“Oh, Andy always was too fresh,” commented Ned; “and since his father let him get the touring car I suppose he’ll be worse than ever.”

“Well, if he tries to run me down again he’ll get into trouble,” declared Tom, calling for a second cup of coffee.

The two chums began conversing on more congenial topics, and Ned was telling of a new camera he had, when, from a table directly behind him, Tom heard some one say in rather loud tones: 

“The plant is located in Shopton, all right, and the buildings are near Swift’s house.”

Tom started, and listened more intently.

“That will make it more difficult,” one man answered.  “But if the invention is as valuable as—­”

“Hush!” came a caution from another of the party.  “This is too public a place to discuss the matter.  Wait until we get out.  One of us will have to see Swift, of course, and if he proves stubborn—­”

“I guess you’d better hush yourself,” retorted the man who had first spoken, and then the voices subsided.

But Tom Swift had overheard something which made him vaguely afraid.  He started so at the sound of his father’s name that he knocked a fork from the table.

“What’s the matter; getting nervous?” asked Ned with a laugh.

“I guess so,” replied Tom, and when he stooped to pick the fork up, not waiting for the girl who was serving at his table, he stole a look at the strangers who had just entered.  He was startled to note that one of the men was the same he had seen in the post-office—­the man who answered the description of the one who had been inquiring of Mr. Merton about the Swift shops.

“I’m going to keep my ears open,” thought Tom as he went on eating his dinner.

CHAPTER III.

IN A SMASH-UP

Though the young inventor listened intently, in an endeavor to hear the conversation of the men at the table behind him, all he could catch was an indistinct murmur.  The strangers appeared to have heeded the caution of one of their number and were speaking in low tones.

Tom and Ned finished their meal, and started to leave the restaurant.  As Mr. Swift’s son passed the table where the men sat they looked up quickly at him.  Two of them gave Tom but a passing glance, but one—­he whom the young inventor had noticed in the post-office—­stared long and intently.

“I think he will know me the next time he sees me,” thought Tom, and he boldly returned the glance of the stranger.

The bolts were ready when the inventor’s son called at the machine shop a second time, and making a package of them Tom fastened it to the saddle of his bicycle.  He started for home at a fast pace, and was just turning from a cross road into the main highway when he saw ahead of him a woman driving a light wagon.  As the sun flashed on Tom’s shining wheel the horse gave a sudden leap, swerved to one side, and then bolted down the dusty stretch, the woman screaming at the top of her voice.