“How do I know?  Why, doesn’t the end of this shooting gallery of yours point right at my house?  Of course it does; you can’t deny it!”

Tom did not attempt to, and Mr. Moker went on: 

“Now what do you mean by it?”

“If any of the bullets from my electric gun went near you, it was a mistake, and I’m sorry for it,” said Tom.

“Well, they did, all right,” declared the excited man.  “They went right past my ear.”

“I don’t see how they could,” declared Tom.  “I was trying my new electric rifle, but I had the limit set for two hundred feet, the length of the gallery.  That is, the electrical discharge couldn’t go beyond that distance.”

“I don’t know what it was, but it went through the side of my house all the same,” insisted Mr. Moker.  “It didn’t make a hole, but it scorched the wall paper a little.”

“I don’t see how it could,” declared Tom.  “It couldn’t possibly have gone over two hundred feet with the gage set for that distance.”  He paused suddenly, and hurried over to where he had placed his gun.  Catching up the weapon he looked at the gage dial.  Then he uttered an exclamation.

“I’m sorry to admit that you are right, Mr. Moker!” he said finally.  “I made a mistake.  The gage is set for a thousand feet instead of two hundred.  I forgot to change it.  The charge, after passing through the steel plate, and the scarecrow figure, destroying the latter, went on, and shot through the side of your house.”

“Ha!  I knew you were trying to shoot me!” exclaimed the still angry man.  “I’ll have the law on you for this!”

“Oh, that’s all nonsense!” broke in Ned Newton.  “Everybody knows Tom Swift wouldn’t try to shoot you, or any one else, Mr. Moker.”

“Then why did he shoot at me?”

“That was a mistake,” explained Tom, “and I apologize to you for it.”

“Humph!  A lot of good that would do me, if I’d been killed!” muttered the miser.  “I’m going to sue you for this.  You might have put me in my grave.”

“Impossible!” exclaimed Tom.

“Why impossible?” demanded the visitor.

“Because I had so set the rifle that almost the entire force of the electrical bullet was expended in blowing apart the scarecrow figure I made for a test,” explained Tom.  “All that passed through your house was a small charge, and, if it had hit you there would have been no more than a little shock, such as you would feel in taking hold of an electric battery.”

“How do I know this?” asked the man cunningly.  “You say so, but for all I know you may have wanted to kill me.”

“Why?” asked Tom, trying not to laugh.

“Oh, so you might get some of my money.  Of course I ain’t got none,” the miser went on quickly, “but folks thinks I’ve got a lot, and I have to be on the lookout all the while, or they’d murder me for it.”

“I wouldn’t,” declared the young inventor.  “It was a mistake.  Only part of the spent charge passed near you.  Why, if it had been a powerful charge you would never have been able to come over here.  I set the main charge to go off inside the scarecrow, and it did so, as you can see by looking at what’s left of it,” and he pointed to the pile of clothes and rags.