Down from the house rushed Frank Reade, Jr., alarmed by the pistol shot, and seeing the detective was stunned he knelt down beside the boy.
Poor Joe was dead, to all appearances.
CHAPTER II.
THE ENGINE OF THE CLOUDS.
Frank Reade, Jr., was a dashing young man of distinguished appearance, attired in fashionable clothing.
He was noted for his wonderful skill at inventing electrical and mechanical wonders of various kinds.
In this work he was ably assisted by a diminutive negro, named Pomp, and a rollicking, red-headed Irishman, called Barney O’Shea, who invariably were his traveling companions on the trips he made with his inventions.
Judging that the boy was beyond all recovery, and deeming it wisest to pay first attention to the living, Frank lifted the detective up and carried him into the house.
He met the coon and the Celt running toward him.
“Gorramighty!” panted Pomp. “Wha’ de trouble, Marsa Frank?”
“I found this senseless man and a dead boy at the gate just now!”