CHAPTER IX.
BETWEEN THE EYES.
The wagon road which the boys were following led them into Catskillnear the railroad station. The motorcycle tracks, after holding astraight course toward town for a long time, had finally vanished at anelevated point from which the motor boys had secured their first viewof the river.
"We might just as well call on the superintendent," suggested Matt,when they were close to the station, "and explain about the speeder. Bydoing this now, we may dodge trouble later."
"Good idea," assented McGlory.
They found the superintendent in his office, and he gave them animmediate hearing.
"We called to tell you about that speeder, Mr. Bronson," began Matt,having caught the super's name off the painted window in the door.
"You mean Mulvaney's speeder," returned Bronson, "the one that wasstolen two days ago?"
"Yes. My name's King, Matt King, and I'm stopping at the----"
"Motor Matt?" interrupted Bronson, whirling squarely around in hisswivel chair. He had suddenly developed a great interest in theinterview.
"Yes," laughed Matt, "I'm called that more often than I'm called bymy last name. This is my chum, Joe McGlory," and he nodded toward thecowboy.
"I've heard of both of you," smiled Bronson. "That was great businessof yours, over near Purling. But what in the world have you got to tellme about the stolen speeder?"
"Then you haven't heard about what happened this morning?"
"Haven't heard a thing about the speeder to-day. Why?"
"Well, Joe and I and another fellow were chasing down a grade with it,a few miles out of town, and a section gang from Tannersville saw uscoming and put a tie across the rails."
"That stopped you, did it?"
"Did it!" echoed McGlory. "Why, it stopped us so hard and quick thatone of the passengers was scattered all over the right of way."
"We hadn't anything to do with stealing the machine," went on Matt,"and we didn't----"
"Of course not!" struck in Bronson. "But where did you get it, and whatwere you doing with it?"
"You heard how the great ruby was recovered, and how the thieves gotaway?"
The superintendent's eyes sparkled.
"Everybody around here has heard about that," he answered.
"We thought we had a chance to capture one of the thieves," proceededMatt. "The crook's pal came to us and offered to show us where Grattanwas, and when we joined the fellow this morning, he had the speedertucked away among the bushes. We knew the speeder had been stolen, andwere intending to bring it back as soon as we had finished our work;but the section gang made things so warm for us we had to change ourplans."
"And now you're fretting for fear the section men will send in word,and that I'll have you pinched!" laughed the superintendent. "I guessI'd think twice before I had Motor Matt arrested for stealing an oldspeeder like that. Mulvaney, our track inspector, made it himself. He'srather choice of it, and that's why I sent out word to have the thingfound, if possible. But, tell me, did you capture Grattan?"
"No, sir. We found where he has been staying, but he had got awaybefore we reached the place."
"Hard luck! By the way, they've got a moving picture in one of thenickelodeons here, that tells the story of a ruby called 'Buddha'sEye.' Everybody is going to see it. Is that the same story as the oneconnected with the 'Eye of Buddha?'"
"It's the same, Mr. Bronson, even down to the minor detail of theidentity of the thieves."
Bronson whistled.
"How in the dickens does that happen, eh?" he asked.
Matt could see no harm in explaining that point, as Bunce had coveredit, and told how the thieves, needing money in Chicago, had suggestedthe idea for the picture, and how at least one of them had volunteeredto play a leading part.
The superintendent was astounded at the audacity of a thief who, afterperpetrating such a successful robbery, and with the ruby then in hispossession, could publish his crime through the medium of a movingpicture.
"It merely goes to prove," said the superintendent, "what a clever anddaring scoundrel this fellow Grattan is. Too bad he escaped at the timethe ruby was so cleverly recovered. More than likely, Motor Matt, he'llmake trouble for you."
"I guess he'll be too busy looking out for himself," laughed Matt, "topay any attention to me."
"I hope so, certainly."
Matt and McGlory got up to leave.
"Don't bother your head about the speeder," the superintendent wenton. "I'm glad your report reached me ahead of the one from the sectiongang. I'll know how to handle the matter, now, when I hear from thesection boss. Good-by, my lads, and good luck to you."
"It didn't take long to fix that up," said McGlory, when he and Mattwere once more on their way to the hotel.
"I knew it wouldn't," returned Matt, "just as soon as we could get tosome one who would be willing to take our word for what happened."
"What the super said about Grattan trying to get back at you, Matt, forwhat you did in the old sugar camp, near Purling, sounded to me like ithad a lot of good horse sense mixed up in it."
"What I told the super had a little horse sense in it, too, didn't it,Joe?"
"You mean about Grattan having so much to do to keep out of theclutches of the law that he won't find any time to hit up your trail?"
"Yes."
"I don't know about that. Grattan is a tinhorn who is in a class all byhimself. He seems to have all kinds of nerve, and to be willing to takeall sorts of chances. That moving-picture deal gives us a pretty goodline on him."
When the boys got to the hotel, McGlory stumbled into a chair on theveranda.
"Gee, man, but I'm tired!" he exclaimed. "A cowboy is built forriding, and not for this footwork. It sure gets me going. Sit downhere for a while, Matt, and let's palaver about New York, and what thechances are for our getting there."
"They're pretty slim, I guess," answered Matt, dropping into a seat athis chum's side, "if we're to wait until Grattan is captured. Tsan Tisays, in his letter, that he won't come on until Grattan is behind thebars, or safely off his trail."
"Which means to hang on here until--we don't know when. We're rid ofBunce, but there'll be something else to hit us between the eyes beforewe're many minutes older. You can bet your moccasins on that. As longas we're tangled up with that ruby, we'll find hard luck flagging usall along the pike."
At that moment the clerk emerged from the hotel office and crossed theveranda. He wore a troubled look, as though something had happened toworry him.
"That man came, Motor Matt," said he, "and I gave him the box."
McGlory fell back as though some one had struck him.
"What man? What box?" he roused up to inquire wildly.
The clerk caught the alarm in the cowboy's voice and manner.
"Why, don't you know?" he cried, appealing to Matt. "It was the smallbox you left with me early this morning."
"And--and you gave it up?" gasped McGlory huskily.
"What else could I do?" protested the clerk. "I had the written orderfrom Motor Matt. The man brought it."
McGlory was too dazed to answer. His jaw fell, and he stared at theking of the motor boys.
"Let me see the order," said Matt.
The clerk pulled a letter from his pocket.
"I hope there's nothing wrong?" he asked, handing the letter to Matt."I've been thinking there might be something wrong, but I didn't seehow there could be. The handwriting of that letter matches your fist onthe register--I was careful to look that up before I gave the man thebox."
"Read it, pard," implored McGlory, in a mechanical tone.
"'Please deliver to bearer the small box which I left with you forsafe-keeping, early this morning,'" Matt read. "'I need it at once,and find that I can't come for it in person.' That's all of it, Joe,"said Matt, "and I must say that it's a pretty good imitation of myhandwriting. The name is a tremendously good forgery."
The clerk nearly threw a fit; and McGlor
y nearly helped him.
"Then the letter is a forgery?" cried the clerk. "The man didn't haveany right to the box?"
"How could he have any right to the box," stormed McGlory, "when theletter asking you to turn it over to him was never written by MotorMatt? Corral your wits. Sufferin' hold-ups, it's come! We no sooner getout of one raw deal, than we tumble headfirst into another. Now----"
"Take it easy, Joe," cut in Matt. "Wait a minute." He turned to theclerk. "Don't get worked up about this," said he; "you're not to blame.When did the man call and deliver the forged letter?"
"Not more than an hour ago," answered the clerk, wiping theperspiration from his forehead. "Was there anything very valuable inthe box?"
"What sort of looking man was he?" proceeded Matt.
"Slim, and dark, and undersized. Fairly well dressed."
"Well, never mind. Don't let it worry you."
The clerk, visibly distressed, in spite of Matt's reassuring words,went back into the office. As soon as he had vanished inside the hotel,the king of the motor boys gave vent to a low laugh.
McGlory peered at him.
"Pard!" he murmured, leaning over to drop a hand on Matt's knee. "Haveyou gone off the jump on account of that confounded ruby? It's a blowbetween the eyes, all right, but, for heaven's sake, don't let it getyou locoed."
"Locoed!" and Matt pulled himself together, reached inside his vest andbrought out a knotted handkerchief. Untying the knotted ends of thehandkerchief, he opened it out on his knee. "See here, Joe!" said he;"that's how badly I am locoed."
What McGlory saw was the ruby, glowing redly against the white linen.
Motor Matt's Mariner; or, Filling the Bill for Bunce Page 9
