George jammed his head down into the pillow again.
This strange recital left Matt and McGlory gasping. It was clear that George had fallen into the hands of sharpers, and had been robbed, but there was that baggage check Matt had picked up near the little Tiburon wharf. That looked as though there might be something in the yarn Red-whiskers had told about losing the check.
"Well, speak to me about this!" breathed McGlory. "That check you found, pard, may be the very one this chap with the auburn wind teasers lost! Wouldn't that knock you slabsided? Sufferin' jew's-harps! Why, I never heard anythin' to match it. Fate is workin' you into this game for fair."
Lorry hoisted himself up suddenly on the bed.
"Did you find a trunk check over in Tiburon?" he demanded.
"Yes," replied Matt, and took the flat piece of brass from his pocket.
"By Jove!" exclaimed Lorry. "It would be a big load off my mind if that check could be used for getting back the money. Light the gas, McGlory."
It was falling dark outside, and the cowboy scratched a match and touched the flame to a jet. As soon as the light was going, Lorry took the check in his own hands and looked it over exultantly. Then, abruptly, he jumped for the bed and rushed toward a suit case that lay on a chair.
"What are you going to do, George?" inquired McGlory.
"Get into some dry clothes and then hunt for Red-whiskers. This means a whole lot to me. I'm going to Honolulu, and I need that ten thousand."