"No," he returned shortly, and jumped into his car.
As he drove along Jasper lane Forrester was startled to hear a sharp report behind him. It echoed through the still woods and for a moment he thought that someone had fired a shot at him, but the immediate jarring of his car signified that one of the rear tires had blown out. He stopped the car, shut off the engine, and after adjusting the spotlight so that he could see to work, threw his coat into the car and started the job of changing tires.
He had nearly completed the task when he was suddenly seized in a strong grip and something placed over his face!
Though taken at a disadvantage, and aware, from the peculiar odor which assailed his nostrils, that his opponent was endeavoring to render him unconscious by some sort of gas or drug, Forrester did not give up hope but fought back courageously. His arms had been pinioned at his sides, however, and he found it impossible to do more than struggle in the grasp of his attacker. Realizing that he must soon lose consciousness, Forrester made a supreme effort and succeeded in wrenching his arms free. His first thought being to get air, he grasped at the object over his face in an effort to pull it away. It was too late, for he already felt faint and weak and could not exert the necessary strength.
Then he dimly heard several explosions like pistol shots and everything became blank.
————
Forrester slowly opened his eyes and stared straight ahead for a minute or two, trying to recollect what had happened and where he was. He was in bed, but the room, so far as he could see in the dim light of a distant, shaded lamp, was unfamiliar.
"Oh, Robert," cried a voice, "are you all right? How do you feel? Speak to me!"
Languidly he turned his head and recognized Mary Sturtevant sitting by the bedside. Then he discovered that one of his hands was held tightly in both of hers.
"What has happened?" he queried, weakly.