"He took a train into Chicago—said he was behind his schedule for that five-day race. The two prisoners are at police headquarters."
"Well, by thunder!" muttered Harris, mopping his face with a red handkerchief, "that Motor Matt must be a regular young phenomenon!"
"I never heard of anything to beat him!" averred Jerrold.
"Und you nefer vill!" declared Carl. "He iss vone oof dose fellers vat can't be peat."
"You might take us to police headquarters, Jerrold," suggested Harris.
"Und you mighdt shtop on der vay py der railroadt sdation," piped Carl. "I vant to ged py Chicago so kevick as der nation vill led me."
When Carl next saw Matt, the young motorist was spinning around the great oval in a Jarrot machine, which he knew so well and had driven to victory in Kansas. The five-day race was not for one driver alone, but several drivers were to be at the steering wheel of each car. Matt had reached the Coliseum just in time to take his place in the racing schedule.
Every time Matt whirled around the oval, Carl had something to say to him, but it was not until evening that the boys were able to get together for a talk.
They decided between them that Brady, and those whom Matt had left on the "island," must have made their escape from the swamp by a secret route known only to themselves.