That, no doubt, was to prevent him from interfering with the colonel’s plans in New York.
The colonel had won McGlory over, and there would be no interference from him. But perhaps, even without that “private report,” Matt could do something with the syndicate. It might be that he could save the cowboy in spite of himself.
Matt had noticed, while he and the cowboy were in the clubhouse talking with the colonel, that the trickster from Arizona had a powerful influence over McGlory. The colonel had made good use of that influence, and had succeeded in turning the cowboy against his best friend.
The people who had brought the car into the garage had left. A mumble of talk had floated up through the stovepipe hole, and the prisoner was able to keep the general run of events that took place in the garage.
He could hear Kelly tinkering with the car that had just arrived. In the midst of the sounds he heard footfalls, and then a voice, lifted high:
“Hello! Where’s the man that runs this place?”
That was the colonel. Angry blood leaped in Matt’s veins as he listened.
“Here, sir,” responded Kelly.
“Is that big touring car of Griggs’ in shape for the road?”
“Fit as a fiddle, sir, an’ full up with oil and gasoline.”