As he uttered his thought half aloud, voices at some little distance struck into his hearing.
“Bring him along. The machine should be right here some place. Say, that was a hard tap you gave him, Gradbarr.”
“The better to keep him quiet with,” grunted another voice, which Ned instantly recognized as that of the rascally machinist.
There was need for quick thinking on Ned’s part. Lockyer’s captors were near at hand. In a few brief seconds they would have the inventor’s unconscious form in the car. That much was clear from the fragments of their talk the boy had caught. In a flash Ned’s mind was made up. Slipping back into the brush, he raised his revolver and fired two shots in rapid succession.
As he had expected, there was instant uproar. The party with Lockyer in custody paused, startled by the very suddenness of the thing. At the same time shouts and cries arose from several points of the abandoned hotel grounds.
While the confusion was at its height, Ned darted forward, and, leaping nimbly into the tonneau of the machine, he ran his hand under the back seat. As he had expected, there was quite a space under there, and, making as little noise as possible, the boy crawled into it. Hardly had he tucked in his toes before a heavy footstep came on the running board, and a voice ordered gruffly:
“Chuck Lockyer in, boys, and look lively. In some way the police have got wise to us.”
“Police nothing,” came another voice, which Ned, with a distinct thrill, knew to be Gradbarr’s. “If them Dreadnought Boys ain’t got something to do with this, call me a Dutchman.”
Then came the noise of something limp and heavy being stowed on the seat of the tonneau, followed by a shuffling and stamping as the members of the rascally party of abductors boarded the car. A minute later, just as the amazed party from the submarine came dashing through the bushes, the auto leaped forward.