“Marse Kelly would kill me daid ef he knew whut Ah was doin’,” muttered the old negro. “We’s got tuh hurry, Marse Matt. Marse Partington didn’t want Marse Kelly, en dar’s gwine ter be ructions when Kelly gits back.” With trembling fingers he plucked away the gag. “Don’t be scared, Uncle Tom,” said Matt reassuringly. “Just get my hands loose and I’ll take care of Kelly if he tries to interfere with us. I’ll look after you.” “Ah’s done lost mah job, Motah Matt,” quavered Uncle Tom, as he worked at the rope around Matt’s wrists. “Ah’s done got tuh git away f’om dis club place er dat ’ar Kelly will prove de def ob me.” “You can go away with me,” said Matt. “But dey all owes me fo’ dollahs fo’ wo’k!” “I’ll pay you five times that, Uncle Tom, for what you’re doing.” “Golly!” and the old negro’s courage seemed to return; “five times fo’ is fifty. Whatum Ah gwine tuh do wif fifty dollahs? Ah won’t hab tuh wo’k no mo’ fo’ six mont’s.” Uncle Tom’s multiplication was of a weird variety, but Matt did not correct his mistake. Finally the knots were loosened so that Matt could slip his hands from the encompassing coils, and he was but a minute more in freeing his feet. “Now, then, Uncle Tom,” cried he, “this way--as fast as you can come!” He sprang to the door, Uncle Tom lurching after him. “Doan’ yo’ git too fur away, Marse Matt,” pleaded the negro. “Ef dat Kelly meets me alone by mahse’f, Ah’s gwine ter be a daid niggah. Stay by me.” Matt lessened his pace so that Uncle Tom could follow him closely out of the room and down the stairs. They started to leave by the front of the garage, but, as ill luck would have it, Kelly, red and wrathful, leaped through the door directly in front of Matt. “Fo’ de lan’ sakes!” wailed Uncle Tom, staggering limply back against the wall. “Clear out by the rear door, Uncle Tom!” shouted Matt, picking up a heavy wrench from the floor. Uncle Tom scrambled for the rear of the garage at a remarkable rate of speed. Kelly swore. “So this was that nigger’s game, was it?” he growled. “I knew something was up when I found Partington, and he said he hadn’t sent fer me! I’ll skin that black villain alive!” “You’ll deal with me first, Kelly,” said Matt. “Oh, you!” grunted Kelly. “Git back upstairs. It won’t take more’n a minute to wind up your clock!” The garage man drew a revolver. That he happened to have the weapon spoke volumes for the responsibility he felt as the jailer for Motor Matt. “Put up that revolver!” ordered Matt sternly. “Here’s the way I put it up,” answered Kelly, lifting the weapon and pointing it full at Matt. “Up them stairs with ye, an’ no more ifs nor ands about it.” “Look here, Kelly,” expostulated Matt, “you’re getting yourself into mighty deep water, and----”