“Here’s the book,” he said, as he unwrapped the package. “And I want to tell you, Flanders, it contains the best formulas for making artists’ paints that I ever heard of. You ought to make a fortune out of these formulas. You can manufacture those paints for artists in that old factory up on Flat Rock Creek and very few people will be the wiser. You can capture the market with that sort of artists’ material.”
The book was passed over to Flanders and he began to study it carefully.
“Seems to be all right,” he said slowly. “Of course, I don’t— Hello! what’s that? Give me that book!”
Flanders broke off abruptly, for while he had been looking into the book of formulas it had suddenly been snatched from his grasp. Turning, he found himself confronted by Mr. Stevenson.
“This book is mine, Mr. Flanders,” said Ruth’s father coolly.
“Stevenson!” muttered Carl Lemrech, and turned pale.
“A fine piece of business you’re in,” went on Frederic Stevenson. “About to buy a book of formulas that was stolen by those men from me!”
“Jump him! Get the book away from him!” yelled Tex Norris, and made a leap forward.
But Frederic Stevenson had anticipated such a move, and as Norris came on he backed out of the doorway, stuffing the book of formulas into his pocket.
“Up with your hands, every one of you!” he called sternly, as he produced a pistol. Then, turning to the boys, he added: “Don’t let any of them get away.”