Motor Matt's Quest; or Three Chums in Strange Waters

by Stanley R. Matthews

  CHAPTER IV.

  THE AMERICAN CONSUL.

  "There's a bobby," cried Dick, catching sight of a policeman, "a realLondon bobby, blue-and-white striped cuffs and all. We'll bear down onhim, Matt, and ask the way to the American consul's."

  The policeman was dark-skinned, but kind and obliging for all that.Drawing the boys out into the street, he pointed to a low, whitebuilding with the American flag flying over the door. There were palmsand trees around the building, and a middle-aged man in white duckswas sitting in a canvas chair on the veranda. He was Mr. Hays Jordan,and when the boys told him they were from the submarine _Grampus_, theconsul got up and took them by the hand.

  Matt lost not a moment in telling of the captain's illness, and ofhis desire for a doctor and of comfortable lodging ashore. The consulseemed disappointed by the news.

  "I reckon that puts a stop to the work that brought the _Grampus_here," said the consul.

  "Not at all," replied Matt. "The _Grampus_ is at the service of thegovernment within an hour, if necessary."

  "But who's in charge of the boat?"

  "I am."

  Mr. Hays Jordan looked Matt over, up and down, and started to give anincredulous whistle. But there was something in the youth's bearing,and in the firm, gray eye that caused him to quit whistling.

  "Well!" he exclaimed. "Pretty young to be skipper of a submarine,aren't you?"

  "Belay a bit, sir," spoke up Dick. "He's old for his age, if I do sayit, and Captain Nemo, Jr., is a master hand at taking the sizing of afellow. He selected Motor Matt to engineer this piece of work, and, ifyou keep your weather eye skinned, it won't be long until you rise tothe fact that the captain knew what he was about."

  "The captain ought to have a doctor without loss of time," interposedMatt, impatient because of the time they were losing, "and he must havea place to stay."

  "We'll not send a sick man to the hotel," said Mr. Jordan, "but to aboarding house kept by an American. And we'll also have an Americandoctor to look after him." He slapped his hands. In answer to thesummons a negro appeared from inside the house. "Go over to Dr.Seymour, Turk," said the consul, "and ask him to come here."

  "We might be able to save time," put in Matt, "if my friend went withyour servant and took the doctor directly to the submarine."

  "Fine!" exclaimed the consul, and Dick and the negro hurried away.

  "Sit down, my boy," said the consul, waving his hand toward a chair,"and we'll palaver a little. I don't reckon I ought to say much to youuntil I talk with Captain Nemo, Jr., and make sure everything is rightand proper. Still----"

  "Here are my credentials," said Matt, and handed over the letter whichhe had recently read aloud in the periscope room of the _Grampus_.

  The consul glanced over the letter.

  "I'll take you on that showing, Motor Matt," said he heartily, as hehanded the letter back. "If anything is done for my friend Coleman,it's got to be done with a rush. The dinky little states all around usare able to have a revolution whenever some one happens to think of it.There's one on now, and Captain James Sixty was to help on the fightingby landing a cargo of guns and ammunition. Sixty's work, as I reckonyou may know, was nipped in the bud, and the revolutionists are havinga hard time of it. But they're still active, and about two weeks ago,when Sixty failed to arrive with the war material and they were afraidhe had been captured by the United States authorities, the hot-headedgreasers planned reprisal. That reprisal was about the most foolishthing you ever heard of. They spirited away my friend Coleman; thenthey sent me a letter saying that Coleman would be released wheneverthe United States Government gave up Sixty--and, at that time, Sixtywasn't in the hands of the authorities, at all. He had just simplyfailed to show up with the contraband of war, and the revolutionistsimagined he had been bagged. I communicated with Washington at once,and it was that, I reckon, that gave the State Department a line onSixty."

  "Is Mr. Coleman in any danger?" asked Matt.

  "You never can tell what a lot of firebrands will do. They're boundto hear of Sixty's capture, and of the confiscation of his lawlesscargo. The news will get to them soon, and when that happens Colemanis likely to have trouble. If possible, he must be rescued from therevolutionists ahead of the receipt of this information about Sixtyand the lost guns. It's a tremendously hard piece of work, and onlya submarine boat with an intrepid crew, to my notion, will stand anyshow of success. If a small boat from a United States warship was totry to go to the rescue, the revolutionists would learn she was comingand would immediately take to the jungles of the interior with theircaptive. See what I mean?"

  "Mr. Coleman's captors are somewhere on the sea coast?"

  "Not exactly. They have a rendezvous on the river Izaral, which runsinto the gulf of Amatique, to the south of here. The revolutionistshave tried to make people think that they have Coleman somewhere onthe Rio Dolce, but that would put the whole unlawful game in Britishterritory, and wherever the British flag flies you'll find lawbreakersmighty careful."

  The consul looked around cautiously and then hitched his chair closerto Matt's.

  "I haven't been idle, Motor Matt," he went on, lowering his voice. "Ihave had spies at work, and one of them has reported the exact locationof the revolutionists' camp. Acting as a log-cutter, he came close tothe place. This man will lead you to the exact spot--and, as good luckhas it, he's a pilot and knows the coast."

  "I should think," hazarded Matt, "that the United States governmentcould make a demand on the president of the republic where all thislawless work is going on, and force him to rescue Mr. Coleman."

  The consul laughed.

  "You don't know Central America, my lad," he answered. "It's as hardfor the president of the republic to get at the revolutionists as foranybody else. Meanwhile, Coleman's in danger. We can't wait for a wholelot of useless red-tape proceedings. We've got to strike, and to strikehard and quick. But we've got to do it secretly, quietly--gettingColeman away before the revolutionists know what we're doing.Understand?"

  Matt nodded.

  "We'll not do any fighting if it's possible to avoid it," proceeded theconsul, "for that would merely complicate matters. Besides, what coulda handful of strangers do against a horde of rascally niggers? Softlyis the word. We've got to jump into 'em, and then out again quickerthan scat--and when we come out we've got to have Coleman."

  "Are you going with us, Mr. Jordan?" asked Matt.

  The consul started and gave Matt a bored look.

  "Going with you?" he drawled. "Why not? It isn't often we have anythingexciting, here in Honduras, and I wouldn't miss the chance for a farm.Coleman lives where he never knows what minute is going to be his next,and he's continually guessing as to where the lightning is going tostrike, and when. About all I do is lie around in a hammock, fightmosquitoes, take a feed now and then at Government House, and dropin at an English club here every evening for a rubber at whist. It'sdeadly monotonous, my lad, to a fellow who comes from the land of snapand ginger."

  "I'll be glad to have you along," said Matt. "When had we better start?"

  "This afternoon." The consul picked his solar hat off the railing ofthe veranda and got up. "I'm going over to the boarding house," headded, "to make arrangements for Captain Nemo, Jr. It's just around thecorner and I'll only be gone a few minutes. Make yourself comfortableuntil I return."

  "I'll get along all right," answered Matt.

  Jordan got up, descended the steps, swung away down the street andquickly vanished around a corner.

  The scenery was all new and strange to Matt, and he allowed his eyes towander up and down the street. The houses were white bungalows, someof them surrounded by high white fences, and with tufted palms noddingover their roofs.

  Negro women passed by with baskets on their heads, dark-skinnedlaborers in bell-crowned straw hats slouched up and down, and a groupof tawny soldiers from a West India regiment, wearing smart Zouaveuniforms and turbans, jogged past.

  As soon as Matt had exhausted the sig
hts in his immediate vicinity, helay back in the chair and gave his thoughts to the captain.

  He had always liked Nemo, Jr. The captain had been a good friend toMotor Matt and his chums, and the young motorist hoped in his heartthat his present illness would not take a serious turn.

  While Matt was turning the subject over in his mind, two men camealong the walk and started for the steps leading to the veranda of theconsulate.

  Matt, suddenly lifting his eyes, was surprised to note that one of themen was Cassidy. The other was a white, sandy-whiskered individual in adingy blue coat and cap and much-worn dungaree trousers.

  Both were plainly under the influence of liquor. They came unsteadilyup the steps and Cassidy made a bee-line for Matt.

  Cassidy's weather-beaten face was flushed and there was an angry,unreasoning light in his eyes.

  "I'm next to you, Matt King," growled the mate, posting himself infront of the youth and clinching his big fists. "You've pulled the woolover the old man's eyes in great shape, but you can't fool _me_!"

  Cassidy, when his mind was clear and when he was not under the delusionof a fancied wrong, was a good fellow. He had cared for Captain Nemo,Jr., when he was lying ill in New Orleans, and countless times he hadgiven Matt and his chums proof of his friendship for them. Cassidy wasoff his bearings now, but Matt felt more like arguing with him thanshowing authority.

  "You are not yourself, Cassidy," said the young motorist. "Why did youleave the _Grampus_?"

  "That's my business," snarled the mate.

  "Well, take my advice and go back there. No one is trying to deceivethe captain."

  "You've wormed yourself into his confidence, and what has he done tome?" There was bitterness in the mate's voice. "I'm the one that oughtto be cap'n of the submarine, and, by thunder, I'm going to be!"

  Matt got up from his chair, his eyes flashing.

  "You're going to obey orders, Cassidy," said he, "if you want to staywith the _Grampus_. I'm in command, and I'll give you just a minute toleave here and make for the wharf. If----"

  At that moment the mate's crazy wrath got the better of him. With ahoarse oath, he lurched forward and struck at Matt with his fist.

  Matt avoided the blow with a quick side-step.

  "Now's yer chance, Cassidy," breathed the husky voice of the man whohad come with the mate. "It's now or never if you want to put him downan' out."

  The fellow, as he spoke, slouched toward Matt with doubled fists. Matthad not the same consideration for this stranger that he had for themate, and immediately after evading Cassidy's blow he whirled about.

  "Who are you?" he demanded sharply.

  For answer, the man tried to get in a blow on his own account. But hewas not quick enough. With a nimble leap forward, Matt swung his ownfist straight from the shoulder. The dingy blue cap flew off and itsowner reeled against the side of the building. Just then Matt felt thearms of the mate going around him from behind.

  At the same moment, however, footsteps came swiftly along the walk,mounted the steps, and Cassidy was caught by the throat in a firm grip.