“I guess you know your business. Who’s the other young chap?”
“He’s the lunatic’s brother.”
“I see.”
“You needn’t say anything about this, driver. The family wouldn’t like to have it known. You’ve been put to a little extra trouble, and here’s a ten to make up for it.”
“That’s han’some, an’ I’m obliged to you.”
It can be imagined, perhaps, what Matt’s feelings were as he listened to this. He tried frantically to burst the cords that secured his arms, but the tying had been too securely done. He made an attempt, too, to call out and inform the driver of the taxicab that the tale he was listening to was false, but the hand over his face pressed the cloth more firmly down upon his lips.
Resigning himself to the situation, Matt listened while the purr of a motor came to his ears and died away in the direction of New York. A friend who might have saved him was gone, and Matt was completely at the mercy of his captors.
Some one came through the bushes; there were two of them, it seemed, and they talked as they approached.
“I was up in the air when I heard Motor Matt say he was to stop at Rye,” said the voice that had talked with the taxi driver. “What was the matter, Pearl?”
It was the girl who answered, and she told briefly how the driver had fallen from the seat of the taxicab, how Matt had discovered her disguise, and how his suspicions had been aroused.