He awoke without being roused, and sat up on the edge of the couch. Daylight was just glimmering through the trees. McGlory, sprawled out on the carpet, with the clawhammer coat rolled into a pillow, was slumbering soundly.
Quietly Matt got up and went to the window, where the cowboy had made his several attempts the night before.
The window looked off toward the stables. To the right of the house was a vine-covered pergola, and between the stables and the pergola ran the graveled drive, leading around the house from the front gate. What interested Matt particularly, however, was a red touring car in the drive, close to the pergola.
Undoubtedly it was the same car that had brought McGlory and Tibbits from New York. Tibbits and Dimmock, on their return to the city, had used the other car—the one driven by Sanders.
The presence of that car spelled possibilities for the motor boys, if——
Matt’s gaze dropped to the side of the house. A man was sitting under the two library windows, smoking a pipe. Across his knees rested a revolver.
Before the motor boys could avail themselves of the red touring car they would have to eliminate the guard. How could that be accomplished?
Matt turned from the window, revolving the problem in his mind. He could think of no method of escape short of boldly leaping from the window and trusting to luck—and the revolver made such an attempt too risky. A plan, which he had thought of vaguely during the night, recurred to him. This idea had the servant for its nucleus, and promised little better than a sortie by the window.
McGlory, hearing his chum moving around the room, stirred and sat up on the floor.
“What are you prowling around for, Matt?” he asked, yawning sleepily.