“Good work, Mr. Camberly,” he exclaimed with a chuckle. “I guess I won’t go back to Grayport to-night, after all.”
As he spoke he aimed a vicious blow at Ned. The rascal’s fist struck the Dreadnought Boy full in the face.
“You scoundrel,” flared out Ned. “Set me free and see if you dare to strike me.”
“Set you free,” sneered the voice behind him, the owner of which still held the boy’s arms tightly pinioned. “Not to-night, my boy, and perhaps not for many nights. Gradbarr, get that rope that we meant for Lockyer out of the tonneau. We’ll truss this young turkey cock up and take some of the fight out of him.”
Raging furiously within, Ned was compelled resistlessly to submit to the indignity of being bundled up hand and foot in the rope by Gradbarr. The former machinist thoroughly enjoyed his job, as was evinced by the way he grinned and chuckled as he viciously drew the cords tight.
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” he jeered. “It looks as if I was going to get even at last for the other night when you thought you had me bottled up at the boat yard. Take that, you young sneak!”
He aimed another hard blow at Ned’s face, but this time Camberly checked him.
“That will do, Gradbarr,” he warned. “Wait till we get him to the island if you have any old scores to pay off. You can attend to them there at your leisure.”
“Won’t Anderson be tickled to death when he sees him,” muttered Gradbarr. “The dirty young spy. Just think he was hiding under those cushions in the tonneau all the time we were driving out here.”
“We’ll make him tell us just how he got there later on,” said Camberly. “For the present just run that car into that brush at the side of the road. We don’t want to leave it standing where it will attract attention.”