“But can’t you fight them in the courts?”

“Yes, I could do that.  It is not as if I was a poor man, but I do not like lawsuits.  I want to live quietly and invent things.  I dislike litigation.  However, if they force it on me I will fight!” exclaimed Mr. Swift determinedly.

“Do you think this man was one of the crowd of financiers?” asked Tom.

“It would be hard to say.  I did not like his actions, and the fact that he sneaked in here, as if he was trying to get possession of some of my models or plans, makes it suspicious.”

“It certainly does,” agreed Tom.  “Now, if we only knew his name we could—­”

He suddenly paused in his remark and sprang forward.  He picked up an envelope that had dropped where the stranger had been standing.

“The man lost this from his pocket, dad,” said Tom eagerly.  “It’s a telegram.  Shall we look at it?”

“I think we will be justified in protecting ourselves.  Is the envelope open?”

“Yes.”

“Then read the telegram.”

Tom drew out a folded yellow slip of paper.  It was a short message.  He read: 

“’Anson Morse, Mansburg.  See Swift to-day.  Make offer.  If not accepted do the best you can.  Spare no effort.  Don’t give plans away.’”

“Is that all?” asked Mr. Swift.

“All except the signature.”

“Who is the telegram signed by?”

“By Smeak & Katch,” answered Tom.

“Those rascally lawyers!” exclaimed his father.  “I was beginning to suspect this.  That is the firm which represents the syndicate of wealthy men who are trying to get my turbine motor patents away from me.  Tom, we must be on our guard!  They will wage a fierce fight against me, for they have sunk many thousands of dollars in a worthless machine, and are desperate.”

“We’ll fight ’em!” cried Tom.  “You and I, dad!  We’ll show ’em that the firm of Swift & Son is swift by name and swift by nature!”

“Good!” exclaimed the inventor.  “I’m glad you feel that way about it, Tom.  But we are going to have no easy task.  Those men are rich and unscrupulous.  We shall have to be on guard constantly.  Let me have that telegram.  It may come in useful.  Now I must send word to Reid & Crawford, my attorneys in Washington, to be on the lookout.  Matters are coming to a curious pass.”

As Mr. Swift and his son started for the house, they met Mr. Damon coming toward them.

“Bless my very existence!” cried the eccentric man.  “I was beginning to fear something had happened to you.  I am glad that you are all right.  I heard voices, and I imagined—­”

“It’s all right,” Mr. Swift reassured him.  “There was a stranger about my shop, and I never allow that.  Do you feel well enough to go?  If not we shall be glad to have you remain with us.  We have plenty of room.”

“Oh, thank you very much, but I must be going.  I feel much better.  Bless my gaiters, but I never will trust myself in even an automobile again!  I will renounce gasolene from now on.”