“That’s queer!” mused Tom, as he got out of the stalled car to have a look. “I thought the batteries were fully charged. Some one must have been running it without telling me. Well, I can walk, I suppose. It isn’t far.”
He tested the storage batteries, found that his surmise was correct—that they had exhausted themselves, though unaccountably—and then he started to walk.
But he had not gone far along the road, which was very lonely at this point, when a dark figure sprang suddenly from the bushes, leaped toward the young inventor, and uttered a smothered imprecation. There was a dull, thudding blow, and Tom was stricken down, sinking unconscious in the long grass at the side of the highway. Then the dark figure, with a sinister chuckle, fled amid the shadows of the night.
CHAPTER VIII
MIDNIGHT PROWLERS
“Well, Mary,” remarked Mr. Nestor as he looked at the clock. “Tom is a bit late, isn’t he?”
“Oh, he’ll be here,” said the girl, with a smile. “He said he was coming to take me for a little ride in the electric runabout before he has to go to New York to-morrow to sign up in the world race. Tom will be here.”
“Yes, I never knew him to fail an engagement,” went on Mr. Nestor with another look at the clock. “Yet he’s a bit late. I’m going out and smoke a cigar. If I see him coming——”
“Now, Daddy!” laughed Mary, “you don’t need to tell Tom to hurry. He isn’t a child. What if he is late?”
“Oh, well, nothing. But I just thought I’d mention it,” and with that Mr. Nestor went out.
Though Mary would not admit to her father that Tom was later than usual, she was more honest with herself. And when nine o’clock came and Tom had not appeared, she became uneasy.