At half-past eight that fateful night Captain Jack found a pretext for leaving his companions.  Swinging out onto the road, and down past the new Melville yard, he went on briskly to the point, well out of town, that had been named for the meeting.

“I wonder if I’m foolish?” he thought, suddenly.  “Is there any trick in all this?  But, pshaw!  The Melvilles surely aren’t that kind of people, and no one else has anything against me.  It’s all likely enough that Don is putting up some mean game against me down at the yard, or that he’s saying something mighty mean against me.  Whatever it is, these Italians are honest enough to feel disgusted, and they want to warn me.  Yet they don’t want to have any Melville eavesdropper seeing them with me.  That’s all natural enough, for these Italians have their jobs to look out for, even if they do hate the rascals who pay ’em wages.”

So Captain Jack kept on his way, feeling that any suspicions of the Italians were unfounded and therefore unnecessary.

David Pollard, after wandering through the grounds around the Farnum home, that evening, and missing his friend, the owner, at last decided to go to his own room and read.

Always soft-footed, Mr. Pollard made no noise until he turned the knob of the door to his room.  There was a sudden, scurrying sound inside.  Though he was a man of very nervous temperament the inventor was no coward.  He darted in, in time to see a figure making through the dark for an open window.

“Who’s there Here!  Stop!” thundered the inventor, rushing forward.

But the intruder did not obey.

Hidden behind a book in a bookcase was the inventor’s revolver.  Mr. Pollard hauled the book out, dropping it, and, in a trice, had the weapon in his hand, racing again toward the window.

The intruder had gained the ground by the time that Mr. Pollard reached the window.

“Stop, you thief!  Hold up, or I’ll shoot!” warned the inventor.

However, the skulker took to his heels.  Pollard fired once, the flame spitting from the muzzle of his revolver.  But the figure still continued in flight, and the inventor realized that there was no further use in firing.

“That was odd,” thought Pollard.  “The fellow had on a uniform just such as our boys wear.  If it weren’t so absurd, I might be tempted to believe, despite the darkness, that it was Jack Benson.  But he would have no need to break in here.”

Then Mrs. Farnum appeared, with the servants, for the shot had alarmed the household.

“Have you found that anything is missing from here?” inquired Mrs. Farnum, while Mr. pollard searched and explained at the same time.

The inventor now halted before his desk, rummaging.

“Yes,” he answered, dryly, though with a slight quaver in his voice.  “The thief found and departed with the drawings of a most important new device, originated by Benson and his friends and finished by myself.  I’d rather lose a large sum of money than those drawings.”