Some fifteen feet above the prairie, just far enough to the right of the automobile so that the left-hand wings cleared the car safely, Matt struck into a horizontal course.
He had not had a good look at the man in the car, as yet, although both the man and the girl were watching his movements with the utmost curiosity.
"Hello!" called Matt, still keeping his eyes ahead and holding his mind to the work of attending to the air ship.
There was no answer, or, if there was, Matt did not hear it.
"Are you acquainted with the country around here?" Matt went on.
"A little," came the response from the man.
"Could you tell me where Harry Traquair used to live?"
"You'll have to bear off to the right if you go there. The Traquair homestead is twenty miles from——"
Something in the voice drew Matt's eyes quickly to the man.
"Murgatroyd!" cried the young motorist. "Great spark plugs!"