"You've got a cut on your face. How do you account for that if, as you say, you were struck from behind?"
"The blow I received threw me forward against a wagon wheel. The tire cut my cheek. I dropped flat, and didn't know a thing. When I came to myself, of course, the money was gone."
"Here's a pretty kettle of fish, and no mistake!" fumed Burton. "How much money did you have, Andy?"
"A little over eighteen hundred dollars."
"Eighteen hundred gone to pot! By Jupiter, I won't stand for that. Can't you think of some clue, Andy? Pull your wits together. It isn't possible that a hold-up like that could take place in broad day without leaving some clue behind. Think, man!"
"Maybe that new Dutch boy could give you a clue," replied Carter. "He's a friend of Motor Matt's, isn't he?"
"He's a pard of Matt's," said Burton, casting a significant look at the king of the motor boys. "What makes you think he might give us a clue? Don't hang fire, Andy! Every minute we delay here is only that much time lost. Go on—and speak quick."
"I had just left the ticket wagon," pursued Carter, trying to talk hurriedly, "when the Dutchman stepped up to me. He wanted a word in private, as he said, and I told him he'd have to wait until some other time. He said he couldn't wait, and that what he had to tell me was important. I couldn't get away from him, and I agreed to listen to what he had to say providing he didn't delay me more than two or three minutes. With that, he led me around back of the "circus top" and in between two canvas wagons. That's when I got struck from behind."
Motor Matt listened to this in blank amazement. Boss Burton swore under his breath.
"It's a cinch the Dutchman had a hand in the robbery," the showman declared. "He lured Andy in between the wagons, and it was there that some of the Dutchman's confederates knocked Andy down and lifted the bags. If we can lay hands on this Carl, we'll have one of the thieves."