"What's the good?" demurred Burton. "You all seem to think it a cinch that the car will be seen, and that Ben Ali will get out of the way."
"You'll lag behind, you and your car," continued Matt, "and you'll let me and the aëroplane move ahead. I'll keep over the road as well as I can, and you can see me. When I sight our quarry I'll descend; then you can put on all speed and come up."
"The aëroplane will be a dead give-away!" asserted Burton. "Ben Ali and his outposts will see that as quick, or quicker, than they will the automobile."
"Suppose Ben Ali sees only one man on the machine, and thinks that the man is Dhondaram?" asked Matt. "Would he run, then?"
There was a silence, a startled silence, while the words of the young motorist were being pondered by his listeners.
"How'll Ben Ali think Dhondaram is running the Comet, pard?" queried McGlory.
"Because the man on the aëroplane will not look very much like Motor Matt, and will look a little like a Hindoo."
"You're going to make up for the part?"
"It won't be much of a make-up. A white robe over my ordinary clothes will do."
"But your face——"