BRADY'S PROPOSITION.
"How do you feel, Carl?" asked Matt, when the Hawk was safely clear of the ground and swinging easily along through the night.
"I feel like my headt vas as pig as a parrel," answered Carl. "Py shiminy, dot vas a svipe vat I got. I see pooty ret lights aroundt me, und I don'd know somet'ing ondil lader."
"It's a cinch, matey," spoke up Ferral, "that Brady laid that trap, and that we only got out of it by the skin of our teeth."
"What do you say to that, Brady?" asked Matt.
"It's mighty unfortunate—for me," replied Brady, from the bottom of the car. "I laid a trap, King, but not that kind. What I wanted, was to talk you into helping me rescue Helen. I don't know yet how Whipple and Pete managed to show up there when they did. They didn't see me, and they don't know now that you've captured me."
"As soon as we can get to South Chicago," said Matt, "we'll tell Harris those fellows are here. This is the first clue the police have had as to where they are."
"A good night's work, mate," said Ferral, "strike me lucky if it ain't. Harris will be all ahoo when we tell him that it was Brady who wrote that letter."
"Don't take me back to South Chicago just yet," pleaded Brady, struggling to a sitting posture and leaning against the rail at the side of the car. "If Pete and Whipple are away from that shanty in La Grange, this will be a good time to get Helen."
"He talks mit two tongues vorse as any feller vat I know," remarked Carl.