Chapter XII: Carl Turns a Trick

Something has been said about Carl Pretzel having an idea that was almost an inspiration, at the time he was approached by the Hindoo at the aëroplane.

This it was that led him into the monkey wagon. The slam of the door and the grate of the key in the padlock struck a sudden tremor to the Dutch boy's heart.

Was he making a fool of himself or not? Would a trained detective have proceeded in that manner?

His heart failed him, and he gave the wild yell for help.

He had hardly given the cry before he repented of it. What would Motor Matt think of his nerve if he could know the game he had embarked upon, and how he had been stampeded in playing it?

No; if that call had done no harm, Carl would not repeat it. He would see the business through and try and match wits with the Hindoo.

In spite of the noise on the show grounds, Carl heard Ben Ali's heels bang against the end of the wagon, and also the stern voice commanding him to keep silent.

Carl kept silent. He was almost smothered by the closeness of his prison chamber, and the terrific odor that assailed him, but he comforted himself with the thought that detectives don't always have things their own way when they're tracking down a criminal. Anyhow, even his present discomfort was better than the hard knocks his "sleuthing" had so far given him.

He was not long in discovering the hole in the floor of the wagon. The memorandum book he had discovered soon after getting into the borrowed clothes.

Of course he knew that Motor Matt would follow him! That was the kind of fellow the king of the motor boys was; never had he turned his back on a pard in distress.

Carl, too, was morally certain that Ping had seen him get into the monkey wagon. Motor Matt would discover this from the Chinaman, and then would come the pursuit.

The thing for Carl to do was to point the way by which he had been carried off. The hole in the floor, and the memorandum book in his pocket, were not long in giving him the right tip.

Sitting down on the bottom of the cage, Carl occupied himself in tearing the leaves of the book into scraps and poking the scraps through the opening.

How far Ben Ali drove Carl did not know, but it seemed as though the Hindoo had been hours on the road. There was a pain in Carl's back, where the mule had left its token of remembrance, and the jolt of the wagon was far from pleasant.

Presently there came the rapid beat of a horse's hoofs, a whir of wheels, and a sudden stop of the monkey wagon. The other sounds ceased at the same moment.

For a second or two Carl imagined that Matt had overhauled Ben Ali, but this fancy was dispelled by the strange words that passed between Ben Ali and some one else.

The mahout could be heard climbing swiftly down from his perch and moving around to the rear of the wagon. Carl slipped the book into his pocket and drew away from the hole in the floor.

Once more the key grated in the padlock. The door was drawn open and Ben Ali was revealed, looming large in the rush of sunlight, a bared knife in his hand.

"You come, sahib," said Ben Ali.

Carl got up and moved toward the door. There Ben Ali caught his eyes for a space and held them with the same weird looks indulged in near the aëroplane on the show grounds.

The Dutchman instantly grew automatic in his movements, keeping his eyes straight ahead and following Ben Ali's every gesture.

Carl had seen persons hypnotized, and knew how they acted.

"You come," repeated Ben Ali sternly, and Carl jumped down from the wagon.

They were in a country road. There was a smart-looking horse and buggy beside the monkey wagon, and Haidee was on the seat. If appearances were to be believed, she was in another of her spells.

"Sahib get in de buggy," ordered Ben Ali.

Carl climbed over the wheel obediently and sat down beside the girl. She paid not the least attention to him, nor he to her. Ben Ali climbed in beside them, squeezed into the seat, and took the reins from Haidee's hands.

Meanwhile, Carl had been looking at another brown man in a turban who was unhitching the horse from the monkey wagon.

Ben Ali waited until the horse was out of the shafts and the second Hindoo on its back, then he started the Kentucky cob off along the road. His companion trotted along behind.

Dropping any more paper scraps was out of the question. Carl was too tightly wedged in between Ben Ali and Haidee to use his hands; besides, he could not have made a move that would not instantly have been seen.

Presently the Hindoo on the horse called out something in his unknown jargon. Ben Ali answered, and the runabout was turned from the road and into the woods.

Possibly they proceeded a hundred feet into the timber. At the end of that distance their progress was halted by a creek with steep banks.

Ben Ali got out. While standing on the ground facing Carl, he made sinuous movements with his slim brown hands--passes, most probably, designed to keep Carl in a hypnotic state.

The girl shuddered, suddenly, and drew a hand across her eyes.

"Uncle Ben!" she exclaimed, with a sharp cry, "where am I?"

"You are safe," said Ben Ali. "You are not to work with de trapeze any more, not be with de show any more. We are quit with de show. _Kabultah, meetoowah?_"

"Yes, yes," breathed the girl, "I understand. But where are we going? I don't want to be in a trance any more. I want to know what I say, what I do--all the time."

The man's face hardened.

"You come, Haidee," he said, gently but none the less firmly.

The girl got up and climbed down from the wagon.

"Sahib!" he cried sharply. "You come, too."

Carl likewise climbed to the ground.

"You are asleep," went on Ben Ali, coming up to Carl and bringing his face close. "You know not anything what you do. Sit!"

Carl sank down on the bank of the creek.

The other Hindoo had dismounted. Stepping away from his horse, he turned the runabout rig the other way, so that the cob faced the road. Then he tied the animal.

Meanwhile, Ben Ali, seating himself cross-legged on the ground, had drawn a small black box from his breast. It was a lacquered box and shone like ebony in the gleam of sun that drifted down through the trees.

Haidee uttered an exclamation and stretched out her hands.

"It is mine, Uncle Ben! It belongs to me."

"Yis, _meetoowah_," agreed Ben Ali, "it belong to you, but I keep it. That is safer, better."

He put down the box and listened, hissing to attract the attention of the other Hindoo.

"Aurung Zeeb!"

The other turned, and Ben Ali motioned toward the road.

The sound of an approaching motor car broke the stillness. It grew rapidly in volume, passed a point abreast of those in the woods, and went on, dying away in the distance.

Excitement shone in the faces of the Hindoos, and there was alarm in the face of the girl.

"What is it?" she cried. "Uncle Ben----"

"Silence, _meetooowah_!" commanded the Hindoo.

Taking the lacquered box in his hand, Ben Ali leaped erect and chattered wildly with Aurung Zeeb. After that, he came to Carl, his face full of anxiety and alarm, and made more passes.

"You come," he ordered, "get back in de buggy."

Carl followed as Ben Ali backed away in the direction of the runabout. The Hindoo stood close to the wheel until Carl was in the seat.

At that moment a smothered scream came from Haidee. Aurung Zeeb jumped toward her, letting go the bridle of his horse as he did so. Ben Ali muttered something under his breath, put the lacquered box on the runabout seat beside Carl, and started toward Aurung Zeeb and the girl.

"You must tell me what you are doing," panted the girl, facing the Hindoos with flashing eyes. "That is Boss Burton's horse and buggy. Why have you got the rig here? What are we doing here? Tell me, Uncle Ben! I must know."

Ben Ali tried to quiet her. Carl was in a quiver. The lines were twined about the whip on the dashboard of the runabout, and both Hindoos were fully fifteen feet away. It looked like a propitious moment for escape. Carl had not accomplished much, but he was patting himself on the back because of the way he had fooled Ben Ali. Now, if he could get away, and take the runabout with him----

Carl never thought very long over any proposition. Nor did he give much time to this.

Swooping down on the dashboard, he grabbed up the lines and the whip.

"Gid ap mit yourself!" he yelled, and struck the horse.

With a snort the animal bounded forward, breaking the strap that secured him to the tree and almost throwing Carl from the seat.

The other horse took fright and bounded away, while Carl went lurching and plunging in a wild dash for the road.

How he ever reached the road without coming to grief against the many trees he grazed in his dash was something which would have puzzled a wiser head than his.

He paid not the least attention to the Hindoos, nor to Haidee. He was thinking of Carl, and trying to guess how much money he would get for bringing back the stolen horse and runabout.

For once, he thought exultantly, he was making the detective business _pay_.

Whirling into the road, he headed the horse back toward town, plying the whip and hustling the best he knew how.

It was a marvel that the runabout held together. But it did. Suddenly a firearm spoke sharply from somewhere in the rear.

Carl did not look behind. He had but one thought, and that was that the Hindoos must be phenomenal runners, and that they were chasing him on foot and firing as they came.

He bent forward over the dashboard and urged the cob to a wilder pace.

Then, while he was using the whip, an angry voice roared from alongside the runabout:

"Stop lashing that horse! Stop, I tell you!"

Carl became faintly aware that there was an automobile dashing along the road side by side with the runabout.

"Carl!" shouted a familiar voice. "Stop your running! Don't you know who we are?"

Then the excited Dutchman became aware of the situation and pulled back on the lines.

He chuckled delightedly as he jerked and sawed on the bit.

He, Carl Pretzel, had been running away from his old pard! What a joke!

And there, in the automobile with Matt, was the manager of the show.

It wouldn't be long, now, before Carl found out how much he was to get for recovering the stolen horse and runabout.