"I am delighted to catch you--although, of course," and Tom knew the
gentleman's eyes twinkled, "I could have no idea that you were over
here at Mary's, Tom."

"Of course not," rejoined the young inventor calmly. "Seeing that I
only come to see her just as often as I get a chance."

"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. This invention,
his ammonia gun, now came into play.

"Bless my failing eyesight!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, as he shot the
motor-car ahead again in a straight line.

The man who had accosted Tom so fiercely fell off the running board and
rolled into the gutter, screaming and choking from the fumes from Tom's
gun.

"Drive on!" commanded the young inventor. "If he keeps bellowing like
that the police will pick him up. I guess he will let us alone
here-after."

"Bless my short hairs and long ones!" chuckled Mr. Damon. "You are the
coolest young fellow, Tom, that I ever saw. That man must have been a
highwayman. And it is of some of those gentry that I drove over to
Shopton this evening to talk to you about.