On the way through the woods and back to the road by the car track, Motor Matt was extremely thoughtful.

By Ben Ali's cleverness in getting some white man to represent the agent of the British ambassador, the Hindoo had succeeded in luring his niece from the home of the English woman in whose care the girl had been left.

Once this was accomplished, it was easy to guess how the artful Hindoo had proceeded. Miss Manners had been a hypnotic subject for so long that it was useless for her to attempt to fight against the black magic of her rascally uncle. He had but to catch her eye and snap his fingers, and the girl would be utterly in his power.

To fight such a man as Ben Ali called for ways and means at once bold and wary. He was not to be easily snared.

"You're as mum as an oyster," grunted Burton, as they neared the road. "I've spoken to you half a dozen times, and you didn't seem to hear me. Come back to earth now, and tell me what's on your mind?"

"I'll tell you later, Burton," laughed Matt. "I've got a hard problem to solve, and I don't want to say anything about it until it's all worked out."

"From what you said at that house with the green shutters, I take it you're not going back to the show with me?"

"No."

"Be back there in time to take the a?roplane aloft at six-thirty? The wind's down, and you can pull off the trick."

"There'll be no a?roplane flight this afternoon, Burton. I have more important matters to attend to."

Burton began to bristle.

"By Jerry," he cried, "what am I giving you your salary for? We've missed one ascension to-day, and the people will be wild if we don't have one this afternoon."

"Then," answered Matt, "tell them that we'll give an a?roplane performance for the whole of Grand Rapids to-morrow. That ought to satisfy them, and I know you'll make a lot of capital out of it."

Burton stopped stock-still and stared.

"You're crazy?" he bluntly inquired. "To-morrow's Sunday, and I've never yet been able to get you to make an ascension on Sunday. Backsliding, eh?"

"For this one time," said Matt. "I'm not doing this for the benefit of your show, Burton, but because, as I size the matter up now, there's nothing else to be done."

"Whew!" whistled the showman, "you're about the biggest conundrum, now and then, that I ever tackled. When'll you get back to the grounds?"

"This evening, some time."

"Hunt for me the minute you get there, and let me know what's up."

They found Ping waiting for them in the road. He was a disconsolate-looking Chinaman, and ran up to Matt the moment he slipped down the steep bank.

"You heap mad with Ping, huh?" the Chinese boy chattered. "You know him makee shoot Loman candle, play plenty hob with side show? Woosh! My velly bad China boy."

Matt laughed. That laugh caused Ping to brighten.

"I'll have to forgive you this once, Ping," said Matt. "A whole lot of good has resulted from that flare-up in the side-show tent. But I don't like practical jokes—you know that. Get on the car and go back to the grounds with Burton. As for the Roman-candle business, we'll talk about that later."

"You no pullee pin on China boy?" faltered Ping.

"No. You make your peace with Carl, that's all."

"Hoop-a-la!" said Ping, and limped aboard an electric car that Burton had flagged.

Matt caught a car going the other way, and, as soon as he reached Monroe Street, hurried to the nearest automobile garage, bent upon making the most of the daylight that remained.

He hired a car and a driver who knew the city. It was a small roadster, and Matt had the driver take him beyond the city limits and out for five miles on the Elgin road.

They passed through a small oak opening, which looked[Pg 21] as though it might be the place where Ben Ali was............