Matt's pursuit of the street car reminded him of his old motor-cycle days in Arizona. The familiar hum of the twin cylinders between his knees carried his mind back to his ill-fated gasoline marvel, the Comet, in honor of which he had named the a?roplane he was using with the show.

The borrowed motor cycle had all the improvements, and the way it could run warmed the cockles of Matt's heart. In less than a minute after leaving Burton and the machine's owner, the king of the motor boys was shooting along the road like a bullet out of a gun.

He was pursuing an electric car that ran at a high rate of speed, but the motor cycle must have been going five feet to the car's one. Before Matt fairly realized it he was within sight of the car.

When he was close enough to be heard he began to call to the conductor to stop. The passengers heard him, as the row of heads thrust out from each side of the car conclusively proved; and the conductor also heard him, for he appeared on the rear platform.

Matt could see the conductor reaching for the bell rope. At the same time, Wily Bill rushed out on the back platform, took in the situation at a startled glance, and then dropped dexterously from the car at the track side.

Matt was so wrapped up in what Wily Bill was doing that Ping's leap from the front platform escaped him entirely.

Wily Bill scurried for the side of the road, and Matt shut off the power and glided after him.

"Hold up there, Wily!" cried Matt.

The "barker" paid no attention, but plunged up the bank and darted off into the timber.

By that time Motor Matt's blood was up. He knew that a great deal depended on the capture of Wily. If the "barker" could be made to tell when and how he had received that note in Hindoostanee, a clue to the whereabouts of Ben Ali and the missing Margaret Manners would be secured.

Appreciating fully the exigencies of the case, Matt sprang from the wheel and leaped up the bank. From the top of the rise he could see nothing of Wily, but a crashing of the undergrowth told him plainly in which direction the man had gone. He was but an instant in taking after him.

Wily's actions were those of a guilty man; in fact, they inferred a deeper guilt than the mere possession of a note in Hindoostanee would indicate.

This, naturally, made the fellow's capture all the more important.

For a quarter of a mile, Matt judged, Wily led him a chase through the woods. The "barker" had lost a little of his lead, but was keeping up his fierce pace with a good deal of vigor. Then, suddenly, he began to double. Matt would run on, looking and listening, only to find that there was no thrashing brush ahead. When he stopped, the sounds made by the fleeing fugitive had changed their direction, and the young motorist had to whirl and take another course.

For some time this variation of the game of hare and hounds continued, Matt drawing steadily nearer and nearer.

At last Matt caught his first glimpse of Wily, since he had fled over the bank from the street car, at the rear of a house whose windows were closed with green shutters.

Wily stood out against the house wall, his form sharply defined, just as Matt rushed from a fringe of hazels. The "barker" cast a look over his shoulder, gave vent to a panting exclamation, and darted around the end of the house.

When Matt reached the front of the structure, Wily had vanished. The key to his disappearance was furnished by the wide-swinging front door, key still in the lock. Besides, Wily had not had time to go around the other side of the house, or to get into the woods again, so Matt knew he must have entered the building.

With scarcely a moment's hesitation, the king of the motor boys followed the fugitive.

Coming in out of the bright sunshine, the darkness of the shut-in hall was intense. As Matt ran on past one of the doors leading to a room on the right a sinewy, turbaned form leaped out and a fist shot through the gloom, landing on the back of Matt's head with tremendous force.

Matt staggered, regained his balance, and whirled around. His brain was reeling, but, looking toward the light that entered at the open door, he saw that the man who had struck him was not Wily, as he had imagined, but a Hindoo—none other than his old acquaintance, Dhondaram.

Flinging out his arms, he leaped at the Hindoo. Then[Pg 15] it was that Wily completed the work that Dhondaram had begun. Another blow from behind, savagely given with all the "barker's" strength, caused Matt to sink to his knees and then straighten out unconscious on the bare floor.

"You saw what was goin' on?" asked Wily breathlessly.

"Even so, sahib," answered the other, in a low tone.

"I'm in luck to find you here. Wasn't intendin' to blow in at this place till night—but any port in a storm. Pick him up and let's get away somewhere."

"The kitchen, sahib."

Betwee............