"Well," said Matt, as he and Carl left the garage and proceeded toward their boarding house, "I guess the delay won't make much difference. I'll be busy with the race to-morrow, but you can take the papers, Carl, and do with them whatever Mr. Harkrider advises."
It was nearly supper time, and after the boys had had a wash, and a good meal, they went up to their room.
Close to eight o'clock, just as they were getting ready for bed, a rap fell on the door. Matt answered the summons and found a boy with a telegram.
The young motorist had been receiving a great many telegrams, since his Kansas victory, and supposed the message must be from some motor-car manufacturer who wanted to secure his services.
But he was destined to a surprise.
The telegram had been sent to the Lestrange garage, and by the foreman there forwarded to the boarding place.
"Matt King, Care Lestrange Company, Chicago:
"Come immediately to twenty-one-naught-nine Hoyne Street, South Chicago. Important matter relative to runaway air-ship. I will pay your expenses.
"Hamilton Jerrold."
"More aboudt dot air-ship pitzness," muttered Carl. "Who vas dot Jerrold feller?"
"He must be the man that Brady told us about," said Matt. "Jerrold seems to be a rival of Brady's, in this air-ship matter, and the message looks like a good clue. It won't do any harm to follow it up, anyhow."
"Dere iss somet'ing about dot vat I don'd like," demurred Carl. "I got some hunches dere iss underhandt vork afoot."