"I am——" She paused, and a frightened look came into her wide, dark eyes. For the first time Matt noticed that, in spite of her smile, she seemed to be ill at ease. "I am Miss Harris," she finally went on, "Miss Sadie Harris, a niece of your friend, Mr. Townsend. Perhaps you have heard my uncle speak of me?"
The girl's English was good, so Matt argued that she was not a Spaniard after all.
"No," he answered, "I did not know that Mr. Townsend had a niece."
"That's strange," murmured the girl, "for I was always a favorite of his. As soon as I learned that he was sick I came right on to New Orleans. When I arrived here, yesterday, I found my uncle nearly well again. All this, though, has nothing to do with my errand. Here are three tickets to British Honduras, good on the steamer Santa Maria, which sails at ten, this morning. There is not much time, Motor Matt, and it is my uncle's wish that you go on that boat."
To say that Matt was "stumped" would hardly do justice to his feelings.
"British Honduras?" he echoed.
"Yes; the boat sails from the Fruit Company's dock."
"But why am I and my friends to go to British Honduras?"
"I don't know. My uncle gave me the tickets and asked me to hand them to you and tell you to expect word from him at Belize. He said the work was very important, and that you must not say a word about it to anybody."