time
now."
"I'll be sure to have them for you after dinner," promised Mr.
Merton. "Now, there's a matter I want to speak to you about, Tom.
Has your father any idea of giving the work he has been turning over
to me to some other firm?"
"Not that I know of. Why?" and the lad showed his wonder.
"Well, I'll tell you why. Some time ago there was a stranger in
here, asking about your father's work. I told Mr. Swift of it at the
time. The stranger said then that he and some others were thinking
of opening a machine shop, and he wanted to find out whether they
would be likely to get any jobs from your father. I told the man I
knew nothing about Mr. Swift's business, and he went away. I didn't
hear any more of it, though of course I didn't want to lose your
father's trade. Now a funny thing happened. Only this morning the
same man was back here, and he was making particular inquiries about
your father's private machine shops."
"He was?" exclaimed Tom excitedly.
"Yes. He wanted to know where they were located, how they were laid
out, and what sort of work he did in them."
"What did you tell him?"
"Nothing at all. I suspected something, and I said the best way for
him to find out would be to go and see your father. Wasn't that
right?"
"Sure. Dad doesn't want his business known any more than he can
help. What do you suppose they wanted?"
"Well, the man talked as though he and his partners would like to
buy your father's shops."
"I don't believe he'd sell. He has them arranged just for his own
use in making patents, and I'm sure he would not dispose of them."
"Well, that's what I thought, but I didn't tell the man so. I judged
it would be best for him to find out for himself."
"What was the man's name?"
"He didn't tell me, and I didn't ask him."
"How did he look?"
"Well, he was well dressed, wore kid gloves and all that, and he had
a little black mustache."
Tom started, and Mr. Merton noticed it.
"Do you know him?" he asked.
"No," replied Tom, "but I saw—" Then he stopped. He recalled the
man he had seen in the post-office. He answered this description,
but it was too vague to be certain.
"Did you say you'd seen him?" asked Mr. Merton, regarding Tom
curiously.
"No—yes—that is—well, I'll tell my father about it," stammered
Tom, who concluded that it would be best to say nothing of his
suspicions. "I'll be back right after dinner, Mr. Merton. Please
have the bolts ready for me, if you can."
"I will. Is your father going to use them in a new machine?"
"Yes; dad is always making new machines," answered the youth, as the
most polite way of not giving the proprietor of the shop any
information. "I'll be back right after dinner," he called as he went
out to get on his wheel.
Tom was much puzzled. He felt certain that the man in the post-
office and the one who had questioned Mr. Merton were the same.
"There is something going on, that dad should know about," reflected
Tom. "I must tell him. I don't believe it will be wise to send any
more of his patent work over to Merton. We must do it in the shops
at home, and dad and I will have to keep our eyes open. There may be
spies about seeking to discover something about his new turbine
motor. I'll hurry back with those bolts and tell dad. But first I
must get lunch. I'll go to the restaurant and have a good feed while
I'm at it."
Tom had plenty of spending money, some of which came from a small
patent he had marketed himself. He left his wheel outside the
restaurant, first taking the precaution to chain the wheels, and
then went inside. Tom was hungry and ordered a good meal. He was
about half way through it when some one called his name.
"Hello, Ned!" he answered, looking up to see a youth about his own
age. "Where did you blow in from?"
"Oh, I came over from Shopton this morning," replied Ned Newton,
taking a seat at the table with Tom. The two lads were chums, and in
their younger days had often gone fishing, swimming and hunting
together. Now Ned worked in the