“I must take you into custody, young man,” said the officer. “I am sorry, but this gentleman,” and he pointed to Kilborn, “has sworn out a warrant against you, charging you with assault with intent to kill. I must do my duty.”
“All right,” assented Tom, with such seeming cheerfulness that Ned looked at him curiously. “If I have to go with you I suppose I must. But this is your last trick, Kilborn!” the young inventor suddenly cried. “I’m going to play trumps from now on! Follow me, Ned!”
With a sudden motion Tom tripped the officer who had reached out a hand to apprehend him. He pushed the man backward into the midst of his fellows, and then sent a fist full into Kilborn’s face, whirling him aside.
Then, like a football player, Tom turned and ran back into the restaurant, followed by Ned, who did not know what to make of it.
“They’ll trap us in here, Tom!” panted his chum.
“No, there’s a back way out that leads directly to the beach!” whispered Tom. “I noticed that when we were in there. Come on. We can beat Kilborn yet!”
On they rushed, through the midst of the astonished waiters and patrons in the dining room. Out through the kitchen they went and into a back alley. Tom had marked the way well, and in a few minutes, leaving a confused and yelling crowd of men behind them, the two reached the harbor, and, engaging a motor launch by the simple but effective method of shoving gold coin into the owner’s hand, were soon aboard the Air Monarch.
“How about it?” gasped Tom to the workmen. “Can we start?”
“At once, if there is need!” answered Peltok.
“There’s the greatest need in the world if I’m going to win the race!” cried Tom.