CHAPTER XI. UNCLE TOM AGAIN.

Why hadn’t McGlory and Levitt gone to the city with Colonel Billings?

This is the mental question Matt put to himself, and he was at a loss for a logical answer.

If McGlory and Levitt were hand and glove with the colonel in working out his nefarious scheme, then there was no reason in the world why they should not be traveling together--unless the big touring car used by the colonel had been loaded to its capacity. This did not seem possible.

Nor could it be that Levitt and McGlory were taking the runabout to get it out of Matt’s way. They didn’t want to use the car, and they had asked Kelly for another.

Matt, with his curiosity still unsatisfied, was on the point of rolling back to his cot, when some one else appeared in the doorway. Hope leaped within him when he recognized Uncle Tom.

Uncle Tom! Matt had forgotten all about the old negro.

“Marse Kelly, sah,” piped Uncle Tom, “where is yo’?”

“Here,” answered Kelly, coming forward. “What do you want?”

“Marse Partington, whut jess come in on his car, wants tuh speak wif yo’ er minit, Marse Kelly. He done sont me tuh fotch yuh.”

“What does he want?”

“He didn’t say, suh. He jess say, ‘Tom, yo’ lazy niggah, run tuh de garage an’ tell Kelly Ah wants tuh see him right off.’ Dat’s whut he say, an’ ev’rybody knows Ah’s de hardest wo’kin’ man about de place. Lazy! Ah ain’t so spry as I uster be, but, by golly, Ah’s----”

“Where is Mr. Partington, Tom?” interrupted Kelly.

“Jess sta’tin’ fo’ de golf links, suh.”

Kelly started, and Uncle Tom started with him. Matt’s heart sank. If he could only have attracted the old negro’s attention there would have been some one to help him in making an escape.

While Matt lay on the floor, again furiously working at the ropes, Uncle Tom slipped stealthily back into the garage. His old rheumatic legs carried him with unusual rapidity out of sight toward the rear of the room, and Matt could hear him, a moment later, clambering up the stairs.

Brave old Uncle Tom! He knew of Matt’s plight, and was coming to help him.

The door of the bedroom was unlocked, and the darky came hurriedly into the room. He was shaking with excitement, and lost not a moment hurrying to Matt’s side.

“Marse Kelly would kill me daid ef he knew whut Ah was doin’,” muttered the old negro. “We’s got tuh hurry, Marse Matt. Marse Partington didn’t want Marse Kelly, en dar’s gwine ter be ructions when Kelly gits back.”

With trembling fingers he plucked away the gag.

“Don’t be scared, Uncle Tom,” said Matt reassuringly. “Just get my hands loose and I’ll take care of Kelly if he tries to interfere with us. I’ll look after you.”

“Ah’s done lost mah job, Motah Matt,” quavered Uncle Tom, as he worked at the rope around Matt’s wrists. “Ah’s done got tuh git away f’om dis club place er dat ’ar Kelly will prove de def ob me.”

“You can go away with me,” said Matt.

“But dey all owes me fo’ dollahs fo’ wo’k!”

“I’ll pay you five times that, Uncle Tom, for what you’re doing.”

“Golly!” and the old negro’s courage seemed to return; “five times fo’ is fifty. Whatum Ah gwine tuh do wif fifty dollahs? Ah won’t hab tuh wo’k no mo’ fo’ six mont’s.”

Uncle Tom’s multiplication was of a weird variety, but Matt did not correct his mistake.

Finally the knots were loosened so that Matt could slip his hands from the encompassing coils, and he was but a minute more in freeing his feet.

“Now, then, Uncle Tom,” cried he, “this way--as fast as you can come!”

He sprang to the door, Uncle Tom lurching after him.

“Doan’ yo’ git too fur away, Marse Matt,” pleaded the negro. “Ef dat Kelly meets me alone by mahse’f, Ah’s gwine ter be a daid niggah. Stay by me.”

Matt lessened his pace so that Uncle Tom could follow him closely out of the room and down the stairs. They started to leave by the front of the garage, but, as ill luck would have it, Kelly, red and wrathful, leaped through the door directly in front of Matt.

“Fo’ de lan’ sakes!” wailed Uncle Tom, staggering limply back against the wall.

“Clear out by the rear door, Uncle Tom!” shouted Matt, picking up a heavy wrench from the floor.

Uncle Tom scrambled for the rear of the garage at a remarkable rate of speed.

Kelly swore.

“So this was that nigger’s game, was it?” he growled. “I knew something was up when I found Partington, and he said he hadn’t sent fer me! I’ll skin that black villain alive!”

“You’ll deal with me first, Kelly,” said Matt.

“Oh, you!” grunted Kelly. “Git back upstairs. It won’t take more’n a minute to wind up your clock!”

The garage man drew a revolver. That he happened to have the weapon spoke volumes for the responsibility he felt as the jailer for Motor Matt.

“Put up that revolver!” ordered Matt sternly.

“Here’s the way I put it up,” answered Kelly, lifting the weapon and pointing it full at Matt. “Up them stairs with ye, an’ no more ifs nor ands about it.”

“Look here, Kelly,” expostulated Matt, “you’re getting yourself into mighty deep water, and----”

Matt was talking for a purpose--and the purpose was to give him an opportunity to use the wrench. Suddenly he found his chance, and the heavy instrument shot forward and struck Kelly on the wrist of his lifted arm. A cry of pain escaped the man, and he reeled back, dropping the revolver.

Matt tried to spring past him, but Kelly, writhing with pain though he was, pulled himself together and struck out viciously with his left fist. Matt dodged quickly and evaded the blow. The next instant he had used his right fist with terrific force, hurling Kelly out of his way and depositing him on the floor in a heap.

How long Kelly sat on the floor, piecing together his scattered train of thought, he did not know; but when his faculties returned to him, Matt was gone.

Kelly, muttering to himself and with both hands groping about his bruised forehead, staggered to the door and looked away in the direction of the road.

There was no one to be seen. Greatly shaken, Kelly stumbled back to a chair near a workbench and deposited himself in it.

“Felt like a batterin’-ram,” mumbled Kelly. “If I had been kicked by a mule it wouldn’t have knocked me out more’n what it did. Who’d have thought that lad had so much ginger in him? Whisht, now, while I think what’s to be done.”

Matt King’s escape, Kelly knew, ought to be communicated to Levitt, in some way, but how was it to be done? Levitt was between the clubhouse and New York in an automobile.

Ah, Kelly had it! He would call up Krug’s and tell some one there to lay for Levitt and bring him to the telephone.

Kelly, alert and eager to undo some of the damage that had been caused the plans of Levitt by Matt’s escape, hurried to the phone in the rear of the garage, and was soon connected with Krug’s.

“Any one there who knows Hannibal J. Levitt?” he asked.

“I’ll find out,” answered a voice from the other end of the wire.

“Well, hurry up!” implored Kelly. “I’m in a tearing rush.”

In about a minute--an hour it seemed to the impatient Kelly--another voice floated back along the wire.

“I know Mr. Levitt,” said the voice. “He was here this morning, but he’s not here now.”

“Sure he’s not there?” responded Kelly. “This is the garage at the Malvern Country Club--get that? Levitt left here in a runabout an hour ago, bound for New York. He ought to pass your place in a little while. Lay for him. If you can, get him to the phone and have him call up Kelly--Kelly at the Malvern Country Club garage, understand--it will be worth a fiver to Levitt. Have somebody watch for the runabout an’ flag Levitt. Will you?”

“Yes.”

Kelly, highly pleased with himself, hung up the receiver. Then he waited--waited an hour, two hours, three hours--waited until nightfall, till 7 o’clock, 8 o’clock, 9 o’clock came, but no call arrived from Krug’s.

The reason was that Levitt did not pass Krug’s Corner. It was the only route from the Malvern Country Club to New York--but, nevertheless, Levitt did not pass.

The white runabout passed, however, and it had two passengers.