CHAPTER III.

  AN EAVESDROPPER.

  Both Carl and Ping tried to explain matters at the same time. Eachtalked loud, in the hope of drowning out the other, and the jargon wasterrific. Finally McGlory got a hand over the Chinaman's mouth, andCarl was able to give his side of the question. After that, Ping hadhis say.

  "There's been no cause whatever for this flare-up," said Matt."Everybody knows that Carl can't sing, but everybody who's acquaintedwith him, too, knows that he's got more pluck to the square inch thanany fellow of his size. Carl's all right, Ping. He went around SouthAmerica with Dick Ferral and me on that submarine, and we partedcompany in San Francisco just before I met up with Joe. Shake hands,"and Matt pushed Carl toward the Chinaman.

  "My workee fo' Motol Matt," whispered Ping, who had likewise been givena push by the cowboy; "Dutchy boy no workee, huh?"

  "You're both pards of mine," said Matt, "and you've got to be friends.Now, shake hands."

  The shaking was done--rather hesitatingly, it is true, but neverthelessit was done.

  "Now," went on Matt, "you get into your regalia, Ping. Carl, you canget out of your wet clothes and put on Joe's working suit. While you'reabout it, tell me how you happen to be here. You stay and listen, Joe,"the young motorist added. "I want you to like Carl as well as I do."

  "That's me, pard," laughed McGlory, taking a seat on one of thebuckets. "There's plenty of ginger in the Dutchman, and that's whatcuts the ice with me."

  Ping, covertly watching and listening, moved over to his bag of clothesand began rigging himself out in his gorgeous raiment. Carl, talking ashe worked, removed his water-logged costume.

  "I vas a tedectif, Matt," said he gravely.

  "What's that?" demanded McGlory.

  "Detective," smiled the king of the motor boys. "My Dutch pard has beenmaking a sleuth out of himself."

  "Yah, so," pursued Carl. "Tick Verral vent off mit his uncle, inTenver, und I run avay to San Francisco looking for Matt. He don'dvas dere some more, und I can't find oudt nodding aboudt vere he vasgone. I haf to do somet'ing vile vaiting for him to turn oop, und so Igo indo der tedectif pitzness. Dot's great vork, I bed you. You findtsomet'ing for somepody, und dey gif you all kindts oof money. Fine!"

  "How much have you made at the business, Carl?" queried Matt.

  "Vell, nodding, so far as I haf gone, Matt. Aber I don'd haf no luckmit it. I vas schust learning der ropes. A feller hat his money tookavay in 'Frisco. I ged oudt oof dot mit a proken headt, und don'd findtder money. Vell, next a olt laty in Salt Lake City loses her parrot,und say she gif ten tollar vould I findt him. I ketch der parrot offa push schust ven anodder feller lays holt oof him. Ve fight for derpird, der pird iss kilt, und some more I don'd ged nodding, only aplack eye und some fierce talk from der olt laty. Aber I don'd gedtiscouraged, nod at all. I vork on mit meinseluf.

  "Pympy, I peen in Chicago--der blace vere ve vas, Matt, mit der airship. Dot's a great town for der tedectif pitzness, I bed you. I try tohire oudt by a prifate tedectif achency, aber dey don'd vant me. I keepafder dose fellers, und afder I was t'rown from der office a gouple ooftimes I valked in on dem by der fire escape. Den dey gif me some chobs."

  "What sort of a job did they give you, Carl?"

  By that time the Dutch boy had stripped and put on McGlory's clothes.Reaching for his water-logged bundle, he untied it, and fished a foldednewspaper from an assortment of rubber collars, socks, and red cottonhandkerchiefs.

  The newspaper was very damp, and had to be handled with care.

  "Dis iss some English papers, Matt," explained Carl. "Id vas brinted inLonton, und dose tedectif fellers had him py deir office. How mooch issa t'ousant pounds in Unidet Shtates money, hey?"

  "Five thousand dollars."

  "Veil, dot's der chob--making dot fife t'ousant. I bet you I get richvone oof dose tays."

  "You have to do something, don't you, before you get the money?"queried McGlory, with a wink at Matt.

  "Ach, dot's nodding," answered Carl, in a large, offhand manner. "Readtdot, Matt."

  Matt took the wet newspaper and read a marked paragraph, which ran asfollows:

  "?1,000 Reward! This sum will be paid for any information concerning one Margaret Manners, last known to be in Calcutta, India. Miss Manners is about eighteen years of age, and is the only daughter of the late Captain Lionel Manners, of the English Army, stationed at Bombay. Miss Manners disappeared from her home, under mysterious circumstances, and it is possible she went to America and engaged in the circus business. Any one with knowledge concerning the missing person, and desirous of obtaining the reward, will please communicate with Arthur Hoppleson, Solicitor, 10 Kent's Road, London, W. C. Further information, which cannot be publicly printed, will be cheerfully furnished."

  Motor Matt, after reading the paragraph to himself, read it aloud.

  "Why," grinned McGlory, "that outfit of detectives was working yourGerman friend, Matt. They gave him that and sent him on a wild-goosechase, just to get rid of him."

  "Dot's a misdake," declared Carl. "Dose fellers saw I meant pitzness,py shinks, und dey gif me der hardest case dey hat. Yah, so. Since denI haf peen looking for shows. Eferyvere I hear aboudt some shows I hikeavay. Aber I don'd findt Miss Manners. She don'd vas in der mooseums,oder in der Vild Vest shows, or in Rinklings; und oof she vasn't inder Pig Gonsolidated, den I vas oop some shtumps. My money has blayedoudt, und I hat to rite in a pox car to Lafayette, Intiana. Here I vasshdrolling along tovard der show groundts ven I see dot shink mit derpuckets, und hat sooch a scrap. Afder der scrap vas ofer, a man on aelephant shpeak about Motor Matt. Den I don'd t'ink oof nodding more. Icome, so kevick as bossiple, to findt my olt raggie. Und here ve vas,togedder like ve used to be." A broad smile covered Carl's face. "NowI don'd care for nodding. Oof you t'ink you could help me findt MissManners, den I vill be opliged, und gif you part oof der revard--agouple oof pounds oof id, anyvay."

  "It looks to me, Carl," said Matt, handing back the paper, "as thoughthe men in that detective office were trying to have some fun with you.Have you written to London to secure further information?"

  Carl looked startled.

  "Vell," he admitted, "I ditn't t'ink oof dat."

  "You're a fine detective, you are," said Matt. "You might as well huntfor a needle in a haystack as to hunt for this English girl. Can't yousee? You've got a pretty wide field to cover, and it is only _supposed_that she came to America and engaged in the circus business."

  Carl ran his fingers through his carroty hair.

  "Meppy dot's right," he mused. "Oof dose fellers in Chicago vas makingsome monkey-doodle pitzness mit me, you bed you I vould like to fooldem. Meppy I findt der girl. Den vat? V'y, dose tedectif fellers feellike t'irty cent. You vas vorking for der show, Matt?"

  "We've an engagement with the manager for making flights in oura?roplane."

  "Vat's dose?"

  "What's an a?roplane? Why, Carl, it's a heavier-than-air flyingmachine."

  "So? Und you go oop in id?"

  "Yes."

  Carl sat on a bucket and ruminated for a space.

  "You know pooty near efery vone dot vorks for der show, hey?" he asked.

  "Yes, I know every one."

  "Iss dere a girl mit der name oof Markaret Manners?"

  "No. But she'd have a different name if she was with a show, Carl.Performers hardly ever use their real names."

  "Dot's righdt, too." Once more Carl ran his fingers through his mop ofhair. "Iss der any vone connected mit der show vat has a shtrawperrymark on der arm?" he asked, brightening.

  "Strawberry mark on the arm?" repeated Matt. "Why, Carl, thatadvertisement doesn't say anything about such a thing."

  "I know dot, aber efery young laty you read aboudt vat's lost has dershtrawperry mark on der----"

  McGlory let off a roar of laughter. Carl straightened up with a painedlook on his fat face.

  "Carl," cried McGlory, "you're a great sleuth, and no mistake! You jumpat too many conclus
ions."

  "Dere don'd vas anyt'ing else to chump ad," returned Carl. "Dis vas adark case, you bed you, und dere has to be some guessings. Dot's vat Imake now, der guessings."

  "Pretty woolly guessing, at that, and----"

  McGlory broke off abruptly to follow a sudden movement on Matt's part.The canvas forming the side of the menagerie tent had shaken, as thoughthere was some one on the other side of it. Matt, seeing the shiverof the canvas, leaped for the wall. The next moment he had lifted thecanvas and was looking into the other tent.

  A tall, brown-faced man, wearing a turban and an embroidered jacket,was just vanishing through the tent entrance. Matt dropped the canvasand turned away, a thoughtful look taking the place of the smile withwhich he had listened to Carl's talk.

  "What was it, pard?" asked McGlory.

  "An eavesdropper," replied Matt.

  "Speak to me about that!" exclaimed McGlory. "If some one thought theDutchman's yarn worth listening to, then perhaps there's something init."

  "Perhaps." Motor Matt's brow wrinkled perplexedly.

  "Who was the fellow? Could you recognize him?"

  "It was Ben Ali."

  McGlory bounded up, excited, and his own face reflecting some of theperplexity that shone in his friend's.

  Before the conversation could be continued, however, a man thrust hishead into the calliope tent.

  "They're waiting for you fellows," he announced. "Hustle!"

 
Stanley R. Matthews's Novels