“You mean if he isn’t smashed up hurrying here,” said Mary.
“Something like that—yes,” Tom answered.
Certainly, Ned got out of the electric runabout about all it was capable of, for soon after Mr. Swift had telephoned the news of the mysterious attack the honk of the machine was heard out front. Bidding his friends good-bye, the young inventor was rushed to the scene of the latest outrage on the part of his enemies.
That it was the work of some enemy, or enemies, Tom did not for an instant doubt. It was not the first time those jealous of his success had tried to wrest from him by unfair means the fruits of his talents and toils.
“What’s it all about, Ned?” he asked his manager, as he was rushed along in the electric car.
“Don’t know, Tom,” was the answer. “I had gone over to the bank, and I was delayed a little while. As a matter of fact, I stopped to hear some reports about the forest fire, for I was anxious about you.
“When I got back I found the office in confusion, and Eradicate, staggering about with a badly cut head, was telling some story about a big red-haired man who had burst in on your father and had tried to take some papers away from him. Mrs. Baggert, it seems, had come over to the office to bring your father a glass of milk which she thought he ought to have, and she tried to stop the attack. But the rascal went for her, too.
“As soon as I got in your father, having in the meanwhile located you at Mary’s house, sent me over to get you. That’s all I know about it.”
“Is dad all right?”
“Yes—nothing serious. Though he’s greatly upset, and that isn’t any too good for him. But he got only a slight blow on the head.”