"My motor-cycle!" he exclaimed in alarm. "The model of dad's
invention--the papers!"
Our hero thrust his hand into his pocket. The papers were gone!
Hurriedly he lighted another match. It took but an instant to glance
rapidly about the small shed. His machine was not in sight!
Tom felt his heart sink. After all his precautions he had been
robbed. The precious model was gone, and it had been his proposition
to take it to Albany in this manner. What would his father say?
The lad lighted match after match, and made a rapid tour of the
shed. The motor-cycle was not to be seen. But what puzzled Tom more
than anything else was how he had been brought from the church shed
to the one where he had awakened from his stupor.
"Let me try to think," said the boy, speaking aloud, for it seemed
to help him. "The last I remember is seeing that automobile, with
those mysterious men in, approaching. Then it disappeared in the
rain. I thought I heard it again, but I couldn't see it. I was
sitting on the log, and--and--well, that's all I can remember. I
wonder if those men--"
The young inventor paused. Like a flash it came to him that the men
were responsible for his predicament. They had somehow made him
insensible, stolen his motor-cycle, the papers and the model, and
then brought him to this place, wherever it was.
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