mind that something had gone wrong, and that he ought to investigate.
This feeling grew upon him until he could stand it no longer. Creeping forward to where Ping was caressing the steering wheel, he paused beside him for a moment.
"Motor Matt's been gone so long, Ping," said he, in a low tone, "that I'm afraid he has struck on a snag. If that's so, it's up to me to flock over to the house boat and do my little best to get him out of trouble. Savvy?"
"Heap savvy," replied Ping. "By Klismus, China boy go 'long. Mebbyso you makee fall in tlouble, China boy savee you, savee Matt, savee evelbody. Huh?"
"Never you mind about Matt and me, Ping," returned McGlory. "You stay right here—and stop fooling with that machinery, too. First thing you know you'll have theSpriteturning a summerset, and that would be about the worst thing that could happen to us. Stay right here, mind, and wait until you hear from Matt or me before you budge."
"Awri'," said Ping meekly.
McGlory crawled over the hood, got aboard theSan Bruno, and then stepped softly to the deck of the house boat.
A quick look around revealed the fact that Motor Matt was not in evidence. Slipping forward along the port alley, the cowboy took a hasty look through the lighted window. The three men were smoking, and in close converse, but McGlory was more interested in locating Motor Matt, just then, than in anything else.
Instead of returning toward the after end of the house boat, he passed on to the patch of deck at the forward end—and was thus out of the whirl of excitement that was turned on at the rear of the craft.
The yell given by Kinky when he lifted the trap in the floor of the cabin and caught a glimpse of Matt reached McGlory's ears almost as soon as he had gained the wider deck at the end of the boat. Almost immediately he heard the scramble inside the cabin, and then the rush of feet aft.
He hesitated for a few seconds, not knowing what to do. Matt had got into trouble, all right, but had he gotten out of it?
Stepping quickly to a door which led directly into the lighted front room of the cabin, McGlory softly turned the knob and pushed the door open. The room was empty. A trap in the floor was open, and also a door leading into a dark room beyond. From somewhere farther aft came angry voices and more sounds of scuffling.
"That means me, I reckon," thought the cowboy, rushing across the lighted room and into the darker chamber farther on. It was his intention to keep going and find out just what the struggle he had been hearing might mean, and to do what he could for Motor Matt; but he heard a sound behind him, just as he gained the darkness of the rear room, which caused him to halt, turn cautiously, and peer backward.
A tall, gangle-legged individual, with a mustache the color of dried buffalo grass, a nose like a wart and eyes that looked like a couple of wilted cactus blossoms, had entered the door which McGlory had left open.
The manner of this person aroused the cowboy's interest and curiosity. If he was one of the gang, what was he doing there? And why was he acting in such a stealthy manner, as though in a hurry and fearing to be apprehended?
McGlory, for a moment, curbed his desire to hurry on to the rear of the house boat and stood and watched the stranger from the safe screen of darkness.
The man was looking for something, that was plain. Dropping to his knees, he reached under a bench at one side of the room. What he wanted wasn't there. He turned to the bench on the other side and gave an exultant grunt as he pulled a satchel from under it.
After flashing a wary look around him, he opened the satchel with trembling fingers and drew forth a package of banknotes that made McGlory stagger.
Money! George Lorry's money!
That is what the cowboy thought on the instant. With another jubilant grunt, the stranger snapped the satchel shut and faded through the front door. McGlory was about two seconds making up his mind, and then faded after him.
The man was out of sight when the cowboy reached the deck at the forward end of the boat. Heavy feet were coming through the dark room of the cabin, and McGlory knew it was hardly safe for him to stand in the exposed position where he had placed himself.
Wondering where the man had gone with the satchel and the money, he stepped around the corner of the cabin into the starboard passage—and saw the man just dodging around the opposite corner, on the after deck.
"That's where I nail him!" thought McGlory, moving softly and swiftly along the alley.
As he passed the lighted window on that side of the cabin a curtain was jerked down, and a door was slammed. Following this, a key grated in a lock. Then another door was slammed and another key grated.
The cowboy hesitated, trying to guess whether all that had anything to do with the man who was making off with the satchel. Unable to reach any conclusion, and convinced that his duty lay in following the man, McGlory moved noiselessly onward.
The light on the upright staff of the houseboat cast a faint glow on the after deck, and here McGlory saw the man he was following again on his knees and examining the packet of bills.
In two jumps the cowboy was on the man's back.
"Steady!" he hissed in the man's ear.
The fellow began to struggle; and then, in a flash, the cowboy remembered the revolver he had snatched out of his cousin's hand and slipped into his pocket. In a twinkling he had the weapon out of the pocket—and commanded the situation.
"Don't shoot!" whined the man. "Great guns, I ain't done anythin' toyou."
"Put that bunch of green goods back into the grip," ordered McGlory.
"Thar she goes," said the man, letting the packet fall into the satchel.
"Now give the grip a shove," continued McGlory, "so it'll be closer to where I'm standing. That's the idea," he added, as the bag came sliding toward him. "Now, pardner, I've got the money and you've got the experience, and things are looking real fine. Who are you, anyhow?"
"Landers," said the man. "I'm in charge o' this boat for Big John."
"Big John, eh? I wonder if that's my friend, Mr. Smith, otherwise Red-whiskers?"
"That's him," answered Landers, "but you ain't no friend o' his, I'll gamble."
"Ain't I?" queried McGlory humorously.
"You're a detective, an' you've come here to bag Big John an' them other coves. But you don't need to bag me. I was only gettin' the money to turn it over to the police."
"Oh, speak to me about that!" chuckled McGlory.
"Look out behind ye!" whispered Landers hoarsely. "Big John is——"
McGlory turned. As he did so, Landers fell off the house boat and into the cockpit of theSan Bruno.
"Ain't I easy?" grumbled McGlory, marking a half run across the deck in the direction of the launch. "No," he muttered, "I won't do that, either. I've got the ten thousand plunks belongin' to Uncle Dan, and I guess I'll freeze onto 'em. Matt needs me, I reckon. With the grip in one hand and George's pepper box in the other, I'll walk through the cabin and see what I can do for this new pard of mine."
The rear door of the cabin was unlocked. McGlory passed through it and groped his way in the dark to the other door.
He had barely reached the door when another commotion assailed his ears, accompanied by loud voices. The voices were so loud, in fact, that the cowboy could hear distinctly all that was said.
Big John had just discovered the loss of the satchel, and a violent scene was threatening. Then came the popping of the motor, and the rush to get out of the cabin and pursue Landers.
McGlory, beginning to understand what had happened and how the thieves had been fooled, leaned against the wall of the cabin and sputtered with merriment.
"Speak to me about luck, will you?" he gasped. "This is once, anyhow, that I've got the winning number. I reckon it's because I'm hooked up with Motor Matt."
He tried the bulkhead door, but found it locked. With a sudden thought, he returned to the other door, took the key he found there from the lock and tried it in the lock of the bulkhead door. It worked like a charm, and McGlory, satchel in one hand and revolver in the other, pushed into the lighted room.
At the very least, he was expecting to find Motor Matt on the floor, tied hand and foot. McGlory's astonishment was great, therefore, when he discovered that Mattwas not in the room. A form stood just outside the door, on the forward deck, vaguely outlined in the darkness.
It was Matt, there was no doubt about it. Thoughts of the way events had shaped themselves to befool the thieves rushed over the cowboy again, and once more he dropped against the side of the cabin. He exploded a laugh that brought Matt into the room at a double quick, and held him, just inside the door, staring as though at a ghost.
"McGlory!" muttered Matt, rubbing his eyes.
"Keno, correct—and more, much more. It's McGlory, Matt, and McGlory's got thedinero. Come to me, put your little hand in mine for a good shake, and let's felicitate. This will be happy news for Cousin George!"