"Dick sahib, you go with Tippoo back to La Vita Place?"
The Hindu was so deeply in earnest that he compelled Ferral's attention.
"What do you want me back there for?"
"You go, you learn all—ever'thing," and Tippoo flung his arms out in a comprehensive gesture.
"Now, strike me lucky, the beggar knows something. Yes, we'll go, if for nothing more than to walk in on my dear cousin Ralph and face Mings and Packard. Get into your old catamaran, Tippoo, and bear away. We'll hold you hard during the run, if I'm any judge of Motor Matt."
Tippoo went back to the runabout, got into the seat, and started for La Vita Place.
"Old Chocolate certainly is an A. B. at running that craft," mused Ferral, watching the ease with which Tippoo handled the runabout. "But what was the good of all that Flying Dutchman business? Why did Tippoo want to tuck himself away in the locker behind when he could ride up in front in comfort and like a gentleman?"
"I suppose," answered Matt, "that we'll find all that out when we get back to La Vita Place."
A glint came into Ferral's eyes.
"Will we?" he cried, bringing his fist down on his knee. "Aye, mate, even if I have to take Ralph Sercomb by the throat and shake the whole blessed truth out of him. If it's a game of dirks they're playing, I warrant you they'll find me handy with mine."