Matt was dumfounded. Overhead was the long gas-bag of the Hawk. In front of him, at the mechanism of the machine, sat a dusky form which he recognized as belonging to Brady. Brady's hands were on the levers.
With a shout of anger Matt jumped toward Brady, the car lurching and swaying with his frantic movements.
"Stand where ye are!" came the husky, threatening voice of Pete, from behind. "Do as I tell ye, King, or I'll shoot."
Matt turned around. Standing with his back braced against an upright timber that held the car to the oval ring under the gas-bag was Brady's burly assistant. He held a dark object in his hand and Matt knew it must be a revolver.
"Where are you taking me?" demanded Matt.
"Turn around this way," said Brady. "Now that you know what'll happen to you if you get too hostile, maybe we can have a bit of a talk together."
"Don't shoot!" implored a feminine voice; "I don't want to have any shooting, dad!"
The voice came from a bundle on the floor, close to where Pete was standing. By looking sharply, Matt was able to see a white, ghost-like face hovering against the rail.
The girl had been brought along with them! Matt was glad, for her sake, that he had not got into a rough-and-tumble with Brady.