"That'll do, Carl!" he cried, grabbing the Dutch boy by the collar as he pummeled the form on the leather cushions.
"I hafen't paid him all vat I owe him yet," shouted Carl.
"That's enough, anyway. Leave him alone. If——"
"Dere he goes!" screamed Carl; "und look—look vat he's got in his hant alretty!"
The moment Matt dragged the Dutch boy from his late partner, the latter had leaped from the seat, grabbed something that had fallen from his pocket, and had sprung down from the car. As he leaped away, Matt saw that the object in his hand was the green silk bag!
Pringle had been saved from Hank, and he was now anxious to save himself from Carl and Matt. With a flying leap from the car, Matt made after him.
A sharp run followed. Pringle was no match for the athletic Motor Matt. Catching up with him at the end of a fifty-yard dash, the young motorist grabbed the fellow by the arm and jerked him to a halt.
Pringle was a slab-sided, beak-faced youth with buttermilk eyes. Merely a glance at him was enough to show Matt that he was thoroughly unreliable.
"No more fighting," said Matt sharply, snatching the bag from Pringle's hand. "Back to the car with you, on the double-quick."
"That ain't yours," snarled Pringle, referring to the bag.