Trueman and Chub, sitting in the No. 13 and gloomily awaiting the word to come forward for the start, nearly jumped from their seats.
"Matt!" gasped Trueman.
His face cleared as if by magic. There was no time for explanations—no time for anything but to attend to the business immediately in hand.
"Hooray!" cried Chub. "How are you, pard?"
Matt stopped and stared as he got into the gear Trueman was throwing at him.
"Chub!" he exclaimed. "Well, this is a surprise! I've been having a lot of surprises lately."
"We've found out all about what happened," said Trueman. "Slocum doped you. He tried to get away but was caught and has made a confession. On the basis of that confession a warrant is out for Sercomb, and he will be arrested and taken from his car before he starts."
Matt's eyes drifted through the parked automobiles until they rested on the driver of No. 19. Through his goggles the driver was staring at Matt. It was Sercomb, and Motor Matt's appearance evidently astounded him.
"Don't arrest him, Mr. Trueman, until the race is over," said Matt.
"But——"