Chapter XVI

CONCLUSION.

"Scoot" is the only word that would fittingly describe the Hawk's return to her home port. A thirty-mile wind was directly behind her, and the propeller—which it was necessary to keep going in order to make the air ship fairly manageable—still further helped her along. Part of the time, as the three chums figured it, they were dashing through space at the rate of a mile a minute.

Overhead the skies had become black and threatening, and an occasional flash of lightning and roll of distant thunder told the boys what they were presently to expect.

That was the first time they had ever been in such a wind with the Hawk, and the first time a storm had ever threatened them while aloft. Even Matt, stout hearted as he was, felt a qualm of dread as he saw how the air craft flung onward by sheer force of the wind.

It was not more than twenty minutes from the time they left River Forest until they sighted the grimy chimneys of South Chicago.

"What're we going to do with the Hawk, mate?" shouted Ferral.

"If the balloon house hasn't been too badly dismantled," Matt answered, "we'll put the Hawk in there until the storm blows over."

By the time Matt had finished speaking, they were hard upon the big shed. But Hagenmyer's men were even then at work. The roof of the structure was gone, and its usefulness as a shelter, of course, went with roof.

"Py shinks," bellowed Carl, "I don'd like der looks oof t'ings! Ve got to do somet'ing mit der air ship, but vat it iss? Dell me, somepody!"

"We'll try Jerrold!" said Matt. "He keeps the Eagle in that big back yard of us, and perhaps he can help us out with the Hawk."

"Drop down in the yard, anyhow," suggested Ferral, "and take chances."

Dropping down in such a gale was hazardous business.

How Matt ever executed the manœuvre as safely as he did he could not have told, for a good many things had to be done, and done quickly.

He flung the Hawk downward full fifty feet before he reached the confines of Jerrold's big back yard. The air ship had to slide sixty feet down the void, and in sliding those sixty feet the wind carried her over more than the fifty feet necessary to clear Jerrold's high board fence.

The bottom of the car struck the ground with a jolt that tipped Carl out heels over head. Carl had been standing ready with one of the mooring ropes, and he still clung to it. Ferral went out on the other side with another rope.

Meanwhile, the Hawk was lurching sideways and bounding up and down in a most terrific manner, lifting the car at each leap and pounding it on the surface of the ground.

Fortunately for Matt and his friends, Jerrold and his assistant, Payne, were close by, making the fastenings of their own air ship secure. They rushed to the assistance of Carl and Ferral, and succeeded, between all four of them, in getting the mooring ropes in place.

Jerrold thereupon brought four more ropes from his workshop, and the Hawk was likewise lashed with these. Matt's canvas shelter was then brought out, unfolded and put in place over the gas bag.

This task had no sooner been completed than the rain began to come down in torrents. Thankful that they had reached a safe haven in the very nick of time, Helen, Brady and Matt and his friends went into Jerrold's house and watched the rain pouring from the windows.

It was not until the day after their difficult landing in Jerrold's yard that Matt and his friends, accompanied by Helen Brady, paid a visit to the office of the chief of police.

Brady had already been taken back to Joliet, and Pete and Whipple were penned up in cells, awaiting trial.

"They'll go up, all right," said the chief, "and Brady will have the pleasure of seeing the two members of his old gang in the same institution where he is at hard labor."

"What about the Hooligans, chief?" queried Matt.

"Harris, Burton, and Sanders had their hands full with Pete and Whipple," replied the chief, "and they were not able to look after the caretaker and his wife. They telephoned the River Forest authorities, though, and some officers went there. They found the place deserted. Hooligan and his wife, fearing to be called to account for their rascality, had fled, and left the mansion to take care of itself. The River Forest police put some one else in charge of the place, and have cabled to the Caspars, in Paris. The La Grange officers are watching the Hooligan house in that town, and when the caretaker shows up there he will be captured."

Justice seemed to have failed in the matter of the Hooligans, but possibly it was only deferred. Their home was still in La Grange, and, sooner or later, one or both of them would return there.

"I just received a telegram from the detail I sent to Willoughby's swamp," went on the chief.

"To look for the loot?" asked Matt, turning his eyes on Helen.

"Yes."

"I didn't know Helen had told you where the stuff was hidden."

"She wrote out the instructions on the back of an old letter I had in my pocket, matey," spoke up Ferral, "while she and I were waiting for you and Carl to come back with the Hawk. She gave the instructions to Sanders, and he turned them over to Harris when he and Burton, with their prisoners, came after him in the automobile."

"That was the way of it," continued the chief. "The detail went out last night, in the rain, because we did not think it well to have any delay in such an important matter. Here's what the telegram says."

Opening a yellow slip, which had been lying on his desk, the chief read aloud the following:

"'Plunder found. There's a raft of it. Will bring it in by train, under guard.'"

"Dot's fine!" cried Carl. "Und der peoble vat geds der shtuff pack vill haf to t'ank Miss Prady for dot."

"They have already had to thank my father for losing the property, in the first place," said Helen sadly, "so they won't feel very grateful to me. And it's not right they should," she added.

"Yes, it is," said the chief kindly. "You've played a noble part all through these troubles which the law has had with your father, Miss Brady, and your faithfulness in standing firmly for what you thought was right, has won universal recognition and gained you many friends. What will you do now?"

"I think I shall go to my mother's sister, who lives in New York," replied Helen. "She has always wanted me to come and live with her. She is alone in the world and needs somebody for a companion."

"You couldn't do better," said the chief approvingly. "By the way," and here he whirled to his desk and drew a yellow envelope from one of the pigeonholes, "here's another message, and it's for you, Matt. It came yesterday, and, as you know, this is the first chance I have had since then to deliver it."

Wondering who the telegram could be from, Matt opened it, read it over to himself, laughed, and then read it aloud.

"'Will guarantee you one thousand dollars a week to come here and give exhibitions with your air ship. Deflate it and forward by express, and come by train. Wire me if you accept.'"

"Well, what do you think of that!" exclaimed the chief.

"Vone t'ousant tollars a veek!" jubilated Carl. "Py shinks, ve vill haf Morgan und Rockyfeller backed off der map! Vone t'ousant a veek! Binch me, somepody."

"Where's it from, matey?" asked Ferral, with suppressed excitement.

"From Atlantic City, New Jersey," answered Matt.

"Big summer resort," observed the chief. "The people who go there can afford to have what they want, and pay well for it. What name's signed to the message, Matt?"

"Kitson Steel Pier Company."

"Well, it must be all right," said the chief. "Anyhow, the Kitson Steel Pier Company show a whole lot of sense in advising you to deflate the gas bag and ship the air ship by express. That's a whole lot better than trying to fly there, and butting into such storms as we had last night. What message are you going to send to Atlantic City, Matt?"

"'Terms accepted; start at once.'"

Ferral tossed up his hat delightedly, and Carl floundered to his feet and began shaking hands all around.

"We'll go to Atlantic City by way of New York," Matt went on, with a glance toward the girl, "and see Miss Brady safely in the hands of her aunt."

"Good idea!" approved the chief heartily.

Helen lifted her eyes to Matt's, and then reached out impulsively and caught his hand.

THE END.

THE NEXT NUMBER (12) WILL CONTAIN

MOTOR MATT'S PERIL;

OR,

Cast Away in the Bahamas.

Carl as Buttinsky—The Moving-picture Man Makes a Queer Move—Warm Work at the "Inlet"—Prisoners On a Submarine—Through the Torpedo Tube—The Cape Town Mystery—Off for the Bahamas—An Accident—Matt and His Chums Go it Alone—The Air Ship Springs a Leak—Wrecked—Luck, or Ill-luck—A Move and a Countermove—Motor Matt's Success—A Few Surprises—Matt Takes Townsend's Advice.

MOTOR STORIES

THRILLING ADVENTUREMOTOR FICTION

NEW YORK, May 8, 1909.

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