don'd vas in Phœnix ad all, und dot he vas in Tenver. Dere iss somet'ing in dot note aboudt bearls. Ve findt bearls in dot leedle pag. Funny, ain't dot? For vy iss id, Matt?"

Matt couldn't answer that question. The mystery was deepening.

"Somebody sent that note to Pringle, Carl, and he cut loose from you."

"Yah, so. He cut loose from me und he dook eferyt'ing vat I haf. He vas a pad egg, you bed you. Oof I ketch him vonce, I make him t'ink he vas hit mit some cyclones!"

"The fellow who wrote that note may not have meant that these pearls in the bag were 'on the way.'"

"Meppy nod, aber it looks doo keveer for a habbenchance. It gif me a cholt, Matt, ven you saidt dose t'ings vas bearls, und I recollectioned vat vas saidt in der note about bearls. Meppy Pringle und some odder pad egg dry to holt dis feller oop und dake der pag avay from him."

"That may be. How is the man now?"

"Aboudt der same like he vas."

Matt had been driving the car at a smart clip, and they had taken the turn in the road and were reaching out for the main street of the town.

There was a doctor's office across the street from the hotel, and Matt drew up in front of it. Some loungers on the sidewalk, observing the unconscious form in the tonneau, began crowding around the car and asking questions.

"I don't know what's the matter," said Matt. "We found this car running away and picked up the man from the roadside. Is the doctor in?"

The doctor himself looked from a second-story window and answered the question. Some of the bystanders helped remove the man from the tonneau and carry him up the stairs to the doctor's office. Matt and Carl followed.

"Keep quiet, Carl," whispered Matt to the Dutch boy; "don't tell any of these people what we've found. That information will have to go to the officers."

"Sure t'ing," returned Carl, with a wink. "I know more as you t'ink, Matt. Ve ought to ged a rake-off on dot pag. Id vould be easy to be jeerful mit a rake-off."

The unconscious man was laid down on a couch in the doctor's office, and the room was cleared of all the morbidly curious people. Only Matt and Carl were left with the doctor.

The latter, busily stripping away the blood-stained bandage, kept up a running fire of talk as he worked.

He wanted to know all about the runaway car, how it had been stopped, just where the man had been found, whether he had been unconscious ever since he was picked up, and so on.

Carl let Matt answer the questions, and Matt was glad that none of the doctor's remarks brought up anything about the pearls.

"His injury is not serious," said the doctor. "His forehead has been grazed by a bullet. A tight squeak, but in a case like this a miss is always as good as a mile."

"Why is he unconscious?" queried Matt.

"Just weak from loss of blood. We'll bring him around in a jiffy, and then he can tell all about what happened to him."

The doctor proceeded to cleanse the man's wound, and to put on a fresh bandage. Then, holding up his head, he forced a stimulant between his lips.

"He must be a wealthy man," remarked the doctor, his eyes on the watch-chain and the good clothes. "But what does a wealthy man want to be pounding around the country for—especially a country like this—all by himself?"

Before either Matt or Carl could hazard a guess, the man gave a slight start and opened his eyes. For an instant he stared blankly into the faces of the doctor and the boys, muttered something, and tried to get up.

"I wouldn't do that," said the doctor. "You're weak, yet. Wait till you get a little strength. Here, drink some more of this."

The man took another swallow of the stimulant, and seemed to get better control of himself.

"How did I come here?" he asked.

Matt, obeying a gesture from the doctor, told how the car had been stopped, and how he and Carl had gone back along the road and found the man unconscious among the bushes.

For a minute or two after hearing Matt's explanations the man lay silent and thoughtful.

"If you did all that," said he to Matt finally, "you must know how to run a car."

Matt nodded.

"I used to work for a motor company in Albany," he answered, "and they had me give demonstrations. I had to know all about cars and take out a license."

A queer gleam arose in the man's eyes.

"I am James Q. Tomlinson, of Denver," said he, "and have been touring Southern California and Arizona for my health. With my chauffeur, I came up from Yuma in the 'Red Flier,' and the chauffeur was taken sick at the Needles. Am expecting to pick up a friend in Flagstaff. The friend is waiting there for me, and I thought I would drive the car through to Flagstaff from the Needles myself. I found I didn't know as much about it as I thought I did. However, I managed to peg along.

"Early this morning, about twenty miles out of Ash Fork, I was set upon by three masked men. They ordered me to stop, but I opened up the machine and made a run past them. The scoundrels fired at me, and one of their bullets grazed my head. I was stunned for a moment, but managed to keep my senses and hold the automobile in the road. Had an idea that I could get to Ash Fork, but somehow I kept growing weaker and weaker. It became hard for me to manage the steering-wheel, so I tied it with a rope; then, all at once, the car tilted, and I was thrown out.

"I can remember falling into the road, and crawling to some bushes where I could be out of the hot sun. After that my wits left me, and I remember nothing more until now."

A knock fell on the door of the outer office. The doctor excused himself for a moment and went out, closing the door of the private office behind him.

As soon as he was gone, Mr. Tomlinson's manner changed quickly. Thrusting a hand into his pocket, he withdrew it with a cry of alarm. Then he fixed upon Matt and Carl a suspicious look.

"Did you boys see anything of a bag, a little green silk bag?" he demanded.

Matt took the bag from his pocket and handed it to him.

"It dropped out of your coat as we were lifting you into the car," said he.

A gasp of relief went up from the man.

"Do you know what it contains?" he queried, opening the bag with trembling fingers.

"Pearls," said Matt, "twenty black pearls."

Assuring himself that the pearls were all in the bag, Tomlinson closed it and pushed it into his pocket.

"These pearls are worth thirty thousand dollars," said he, in a guarded tone. "You boys are honest, and will be rewarded, but say nothing to anybody about the bag. Understand?"

Matt nodded, and just then the doctor came in with a roughly dressed individual whom he introduced as a deputy sheriff.

CHAPTER V.

MATT GETS A JOB.

"What's the trouble here?" asked the deputy sheriff. "I hear that Matt King and the Dutchman brought you to town in an automobile, Mr. Tomlinson, and that you have been robbed."

"Not robbed," replied Tomlinson. "I was shot at, and wounded slightly, but the car was too fast for the thieves and I got away."

"Where 'bouts was this?"

"About twenty miles west of Ash Fork. I don't think it would do you any good to go after the rascals, though."

"I reckon not. They're prob'ly a good long ways from where they tried to hold you up. You wasn't hurt very bad, eh?"

"It wasn't serious at all. I feel pretty weak, but I'll soon get over that. It's necessary for me to go on to Flagstaff to-night, or early to-morrow morning."

"You'd better rest up for three or four days, anyhow, Mr. Tomlinson," admonished the doctor.

"Haven't the time. As I told you, there's a friend waiting for me at Flagstaff." Tomlinson's tone was decided, and he turned to Matt. "So your name is King," he