"Den," growled Carl, "I look like vat it iss." He threw off his coat and cap, pulled down his red vest, and flung himself into a chair. "I haf hat more shcraps as vone, Matt, und dot's all aboudt it. Py shiminy, I peen so madt I don'd can see srtraight," and he went on to rehearse his experiences to the wondering Matt.
"Sounds like a pipe-dream," commented Matt, when his chum had finished. "Instead of being in peaceful, law-abiding Denver, you'd think we had struck a mining-camp. Who was the fellow who met you at the station?"
"He say dot his name vas Higgins, aber I bed you dot don'd vas it, any more as my name vas Dunder. 'You peen Modor Matt's bard,' he say, like dot, making some friendliness mit me, 'und I got somet'ing to tell vat Modor Matt shouldt hear. You valk mit me,' he say, 'und I tell you, und you tell Matt.' Vell, I pelieve vat I hear, und he shteers me py der alley. Ach, it vas some put-oop chobs all der vay t'roo, you bed my life."
"You didn't recognize Higgins as being any one else?"
"I reckognize him as being some plackguards, all righdt!"
"I mean, you'd have known him for Ralph Sercomb, Balt Finn, Joe Mings, or Harry Packard if he had been one of them?"
"Sure; aber he don'd vas dot. He vas some odder fellers."
"All those chaps were mixed up in the trouble we had down near Lamy, in New Mexico, while we were helping Dick Ferral. They're the only Denver motor-racers I know who would have it in for me."[B]
[B] See No. 7 of the Motor Stories, "Motor Matt's Clue; or, The Phantom Auto."