CHAPTER XIII.
AT THE LAST MINUTE.
At midnight, Monday night, the police of Ottawa arrested a man who wastrying to get out of town on a freight train. The man was Slocum.
Slocum was taken immediately to jail. His nerve had entirely failedhim and he was in a pitiable state of collapse. He admitted his guiltin the matter of Motor Matt's disappearance, and offered to make aconfession providing no legal steps were taken in his case and he wasallowed to go free.
Trueman was sent for; also the district attorney. Both recognized thatSlocum was only a tool, and in order to get at those who were moreculpable it was agreed to accept his sworn confession and to releasehim in case it developed that no harm had befallen Motor Matt.
Slocum's confession implicated indirectly every member of the Drivers'Club, but had most to do with Sercomb, Mings, and Packard, and held upSercomb as the ringleader.
It was Sercomb who had prepared the two typewritten papers--one forMatt to _read_ and the other for him to _sign_--which Slocum hadjuggled with so successfully in the Denver hotel; and it was Sercombwho had paid Slocum's fare and expenses to Kansas in order that, at theright moment, he might administer the _cannibis indica_.
On the basis of this confession, a warrant was issued for Sercomb butwas to be held back and not served until just before he was to getaway in the race. Also the whole matter dealing with Slocum's arrestand confession was kept a secret so that the arrest and removing fromthe contest of Stark-Frisbie's crack racer might be successfullyaccomplished.
This work of the police filled Trueman with a negative satisfaction. Itdid not help him out of his own particular difficulty for he was stillminus a driver.
Chub who was so worked up over Matt's disappearance and hishelplessness in doing anything to find him that he could not keep downhis impatience and restlessness, offered to drive the car in Matt'splace, or to ride as mechanic with whoever did drive it. Chub hadtaken lessons from Matt in driving a motor-car, and he had always beenwonderfully handy about machinery.
Trueman, however, had made up his mind to drive the car himself, buthe was glad to have Chub along to attend to the various duties of_mecanicien_.
While Chub had thus found something to do to take his mind temporarilyaway from Matt, Carl was in different condition. He moped around thehotel, filled with gloom and discouragement and waiting hopelessly fornews.
The town was filled with an enthusiastic mob of people, and the onlything that was talked about, or thought about, was race, race, race!But Carl had lost interest in the race now that it seemed certain Mattwas out of it. Chub had all he could do to get Carl to go to the Parkwhen he and Trueman took out the red racer.
"Vat's der use oof going any blace or doing anyt'ing?" said Carldejectedly. "Matt vas down und oudt mit a dope und life don'd vas vort'der lifing. Vell, meppy I go along mit you, Chub. I got to be somevere."
Although Trueman was a terribly disappointed man, and expectedonly to finish the course, and had no thought of winning, he madehis preparations with as much care as though Matt was to be at thesteering-wheel and perhaps drive No. 13 to victory. New tires andnew chains were put on, and the hundred and one little things alwaysdemanded by a big race were attended to.
The grand stand at the Park was choked with people. Overflowing theseats, the throng packed itself densely along the fences on both sidesof the race-track. But the crowds were not confined to the Ottawa endof the course. Over its whole extent from the Park to Le Loup, from LeLoup to Coal Run, and from Coal Run back to the Park again, the circuitwas lined with people. They came from the contiguous country in wagons,from various parts of the state in automobiles, and from all over theWest by train. The sportsman instinct animated the majority of them,and others had a morbid interest in an affair that might be filled withwreck and tragedy.
Mounted officers patrolled the circuit and kept the crowd back of thedanger line.
Each car's weight, with tanks empty, was limited to fifteen hundredpounds. The weighing-in was going forward when Trueman, Chub, and Carlreached the track. The owners of cars that were overweight had to dosome more stripping while those that were under the limit found thatthey could take aboard some necessary appliances of which they werequick to avail themselves.
Mr. Borden, the gray-haired patron of the race, was in evidence hereand there about the grounds. It was the first of the races, for whichhe stood sponsor, ever run in the vicinity of his home town, and he wasas pleased as a four-year-old with a tin whistle.
Colonel Plympton was prominently in the public eye, mingling with theStark-Frisbie drivers and mechanics and giving personal attention toevery car. Lambert, of the rival concern, was filling a correspondingposition with his own cars and drivers. Many other firms had theirrepresentatives on the spot.
The first car to start was a Stark-Frisbie, 70-h.-p., with Joe Mings atthe wheel. It got away in a perfect bedlam of cheers.
Two minutes later, car Number Two with Patsy Grier driving forBly-Lambert, was sent from the tape. It shot away like a streak, andwas through the gap in the fence and bound for the river before thewild yelling had died away.
Next came three touring-cars, driven by local celebrities, all out fora good time and caring little about the race.
Then came a No. 6 Bly-Lambert with Balt Finn up, then anothertouring-car, then a little 40-horse racer, then a No. 9 Stark-Frisbie,Packard driving.
As Packard got away, a wild-eyed, disheveled youth shot through thecrowd lining the track and broke into the banked racers that werewaiting for the start.
"Mr. Trueman! Out of there, quick! Give me your racing clothes."
Trueman and Chub, sitting in the No. 13 and gloomily awaiting the wordto come forward for the start, nearly jumped from their seats.
"Matt!" gasped Trueman.
His face cleared as if by magic. There was no time for explanations--notime for anything but to attend to the business immediately in hand.
"Hooray!" cried Chub. "How are you, pard?"
Matt stopped and stared as he got into the gear Trueman was throwing athim.
"Chub!" he exclaimed. "Well, this _is_ a surprise! I've been having alot of surprises lately."
"We've found out all about what happened," said Trueman. "Slocum dopedyou. He tried to get away but was caught and has made a confession. Onthe basis of that confession a warrant is out for Sercomb, and he willbe arrested and taken from his car before he starts."
Matt's eyes drifted through the parked automobiles until they restedon the driver of No. 19. Through his goggles the driver was staring atMatt. It was Sercomb, and Motor Matt's appearance evidently astoundedhim.
"Don't arrest him, Mr. Trueman, until the race is over," said Matt.
"But----"
"I mean it! Let's make this a clean race and a clean win. It will bebetter for the Jarrot people, better for me, better for everybody."
"Well, if you insist----"
"I do insist. That's the way I want it."
Matt climbed into the low-hung body of the car and lost himself tothe head and shoulders in the driver's seat. The starter was lookingtoward them and throwing up his hand. Trueman jumped to "turn over" theengine, and Matt made for the starting tape.
In spite of cap and goggles some of those in the grandstand recognizedMatt. They were those who had seen him working like a Trojan over thecircuit for a week, who had heard about his mysterious disappearance,and who now welcomed his return with hearty cheers.
Matt got away in grand style, whisked around the track and dartedthrough the break in the fence.
As soon as Sercomb, in the last Stark-Frisbie car, had started,Plympton went over to where Trueman was standing.
"I'm glad King got back," said the colonel. "His disappearance had anugly look."
"It still has an ugly look, Plympton," returned Trueman.
"Of course! But King's all right. That's the main point."
"It's a good thing for you that he got back," went on Trueman.
"I
don't see how you figure that. If what I hear of him is true, he's astar-driver. It isn't a good thing for us to have star-drivers runningcars against us."
"But for King, Plympton, one of your crack men would have been out ofthis race."
"What do you mean, Trueman?" asked the colonel curiously.
"Do you see that sandy-whiskered man over there?" asked Trueman,pointing.
"Yes."
"Well, he's an officer in plain-clothes. In his pocket he has a warrantfor Sercomb's arrest. He'd have served the warrant and taken Sercombout of the race if King hadn't said No."
"A put-up job, eh, to get rid of our best man!" scowled Plympton.
"No put-up job about it," answered Trueman. "Sercomb was responsiblefor the hocussing of King."
"Come, come!" growled Plympton angrily. "You've got too much sense,Trueman, to take any stock in such a yarn as that."
"Have I? Well, read this over and then tell me how much stock you takein it."
With that, he handed Slocum's confession to Plympton. The latter readit with consternation in his face.
"It seems incredible!" he muttered, as he passed the paper back."Whether he wins or loses, this is Sercomb's last race forStark-Frisbie."
"I thought so!" chuckled Trueman, returning the document to his pocket.
Motor Matt's Triumph; or, Three Speeds Forward Page 13