Matt was talking for a purpose--and the purpose was to give him an opportunity to use the wrench. Suddenly he found his chance, and the heavy instrument shot forward and struck Kelly on the wrist of his lifted arm. A cry of pain escaped the man, and he reeled back, dropping the revolver. Matt tried to spring past him, but Kelly, writhing with pain though he was, pulled himself together and struck out viciously with his left fist. Matt dodged quickly and evaded the blow. The next instant he had used his right fist with terrific force, hurling Kelly out of his way and depositing him on the floor in a heap. How long Kelly sat on the floor, piecing together his scattered train of thought, he did not know; but when his faculties returned to him, Matt was gone. Kelly, muttering to himself and with both hands groping about his bruised forehead, staggered to the door and looked away in the direction of the road. There was no one to be seen. Greatly shaken, Kelly stumbled back to a chair near a workbench and deposited himself in it. “Felt like a batterin’-ram,” mumbled Kelly. “If I had been kicked by a mule it wouldn’t have knocked me out more’n what it did. Who’d have thought that lad had so much ginger in him? Whisht, now, while I think what’s to be done.” Matt King’s escape, Kelly knew, ought to be communicated to Levitt, in some way, but how was it to be done? Levitt was between the clubhouse and New York in an automobile. Ah, Kelly had it! He would call up Krug’s and tell some one there to lay for Levitt and bring him to the telephone. Kelly, alert and eager to undo some of the damage that had been caused the plans of Levitt by Matt’s escape, hurried to the phone in the rear of the garage, and was soon connected with Krug’s. “Any one there who knows Hannibal J. Levitt?” he asked. “I’ll find out,” answered a voice from the other end of the wire. “Well, hurry up!” implored Kelly. “I’m in a tearing rush.” In about a minute--an hour it seemed to the impatient Kelly--another voice floated back along the wire. “I know Mr. Levitt,” said the voice. “He was here this morning, but he’s not here now.” “Sure he’s not there?” responded Kelly. “This is the garage at the Malvern Country Club--get that? Levitt left here in a runabout an hour ago, bound for New York. He ought to pass your place in a little while. Lay for him. If you can, get him to the phone and have him call up Kelly--Kelly at the Malvern Country Club garage, understand--it will be worth a fiver to Levitt. Have somebody watch for the runabout an’ flag Levitt. Will you?” “Yes.” Kelly, highly pleased with himself, hung up the receiver. Then he waited--waited an hour, two hours, three hours--waited until nightfall, till 7 o’clock, 8 o’clock, 9 o’clock came, but no call arrived from Krug’s. The reason was that Levitt did not pass Krug’s Corner. It was the only route from the Malvern Country Club to New York--but, nevertheless, Levitt did not pass.