"How was he dressed?" demanded Matt. "Quick—tell me as much as you can about him."
"Slouch hat, gray sweater, dark corduroy trousers; slangy, devil-may-care sort of chap. Not you, in that way, by a jugful."
"And he left here——"
"Twenty minutes ago."
Matt whirled and dashed from the room. At the foot of the stairs he found the excited landlady.
"Have you a telephone in the house?" he asked.
"This way," answered Mrs. Thomas, appreciating the fact that something important was urging Matt on and that it was a time for action and not words.
The telephone was in the rear hall and Matt had soon rung up the police department, given a description of the youth, and of Jurgens, Whistler, and Bangs, and told as much of what had happened as it was necessary for the officers to know in order to make a quick and effective search. In a few minutes he was back in Townsend's room.
"The police," said Matt, "will get right to work; and as soon as I am through talking here I will get to work myself. Don't be discouraged, Mr. Townsend. That young fellow may have got the diamonds, but he'll find it hard to get away with them."
"I don't know," murmured Townsend, tossing his hands, "but it seems to me as though everything connected with that Man from Cape Town and his iron chest is fated to make me trouble. Jurgens and Whistler must be back of this!"