Hawk," answered Matt, "and asks us to name our price. He says he knows Archibald Townsend, and refers us to him as to his financial standing."

"I could have kissed the book on that, Matt," said Dick soberly. "Keelhaul me if I don't wish we had that blessed little flying machine this minute."

"So do I. But there's no use crying about it, Dick. Maybe we'll build another, some time; just now, though, we ought to think more about bed than anything else."

"I'm ready to do a caulk, if you are."

"Come on, then."

As they were leaving the office to go upstairs to their room Matt took a look around. Captain Sixty was sitting in a chair in the corner, his message opened out on his knee. But his fishy little orbs were not on the message, but on Matt; and there was a glittering distrust in them which Matt could not fail to notice. However, he said nothing about it to Dick, and very soon forgot it himself.

Next morning the boys were hoping to hear from Townsend. Townsend, otherwise Captain Nemo, Jr., of the submarine Grampus, had some work in which he wanted Matt and his friends to assist him, and he had asked Matt, Dick and Carl to remain a week in New Orleans, at his expense, until he should be well enough to tell them about the work and get it under way.

The following day rounded out the period of time Townsend had asked for.

After breakfast the boys hung about the hotel waiting for some communication from Prythania Street. Toward the middle of the forenoon a bell boy ran into the office and hurried to the place where Matt was sitting with Dick and Carl.

"You're wanted in the parlor, Motor Matt," said the boy.

"Dere id vas!" exclaimed Carl delightedly. "Ve got id now, Tick."

"Who wants me?" asked Matt.

"A young woman—and she says she's in a hurry."

Matt was puzzled. He did not know any young ladies in New Orleans, and couldn't imagine why one should come to the hotel and ask for him.

"I'll go right up," said he—and immediately took the first step into a snare that had been laid for him.

CHAPTER III.

HURRY-UP ORDERS.

When Matt entered the bare little room on the second floor which served as a public parlor for the hotel, a girl of sixteen or seventeen arose to meet him. She had black hair and eyes, was well dressed, and looked like a Spanish señorita.

"Motor Matt?" she asked, stepping toward him with an engaging smile.

"My name," he answered.

"I am——" She paused, and a frightened look came into her wide, dark eyes. For the first time Matt noticed that, in spite of her smile, she seemed to be ill at ease. "I am Miss Harris," she finally went on, "Miss Sadie Harris, a niece of your friend, Mr. Townsend. Perhaps you have heard my uncle speak of me?"

The girl's English was good, so Matt argued that she was not a Spaniard after all.

"No," he answered, "I did not know that Mr. Townsend had a niece."

"That's strange," murmured the girl, "for I was always a favorite of his. As soon as I learned that he was sick I came right on to New Orleans. When I arrived here, yesterday, I found my uncle nearly well again. All this, though, has nothing to do with my errand. Here are three tickets to British Honduras, good on the steamer Santa Maria, which sails at ten, this morning. There is not much time, Motor Matt, and it is my uncle's wish that you go on that boat."

To say that Matt was "stumped" would hardly do justice to his feelings.

"British Honduras?" he echoed.

"Yes; the boat sails from the Fruit Company's dock."

"But why am I and my friends to go to British Honduras?"

"I don't know. My uncle gave me the tickets and asked me to hand them to you and tell you to expect word from him at Belize. He said the work was very important, and that you must not say a word about it to anybody."

"I don't know anything about the work, Miss Harris," answered Matt, "so it won't be possible for me to say anything to any one."

"Your intention of leaving on the Santa Maria, too, ought to be kept a secret. At least, that's what my uncle says."

"This is mighty sudden," murmured Matt dazedly. "Why couldn't Mr. Townsend have called me out to the house and talked this over with me yesterday?"

"He didn't know anything about it yesterday, Motor Matt. In fact, the work only came to his knowledge an hour ago."

"Wasn't he well enough to come and tell me himself?"

"Well enough, yes, but he had not the time. The Grampus is over at Westwego, and he is very busy getting her ready for sea."

"Isn't he going to British Honduras on the Santa Maria?"

"No."

"How am I to hear from him in Belize?"

Miss Harris tossed her head petulantly.

"My uncle isn't telling all his plans, even to me. I've delivered his orders, and it's getting along toward ten o'clock and you haven't much time if you're to sail on the Santa Maria. I'm to go on the boat myself, and it isn't likely my uncle would leave me alone and unprotected in Central America. He thought you and your friends could look after me a little, both on the boat and until he was able to reach Honduras, but——"

Miss Harris used her lustrous Spanish eyes with telling effect.

"Certainly we will go," broke in Matt, "only it was such a hurry-up order that it rather floored me. I and my pards have been waiting to hear from Mr. Townsend about some work which he was going to do when he got well enough. Perhaps the work has something to do with you?"

Matt was clever at drawing inferences. There might be Spanish blood in Miss Harris' veins—British Honduras was partially peopled with men and women of Spanish descent—and here was a call to Belize. Then, again, Miss Harris had only recently arrived in New Orleans, and it required no great stretch of fancy to imagine that she had sprung, thus suddenly, some line of endeavor for which her uncle had been waiting.

"I am not at liberty to tell you anything more, Motor Matt," said Miss Harris, with another of her bright smiles. "Will you take the Santa Maria?"

"Yes."

A strange glow danced in the girl's expressive eyes.

"That is nice of you," said she. "Here are the tickets. My uncle was so sure you'd go that he got them and secured your stateroom reservations."

Matt took the envelope the girl handed to him and walked down the stairs with her. She bade him good-by at the ladies' entrance, and, as he turned to go back to the office he had a disturbing thought.

If there had been time to secure tickets and cabin reservations, there should have been time for Townsend to give Matt and his chums a little more notice of that trip to Honduras.

Matt, however, had abundant faith in Townsend. Undoubtedly he was proceeding in the manner that best suited his plans.

"Come on, boys," said the young motorist, hurrying up to Dick and Carl, "we've got to pack, and be in a rush about it."

"Hoop-a-la!" gloried Carl, catching the spirit of Matt's words, although he had not the remotest idea of the underlying cause. "Oof ve are going to pack oop, den id vas a skinch ve're going someveres; und oof ve vas going someveres, den der drouple-pot iss on, und vill pegin to poil righdt——"

"Ease up a bit on that jaw-tackle, mate," interrupted Dick, grabbing Carl's arm and hurrying him off after Matt. "It's as plain as the nose on your face that some kind of word has been received from Townsend, but it's just as plain that there's no time to talk about it. Matt's in a tearing hurry, and it's up to us to pull back into our shells, hustle the stuff into our dunnage-bags, and wait for him to tell us what we want to know."

When Dick and Carl reached their room, Matt was already throwing his belongings into a grip. The sailor and the Dutch boy got busy.

"The girl is a