A NEW TWIST—BY GEORGE.

"Speak to me about that!" gulped McGlory, as he, and Matt and Ping climbed out of the Sprite to the top of the wharf. "Little Slant-eyes has starred himself. But how he ever did it stumps me."

"How did you do it, Ping?" asked Matt, leaning against the post to which he had secured the launch and peering across the water to see if there was any sign of the San Bruno in the gloom.

"By jee-clickets," bubbled Ping, "me allee same big high China boy. Fightee like Sam Hill, workee allee same. Whoosh!"

"And that's the way he did it," commented McGlory.

"My no savvy," admitted Ping. "Plenty quick 'Melican man takee boat, plenty quick him dlop ovelbo'd, plenty quick my come back to othel boatee. No savvy ally mo."

"You did well, anyhow," said Matt.

"Awri'. My workee fo' Motol Matt allee time."

"What now, pard?" asked McGlory. "We got out of that bunch of excitement with ground to spare, but why do we tie up here? Why don't we keep right on to 'Frisco? George is going to hand us five apiece, you know," he added, with a laugh, "providing we fork over this ten thousand before the steamer sails for Honolulu."

"George will have to wait while we send some officers out to that house boat," said Matt.

"You haven't an idea those three tinhorns will have the nerve to go back to the house boat, have you?"

"They may, to pick up their traps. That makes it necessary for us to act quickly, if we are to accomplish anything. Come on, and we'll hunt up police headquarters."

Ping hesitated.

"What's the matter with you, chink?" asked McGlory. "Ain't you coming with us?"

"No can do," replied Ping. "My no leavee boat. Mebbyso my makee sleep in boat, huh? Plenty fine place. My no lettee 'Melican man lun away with him some mo'."

"Stay here if you want to, Ping," answered Matt.

"That's the heathen of it," grunted McGlory. "He'd rather bunk in the bottom of the Sprite, with his legs doubled over the thwarts, than to rest on a good mattress like a Christian."

"Here's one Christian that's ready to rest," said Matt.

"And here's another," added McGlory. "Listen. Do you recollect that we haven't had a feed since we took that quick-order lunch at noon?"

"Yes."

"Well, no wonder we're hungry and fagged. Let's make rush work of this police business, and then tumble into our blankets."

It was an hour before they got a detail of officers started in a launch for the house boat, and incidentally looking for the San Bruno; and half an hour longer before they dropped into bed and went to sleep.

They awoke late next morning, which was to be expected, considering the hour at which they retired, and their exhausted condition; and they would not have got up when they did had a smart summons not been pounded on their door.

"Speak to me about this," snorted McGlory, sitting up and yawning. "Who's got the nerve to hammer on that door before we've done anything but go to bed and turn over?"

"It's been several hours since we went to bed, Joe," laughed Matt, pointing to the sunlight streaming through the window. "The sun looks to be nearly noon-high. Who's there?" he called, as the knocking at the door went on.

"Officer from headquarters," came the response from the hall.

"Sufferin' horn toads!" exclaimed McGlory, leaping out of bed and hurrying to the door. "Mebby he's come to tell us Big John, Kinky, and Ross have been bagged."

But the officer had no such report to make.

"We found the house boat deserted, when we went out to her last night," he said, coming into the room. "Two men were left aboard of her and the rest of the detail went nosing around the bay looking for the San Bruno."

"Did you find the launch?" asked Matt.

"Yes—tied up at Sausalito. No sign of the three men whom you described; but three passengers took a train from Sausalito, in the small hours of the morning, and it may be that they are the fellows we were after. If they were, then they have made good their escape."

"A nice handful of cold fish you're giving us, officer," said McGlory.

"Can't help it," returned the officer. "We did the best we could."

"Who owns that house boat?" asked Matt.

"A gentleman who lives in Oakland. He rents the Griselda for part of the season when he's not using her himself."

"He rented her to that precious outfit of crooks and tinhorns, did he?" struck in McGlory, scrambling into his clothes. "What sort of a gent is that Oakland man, anyway?"

"He's all right," declared the officer. "We talked with him over the phone, a while ago, and told him to send some one to look after the boat. He said he rented the Griselda to a stranger named Higgins, who paid him eighty dollars in advance for a month's rent."

"Higgins!" muttered McGlory. "That's another label for Big John. Wonder how many names Red-whiskers has got?"

"Well," said Matt, "it's too bad, officer, but, as you say, it can't be helped."

"We've placed your description of the rascals on file," finished the officer, as he turned to leave, "and if they ever show up here, or in 'Frisco, again, they'll be run in."

"Mebby," qualified McGlory. "Tie a string to that remark, officer."

"We'll do the best we can to keep watch for them, anyhow," averred the officer.

Motor Matt and McGlory had a late—a very late—breakfast; then, after Matt had had a good meal put in a paper bag for Ping, the two boys started for the Sprite.

To their surprise, neither Ping nor the Sprite were where they had been left; nor could any inquiries develop their whereabouts.

"It's good-by, Ping," laughed McGlory. "I reckon he made up his mind that he didn't want to work for you any longer, Matt."

"I'm glad of it, Joe, if that's really the case," answered Matt. "I haven't the least notion in the world what I could have found for the Chinaman to do. But I can't think that he's pulled out for good. He seemed too anxious to tie to me to break away so suddenly as that."

"Well, wherever he went he went in the Sprite. We can feel sure that Big John and his pals haven't had anything to do with the chink's disappearance. They're too busy getting themselves out of sight, pard, to bother with any one else."

Matt and McGlory went to the ferry house and caught the next boat for 'Frisco. On the way across the bay Matt gave Ping's breakfast to a little chap who looked as though he needed it.

McGlory carried the satchel with the ten thousand dollars. It had been glued to him ever since he got hands on it aboard the house boat.

By one o'clock the boys were at the hotel inquiring of the frowsy-looking clerk as to whether "Mr. Thompson" was in his room. Both boys thought the inquiry rather needless, but concluded to put it as a mere formality. They were a good deal taken aback, therefore, when the clerk informed them that Mr. Thompson had gone out about nine o'clock and hadn't returned.

"Now what?" muttered McGlory, taking Matt's arm and leading him off into a corner. "We've got George's money, but no George. Do you think, pard, that he raised enough money on something to pay his passage to Honolulu?"

"Certainly not, Joe," answered Matt. "He wouldn't leave town until he had learned more about that ten thousand dollars."

"But he promised to stay here! Still, as for that, he always was a fine hand at making promises. If George isn't here, I don't reckon we're obliged to hang out in this honkatonk. The more I see of it, the more I'm sorry the earthquake didn't give it a few extra shakes and put it out of business. We'll go to some other hotel, and on our way there we'll just step into a telegraph office and shoot a few reassuring words to Uncle Dan."

"We could make them more reassuring, Joe," suggested Matt, "if we waited to find George before sending the telegram."

"I wouldn't bet a whole lot, Matt, that we're going to find him."

"Oh, yes, we are, and perhaps quicker than you think."

As a matter of fact, they found George a good deal sooner than even Matt had any idea they would, for he was on the sidewalk, making for the hotel door, as Matt and McGlory passed out.

Young Lorry was quite a swell-looking boy, togged out in another suit, but there was an air about him that suggested conceit, carelessness of others' feelings, and a haughty confidence in himself that was too plain for a favorable impression.

Lorry was surprised at seeing Matt and McGlory, and, quite naturally, Matt and McGlory were not only surprised, but delighted to come upon the missing youth so soon.

"Howdy, George?" called McGlory. "We've just been asking for you."

"You have—not," retorted Lorry. "You didn't want to see me, and you know it." He turned to a policeman who was standing behind him, and who, up to that moment, had escaped the notice of Matt and the cowboy. "There they are, officer," went on Lorry. "Arrest them."

Matt and McGlory were stunned.

"Arrest us?" queried Matt. "For what?"

"For trying to run away with ten thousand dollars belonging to me," asserted Lorry. "You were to bring it back last night, and you didn't. Arrest them, why don't you, officer? What are you standing there like that for?"

"There are always two sides to a story," said the policeman. "We've heard your side, young man, and now we'll hear the other."

Matt's amazement remained with him, but McGlory's rapidly dispelled.

"A new twist—by George," remarked McGlory dryly. "When you've known him as long as I have, Matt, you'll not be surprised at anything he does. Come back into this hotel with us, officer," the cowboy went on to the policeman, "and we'll tell you all you want to know, and perhaps more. But hang on to that false alarm who was towing you this way. He may try to bolt before we get through."