CHAPTER III. A TWISTED SKEIN.

As though a taxicab, minus its driver and running amuck into a stone wall, was not enough hard luck to throw across the path of Motor Matt, he had also to deal with a young woman masquerading in man’s attire. But for the mishap to the taxicab, Matt would probably never have discovered that the supposed youth was other than “he” seemed.

There were a number of details that perplexed our young friend just then, and among them--and not the least--was the strange disappearance of the driver of the machine. This problem, however, would have to wait. Matt felt that the young woman should claim his first attention.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, feeling more concern on that point than he would have done had his companion been of the other sex.

“No,” answered the girl, her face reddening with mortification.

Matt started to help her up, but she regained her feet without his aid and picked up the tin box and the hat.

“I suppose, Miss Granger,” said he, “that I should have known, from the way those yellow tresses were smoothed upward at the back of your head, that--that you were not what you were trying to appear; but, of course, I wasn’t looking for any such deception as this.”

Tears sprang to the girl’s eyes.

“I--I don’t know what you will think of me,” she murmured. “You see, a man has so much better chance for getting on in the world that I--I have been obliged to play this--this rôle in--in self-defense.”

“You have played the rôle for some time?”

“For--for a year, now.”

“You can’t expect me to believe that, Miss Granger,” said Matt calmly.

“Why not?” she flashed.

“Well,” he answered, “you would have cut off those long locks if you had made a business of playing such a part for a year. That would have been the reasonable thing to do, and I am sure you would have done it.”

“Do you doubt my word?” she asked defiantly.

“I don’t want to doubt your word, Miss Granger, but I have to take matters as I find them. You’re not a messenger for Random & Griggs, either, are you?”

She did not reply.

“And all this about my chum, Joe McGlory, going into the country and wanting me to join him, isn’t true, is it?”

“Yes, it’s true,” she declared desperately. “You’ll have to go with me if you want to find Mr. McGlory.”

“Did McGlory go into the country in a touring car with Mr. Random?”

This was another question which the girl did not see fit to answer.

“You’re not frank with me,” continued Matt, “and how can you expect me to have any confidence in you? Have you any idea what became of the driver of the taxicab?”

“No,” she replied.

“I’m going back down the road to look for him. While I’m gone, Miss Granger, you do a little good, hard thinking. I guess you’ll make up your mind that it’s best to be perfectly frank with me.”

Without saying anything further, Matt turned away and started back along the road. He was caught in a twisted skein of events, and was the more perturbed because he could not think of any possible object the girl might have in trying to deceive him.

But, whatever plot was afoot, Matt was positive that the accident to the taxicab had nothing whatever to do with it. That had been something outside the girl’s calculations, and an investigation might lead to results.

The driver had not been long off the seat of the taxicab when the machine collided with the wall. This was self-evident, for the machine could not have proceeded any great distance without a controlling hand on the steering wheel.

Less than a hundred feet from the spot where the accident had happened, Matt found the driver sitting up at the edge of some bushes by the roadside. He was covered with dust, and was holding his hat in his hands. There was a vacant stare in his eyes as he watched Matt approach.

“What’s the matter with you?” queried Matt.

The driver acted as though he did not understand. He began turning the hat around and around in his hands and peering into the crown in the abstracted fashion of one who is struggling with a hard mental problem.

A little way back, Matt remembered that they had passed a road house. If he could get the driver to the road house, perhaps the people there could do something for him.

“Come,” said he, catching the man by the arm and trying to lift him. “You are sick, and I’ll help you to a place where they can look after you.”

Mechanically the driver put his hat on his head and got to his feet. For a moment he stood still, staring at Matt speculatively, as though trying to guess who he was and where he had come from; then, suddenly, he whirled and broke from Matt’s grasp, running farther back into the bushes.

In half a dozen leaps Matt was upon him again, and had caught him firmly by the collar.

“I’m a friend of yours,” he said soothingly, “and I want to take you to a place where you can be cared for. You’re not right in your head.”

“Who are you?” mumbled the driver.

“Can’t you remember me? I was in your taxicab; you picked me up at the Flatiron Building.”

“What taxicab?” the man asked, drawing one hand across his forehead.

“Yours.”

The man’s blank look slowly yielded to a glimmering of reason.

“Oh, yes,” he muttered, “I--I remember. The young chap hired me at Herald Square. I was to take him to the Flatiron Building, pick up another fare, and then go along the Pelham Road as far as Rye. I guess I’ve got that straight.”

“Sure it was at Herald Square that the young fellow hired you?”

“Yes, I’m positive of it.”

The driver was getting back his wits by swift degrees.

“What was the matter with you?” asked Matt.

“Sort of a fit. I used to have ’em a whole lot, but this is the first that’s come on me for purty nigh six months. No matter what I’m doin’, I jest drop an’ don’t know a thing for a minute or two; then, after I come out of it, I’m gen’rally a little while piecin’ things together.”

“You shouldn’t be driving a taxicab, if you’re subject to such spells.”

“Thought I’d got over ’em. I won’t have another, now, for two or three weeks, anyway. Didn’t you see me when I tumbled from the seat?”

“No.”

“That’s blamed queer! Didn’t you hear me, either?”

“No.”

“How did you find out I was gone from up front?”

“The taxi jumped into a stone wall,” answered Matt dryly, “and threw us out. If you’ll step out of this patch of brush you can see the machine.”

“Was it damaged much?” asked the man anxiously.

“It doesn’t seem to be.”

“Think I can tinker it up so as to take you and that other young chap on to Rye?”

“That’s where you’re to take us, is it?”

“Yes.”

“And the young fellow hired you at Herald Square?”

“Say, my brain’s as clear as yours, now. I know jest what I’m sayin’. I was hired at Herald Square to take him to the Flatiron Buildin’, and then to pick you----”

“All right,” cut in Matt. “Do you know who the young fellow is?”

“Don’t know him from Adam. Never saw him before.”

“After you get to Rye, what----”

The drumming of a motor car, traveling swiftly, was heard at that moment. The car was close and, through the bushes, Matt caught a glimpse of its fleeting red body as it plunged past.

Thinking that the car, which seemed to be big and powerful, might be used for towing the taxicab--in case it was very seriously damaged--to the nearest garage, Matt jumped for the road.

By the time he had gained the road, however, the touring car was abreast of the taxicab and forging straight onward at a tremendous clip. Matt’s intention of hailing the machine was lost in a spasm of astonishment the moment he had caught sight of the single passenger in the tonneau. There was one man in front with the driver, but the passenger in the tonneau--there could be no doubt about it--was Joe McGlory!

By the time Matt had recovered full possession of his senses, the touring car was out of sight.