"
"Bless my memory tablets! is that the fact?" chuckled Mr.
Damon. "Anyway, I wanted to see you so particularly that I drove
over in my car tonight--"
"Wait a minute," said Tom, hastily. "Is this important?"
"I think so, Tom."
"Let me get something else off of my mind first, then, Mr.
Damon," Tom Swift said quickly. "Drive around by Ned's house,
will you, please? Ned Newton's. After I speak a minute with him I
will be at your service.
"Surely, Tom; surely," agreed the gentleman.
The automobile had been running slowly. Mr. Damon knew the
streets of Shopton very well, and he headed around the next
corner. As the car turned, a figure bounded out of the shadow
near the house line. Two long strides, and the man was on the
running board of the car upon the side where Tom Swift sat. Again
an ugly club was raised above the young fellow's head.
"You're the smart guy!" croaked the coarse voice Tom had heard
before. "Think you can bamboozle me, do you? Up with 'em!"
"Bless my spark-plug!" gasped Mr. Wakefield Damon.
Either from nervousness or intention, he jerked the steering
wheel so that the car made a sudden leap away from the curb. The
figure of the stranger swayed.
Instantly Tom Swift struck the man's arm up higher and from
under his own coat appeared something that bulked like a pistol
in his right hand. He had intimated to Mary Nestor that he
carried something with which to defend himself from highwaymen if
he chose to.
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