"We're going to have the last word, my gay motorist, and from now on up to the hour of the race you and Lorry are going to have your hands full of trouble. The Sprite will never enter the contest, and you'll save yourself something, Motor Matt, if you obey our orders to quit. There——"
Motor Matt, watching his opportunity, had made a sudden leap forward. It was toward the side of the circle opposite the place where the chap whom he believed to be Merton was standing.
Instantly the eight made a concerted move in that direction, leaving a gap in the cordon behind Matt. Like lightning, the king of the motor boys whirled about and darted through the gap.
As he raced past the fellow he supposed to be Merton he snatched the handkerchief from his face. The evidence, then, was plain enough.
"Merton!" shouted Matt as he bounded toward the road.
An angry yell went up behind him, followed by a crashing among the bushes as the eight began pursuit. But Matt had the lead, and he was fortunate enough to find the motor cycle leaning against the tree near the place where it had been halted.
To mount, start the gasoline, switch on the spark and pedal off took but a few seconds. By the time Merton and his companions reached the road Matt was sliding around a wooded bend like a shot from a gun.
Around the turn Matt was compelled to sheer off to avoid a big touring car which, deserted and at a standstill, filled the road.
He noted, as he passed, that it was the Merton touring car. Matt had seen the car before, and in circumstances almost as dramatic.