“Yes?” urged Jack, bending over the recumbent man.
But Mr. Dancer’s eyes closed and he sank back unconscious. It was not till then that Jack felt that his hands were wet, and realized that the inventor was bleeding from a wound on the head, apparently inflicted with some blunt instrument.
“The man Duke has wounded, perhaps fatally injured him!” was his thought as he hastily sought for some means of staunching the blood, which was flowing copiously.
A pitcher of water stood on the desk, and Jack hastily soaked his handkerchief in it. Then, returning to Mr. Dancer’s side, he bathed the ugly wound.
Almost immediately he was rewarded by Mr. Dancer opening his eyes and gazing at him in a somewhat dazed way.
“Can you tell me what has happened?” asked Jack.
“Yes; it was Duke struck me. He has a sort of hold on me, a monetary one. I can’t explain now, but he has stolen papers from that desk.”
“Important ones?”
“Yes; in a way they are important.”
“Hold on, I may be able to catch him yet!” cried Jack, darting from the shed.