“Why, it’s Tom!” exclaimed Mrs. Baggert.  “Whatever happened to you?” and she hurried forward with kindly solicitude, for the housekeeper was almost a second mother to the youth.

“Chain broke,” answered the lad laconically.  “Where’s dad?”

“Out in the shop, working at his latest invention, I expect.  But are you hurt?”

“Oh, no.  I fell easily.  The mud was like a feather-bed, you know, except that it isn’t so good for the clothes,” and the young inventor looked down at his splashed and bedraggled garments.

Mr. Swift was very much surprised when Tom told him of the happening on the road, and related the conversation and the subsequent alarm of the man on learning Tom’s identity.

“Who do you suppose he could have been?” asked Tom, when he had finished.

“I am pretty certain he was one of that crowd of financiers of whom Anson Morse seems to be a representative,” said Mr. Swift.  “Are you sure the man was one of those you saw in the restaurant?”

“Positive.  I had a good look at him both times.  Do you think he imagined he could come here and get possession of some of your secrets?”

“I hardly know what to think, Tom.  But we will take every precaution.  We will set the burglar alarm wires, which I have neglected for some time, as I fancied everything would be secure here.  Then I will take my plans and the model of the turbine motor into the house.  I’ll run no chances to-night.”

Mr. Swift, who was adjusting some of the new bolts that Tom had brought home that day; began to gather up his tools and material.

“I’ll help you, dad,” said Tom, and he began connecting the burglar alarm wires, there being an elaborate system of them about the house, shops and grounds.

Neither Tom nor his father slept well that night.  Several times one or the other of them arose, thinking they heard unusual noises, but it was only some disturbance caused by the storm, and morning arrived without anything unusual having taken place.  The rain still continued, and Tom, looking from his window and seeing the downpour, remarked: 

“I’m glad of it!”

“Why?” asked his father, who was in the next room.

“Because I’ll have a good excuse for staying in and working on my motor-cycle.”

“But you must do some studying,” declared Mr. Swift.  “I will hear you in mathematics right after breakfast.”

“All right, dad.  I guess you’ll find I have my lessons.”

Tom had graduated with honors from a local academy, and when it came to a question of going further in his studies, he had elected to continue with his father for a tutor, instead of going to college.  Mr. Swift was a very learned man, and this arrangement was satisfactory to him, as it allowed Tom more time at home, so he could aid his father on the inventive work and also plan things for himself.  Tom showed a taste for mechanics, and his father wisely decided that such training as his son needed could be given at home to better advantage than in a school or college.