A PLAN THAT FAILED.

Motor Matt was as profoundly surprised at the way matters were falling out as were McGlory and Lorry. As McGlory had said, fate seemed to have selected Matt for the particular work of recovering Lorry's money.

"This is luck!" whispered Lorry. "If you can get back that money for me, Motor Matt, I'll give you five dollars."

"Don't strain yourself, George," grinned McGlory.

"I will," declared Lorry. "But you've got to get it back to-night. There's a boat for the Sandwich Islands to-morrow, and that's the one I was planning to take."

"You're not going to emigrate, George," asserted McGlory. "We need you right here in the United States for a spell yet."

Matt gave the cowboy a swift and expressive look.

"I think, Joe," said he, "that Lorry has been dictated to too much. Leave him alone and let him make his plans."

McGlory stared incredulously.

"That's the talk," expanded Lorry, puffing up like an angry tomtit. "I'd been bossed altogether more than was right or necessary. From this on I'm my own master. You've got a little sense, Motor Matt. I give you credit for that, anyhow."

"Thanks," answered Matt, with an irony so slight Lorry let it get past him. "Will you stay right here in this hotel while Joe and I are getting the money for you?"

"Sure, I will! But I want it to-night."

"We'll get it as quick as we can. Red-whiskers, otherwise John Smith, may not have it about him, so it may be some time before we can lay hands on it."

Lorry's face fell at this.

"You'll get it, though, won't you? You've got to get it. Do that for me and I'll give you five dollars apiece."

"Fine!" rumbled McGlory, with a wink at Matt. "If George's generosity ever strikes in it'll bother him worse than the measles. How did Red-whiskers know we were here, pard?"

"Probably he traced us through the Sprite," answered Matt. "He found the launch at the foot of Clay Street, and Ping must have heard us tell the cab driver to drive us to the Bixler House. Ping, of course, told the fellow."

"And he sent the boy with a note, knowing it wasn't healthy to come himself!" crowed McGlory, slapping his hands. "The old rooster didn't know how we had tangled up with George—Ping didn't tell him that."

"We haven't much time to work our plan, Joe," said Matt, starting for the door. "You'll stay right here Lorry, until you hear from us?"

"Of course," answered Lorry. "All I want is that money. Get it so I can sail for Honolulu to-morrow."

"We'll do the best we can," replied Matt, as he and McGlory left the room and the hotel.

"You've got me guessing good and plenty, pard," said the cowboy, while he and Matt hurried toward the water front and the foot of Clay Street. "It wouldn't be right to let George pull out for furrin parts."

"Of course not!" answered Matt.

"But you told him——"

"That he had been dictated to too much. You see, Joe, I wanted to reassure him, as much as I could, so he'd be sure and stay at the hotel. After we recover the money we can do with that cousin of yours whatever we think best."

"That's you! Shucks! Now, I reckon, you understand how much tact I've got. But George—say, ain't he the limit? But he'll not be absent a whole lot at the wind-up, I can promise you that. I'm in this to help Uncle Dan and Aunt Mollie, and you can bet your moccasins that what George wants or don't want won't cut much of a figure in the final scramble. But, tell me: Do things always come your way, like this? As this business opens up more and more, the strangeness of it makes my skin get up and walk over me with cold feet."

"Well," laughed Matt, "just so you don't get 'cold feet' yourself."

McGlory chuckled.

"I come from a country," said he, "where it's too hot for chilblains. But what's the plan?"

"We'll get a policeman," answered Matt, "and have him keep in the background while we're talking with Red-whiskers. As soon as we're sure he's the man we want, we'll signal for the officer to come forward and take him in tow."

"Keno! We'll let the law juggle with Red-whiskers. But wouldn't it have been better to let the law get in its work at Turk Bremer's? There'd be plenty of light there so we could see what's doing."

"Those dives on the 'Front' are dangerous places, Joe, and it's well for us to leave them alone. As it is, we'd better walk in the middle of the road when we get to Clay Street."

"Surely, surely. I reckon your head's as level as they make 'em. How am I for a pard, anyhow?"

"A One," said Matt heartily.

"Shake!" cried McGlory, and they stopped to seal their friendship with a cordial grip.

When close to the "Front" they encountered a policeman and told him as much as necessary in order to get him to lend a helping hand.

"If we're going to make an arrest," demurred the officer, "we ought to have a warrant."

"There's no time for that, officer," said Matt.

"Well, let me see that note this chap you call Red-whiskers sent by the boy."

Matt passed it over, and the policemen withdrew into the glare of a street lamp to read it.

"This here is pretty good evidence that you're handin' me a straight story," said the officer, returning the note, "but I'm a gopher if I'd help you on such a showing if it wasn't that you're Motor Matt. Your picture was in the papers"—here he gave Matt a swift sizing—"and there's no doubt but you're the fellow. Heave ahead, and don't pay any attention to me. When I'm needed just yell 'Come on!' and I'll be in the game before you can say scat."

Matt and McGlory continued on, taking the middle of the street until they reached the "Front." Here, as they passed along the docks with their masses of shipping, they kept a sharp watch for the man they were seeking. For some distance they followed the docks without success, passing the dozing form of Ping Pong curled up at the foot of the post to which the Sprite was moored. Ping did not see them, and they did not let him know they were passing.

"The Chink stacks up pretty well for a heathen," commented McGlory; "and he's bound to go on your pay roll, Matt, whether you want him or not. If he was any——"

"Hist!" warned Matt, his quick eye observing a dark figure emerging from the shadows on the right.

The form came close and halted in front of the two boys, not far from a flickering light. It was the form of a tall man, in a slouch hat and dark, respectable clothes. He had a beaklike nose and red whiskers, but it was too dark for the boys to see the mole mentioned by Lorry. However, there was no doubt about his being the man.

"Motor Matt?" inquired the stranger briefly.

"Yes," replied Matt.

"Well, I'm the man that wants the trunk check. The railroad people won't let me have the trunk unless I pass over that brass tag. Mighty accommodatin' set, I must say."

"Is your name John Smith?"

"Didn't I put that to the note?" demanded the other. "What's that got to do with it, anyhow?"

"Not much, but I'd like to have you tell me where Ross and Kinky are, and——"

The fellow muttered an oath and jumped back. His hand, at the same instant, darted toward his hip pocket.

Matt had mentioned "Ross" and "Kinky" merely to make assurance doubly sure. The man's actions proved that he was one of the three thieves, and that he had come prepared for anything that might develop to his disadvantage.

McGlory, watching Red-whiskers like a hawk, jumped for him and grabbed the hand that was reaching for his hip. Matt likewise jumped forward.

"Come on!" he cried to the officer.

A tramp of running feet was heard—but the sounds came from two directions, from behind the red-whiskered man and also back of Matt and McGlory.

Another moment and Matt saw two figures leaping out of the heavy shadow. One of them came on toward the place where the boys were struggling with Red-whiskers and the other turned aside and set upon the policeman. Matt heard a scuffle, a sound of angry voices, and then a thump as of a savage blow.

Before he could draw a full breath, a heavy fist had struck him in the shoulder and thrown him reeling backward.

"It's a fall!" panted a husky voice. "Cut for it, on the double quick. The launch—it's the only thing for us."

Three figures leaped away along the docks. They were the three men, Red-whiskers, Kinky, and Ross—for, in Matt's mind, it was clear that the two latter had been in hiding, waiting to help their pal if he needed it.

The suggestion about the launch aroused Matt's fears for the Sprite. He started toward the place where the launch was moored, but halted when he saw the three men vanishing in another direction.