"What are you trying to do?" demanded Matt angrily.
"Don't lose your temper, Motor Matt," answered one of the eight, in a voice that was plainly disguised. "We're not going to hurt you—now. Do what we want you to and we'll remain good friends. All we've stopped you for is to have a little talk."
"Did you have to head me off with a rail in order to have a little talk?" asked Matt sarcastically.
"We wanted to make sure of you for about five minutes, and this was the only way we could think of. We were going over to your boathouse, but saw you coming down the hill from the point, and thought we'd better lay for you."
"Well," said Matt, "here I am. Hurry up with your talk. I'm in a rush, and don't want to stop here long."
"We want to ask you a question: You're a professional motorist, aren't you?"
"I've driven a racing automobile, if that's what you mean."
"They say you know gasoline motors forward, backward, and sideways."
"I've studied them, and I've worked in a shop where they were made."