From off to the left Matt could hear the pounding of a motor as it took up its cycle. After the engine had settled into a steady hum, the crunching of the bushes indicated that a heavy car was being forced through them into the road.
“All right, Dimmock!” called a voice.
“Is the road clear, Sanders?” answered Dimmock.
“There’s not a soul in sight.”
“Then come here and help me. We’ll take this coat from Motor Matt’s head and replace it with a gag—a twisted handkerchief will do. The quicker we can get him into the car, now, the better.”
The next moment the smothering cloth was jerked from Matt’s head and shoulders. He had just time to gulp down a deep breath of air when the twisted handkerchief was forced between his teeth and knotted in place.
He saw a slender, wiry man, soberly but richly dressed, and another, short, thick-set, and wearing a long dust coat and cap.
“Take him by the feet, Sanders,” said the slender man, who, from this, Matt knew to be Dimmock.
Between them Matt was lifted, carried out to the road, and shoved into the tonneau of a touring car, while the girl held the door open. There was a top to the car, and Matt was made to sit on the floor and lean back against the seat.
By every means in his power Matt tried to let his captors know that he wanted to talk with them, but they either could not understand him, or else had no intention of letting him relieve his mind. The girl and Dimmock seated themselves on either side of Matt, and the same coat that had been used in effecting Matt’s capture was dropped over him.