“No, it isn’t the gear shift. I’m going to drop that. It’s your own private work of trying to sneak in and fathom my secrets. That’s all. You are through. Get your time and clear out! Mr. Jackson was right in his surmise.”
“Oh, so Jackson has been talking about me, has he?”
“I’m not answering any of your questions,” retorted Tom. “The sooner you leave the premises the better. And don’t come back!”
For a moment Greenbaum stood looking squarely at Tom Swift whose eyes never faltered under the gaze of the angry man. Then Greenbaum asked with great deliberation:
“Is that your last word, Mr. Swift?”
“Yes.”
“Well, all I’ve got to say is that maybe you’ll be sorry for this some day! Maybe you’ll be sorry!”
There was a distinct threat in Greenbaum’s words.
“What do you mean?” cried Tom in anger starting from his chair. “How dare you threaten me?”
Greenbaum made no answer, but turned and went out of the office. Tom was about to follow, for he did not want the fellow to think he could thus defy him, when the telephone on the desk rang out sharply.