The young inventor, Mr. Damon, and his friend, whom he addressed as Mr. Benson, went as close to the house as they considered prudent.  Then, screening themselves in the bushes, they waited.  They conversed in whispers, Tom giving more details of his experience with the patent thieves.

Suddenly the silence of the woods was broken by some one advancing through the underbrush.

“Bless my gaiters, some one is coming!” exclaimed Mr. Damon in a hoarse whisper.  “Can that be Munson or Dwight coming back?” He referred to his two friends who had gone to the lake.

“Or perhaps the fellows are escaping,” suggested Mr. Benson.  “Suppose we take a look.”

At that moment the person approaching, whoever he was, began to sing.  Tom started.

“I’ll wager that’s Happy Harry, the tramp!” he exclaimed.  “I know his voice.”

Cautiously Tom peered over the screen of bushes.

“Who is it?” asked Mr. Damon.

“It’s Happy Harry!” said Tom.  “We’ll get them all, now.  He’s going up to the house.”

They watched the tramp.  All unconscious of the eyes of the men and boy in the bushes, he kept on.  Presently the door of the house opened, and a man came out.  Tom recognized him as Anson Morse—­the person who had dropped the telegram.

“Say, Burke,” called the man at the door, “have you taken the motor-boat?”

“Motor-boat?  No,” answered the tramp.  “I just came here.  I’ve had a hard time—­nearly got caught in Swift’s house the other night by that cub of a boy.  Is the boat gone?”

“Yes.  Appleson came back in it last night and saw some one looking in the window, but we thought it was only a farmer and chased him away.  This morning the boat’s gone.  I thought maybe you had taken it for a joke.”

“Not a bit of it!  Something’s wrong!” exclaimed Happy Harry.  “We’d better light out.  I think the police are after us.  That young Swift is too sharp for my liking.  We’d better skip.  I don’t believe that was a farmer who looked in the window.  Tell the others, get the stuff, and we’d leave this locality.”

“They’re here still,” whispered Tom.  “That’s good!”

“I wonder if Munson and Dwight are at the lake yet?” asked Mr. Damon.  “They ought to be—­”

At that instant a pistol shot rang out.  The tramp, after a hasty glance around, started on the run for the house.  The man in the doorway sprang out.  Soon two others joined him.

“Who fired that shot?” cried Morse.

“Come on, Tom!” cried Mr. Damon, grabbing up his club and springing from the bushes.  “Our friends have arrived!” The young inventor and Mr. Benson followed him.

No sooner had they come into the open space in front of the house than they were seen.  At the same instant, from the rear, in the direction of the lake, came Mr. Munson and Mr. Dwight.

“We’re caught!” cried Happy Harry.

He made a dash far the house, just as a man, carrying a box, rushed out.