The front door burst open and out rushed the men who a few minutes ago had been so confident of bluffing out one of Uncle Sam's sailors and one of his brainiest citizens.
"There they are!" yelled Pulsifer, as his eyes lit on the two figures as they lightly swung into the auto. "Don't let them get away! Five hundred dollars if you stop them!"
"Shoot 'em down!" bawled the shrill tones of Schultz.
As the inventor opened up the motor and threw in the clutch several dark figures leaped in front of the machine, and one jumped on to the seat beside Ned.
This last figure—it was that of Kennell—raised a knife high and then brought it down with a vicious swoop. The blade seemed to strike full at Ned's heart.
The inventor gave a cry of dismay.
But at the same instant, like a thing instinct with life, the car leaped forward.
"Stand from under!" bawled the inventor, as he threw in the third-speed clutch.
Ned saw the figures of Schultz and Hank Harkins flung aside by the wheels and go rolling down the steep hillside. At the same time he drew back his fist and sent it crashing into Kennell's face. The knife fell clattering twenty feet away, as the treacherous bluejacket, with a howl of alarm, fell backward.