"Knocked him out! I should say you did, Featherton!" exclaimed one who appeared better dressed than the others. "Have you killed him?"
"No; but I wish you wouldn't mention my name, Mr. Appleson. I--I don't like--"
"Nonsense, Featherton. No one can hear us. But I'm afraid you've done for the chap. I didn't want him harmed."
"Oh, I guess Featherton knows how to do it, Appleson," commented the third man. "He's had experience that way, eh, Featherton?"
"Yes, Mr. Morse; but if you please I wish you wouldn't mention--"
"All right, Featherton, I know what you mean," rejoined the man addressed as Morse. "Now let's see if we have drawn a blank or not. I think he has with him the very thing we want."
"Doesn't seem to be about his person," observed Appleson, as he carefully felt about the clothing of the unfortunate Tom.
"Very likely not. It's too bulky. But there's his motor-cycle over there. It looks as if what we wanted was on the back of the saddle. Jove, Featherton, but I think he's coming to!"
Tom stirred uneasily and moved his arms, while a moan came from between his parted lips.
"I've got some stuff that will fix him!" exclaimed the man addressed as Featherton, and who had been operating the automobile. He took something from his pocket and leaned over Tom. In a moment the young inventor was still again.