"That--that chap is a dead ringer for Motor Matt!" gasped Bangs, pointing to the youth.
"A dead ringer for him?" echoed Whistler. "Why, Bangs, he _is_ Motor Matt."
"That's what I thought when you rushed away with him," continued Bangs, "but you hadn't been gone three minutes when Motor Matt showed up on the levee and the officer tried to arrest him."
Jurgens and Whistler seemed stupefied. They stared at each other, then at Bangs, and then at the grinning face of Dashington.
"If I could see as much as two bones in this, gents," remarked the youth, "I'd be tickled out of my kicks. This Motor Matt must be a beaut if he looks like yours truly. What's in the letter? Can't we use it some way and get a strangle hold on a basket of rocks? I've got a horrible financial stringency staring me in the face, and I'm ripe for anything."
An idea, just then, laid hold of Jurgens.
"By George!" he exclaimed. "Fate must have framed up this whole play for our especial benefit. Get together, all of you, and listen to me! I've got a scheme, and it's a world beater."
Carl and Dick, on the levee, gazed dumfounded at the points in the press of vehicles where the carriage had disappeared, and then faced the other way and peered at the chagrined policeman, the blackened and smoking cotton bale, and the loungers who were crowding about the officer. The roustabouts had all gone back to their work.
"Pinch me, vonce!" begged Carl. "I bed you I vas ashleep, Tick."
"Blow me tight!" murmured Dick hazedly. "I feel as though I'd had a nightmare myself. I never thought it was in Matt to act like that, even if he _was_ playing a part. I hate to think hard things about my old raggie, Motor Matt, but----"
"Don'd!" cut in Carl. "Vait und gif him a chance to oxblain. He vill come pack und tell us somet'ing----"
"Hello, there, you fellows! Where have you been?"
As this familiar voice rang out, Carl and Dick whirled in a panic. Motor Matt, in leather cap and jacket, trim and neat as ever, was hastening toward them across the levee.
Dick staggered and threw a hand to his head. Carl, likewise, was at a loss for words. Here was Motor Matt, running toward them across the levee, when, by rights, he should have been a good way off in a carriage, getting clear of a pot of trouble which he had set a-boiling.