As they swayed back and forth, Ned saw the fellow's features as the two emerged into a patch of moonlight. His astonishment almost caused him to lose his advantageous grip. "Hank Harkins!" he gasped. "Yes, Hank Harkins; and this is the time I even up old scores," grated the other, through his close-set teeth. "Not while I've got two arms," grunted Ned, striving to overset the other. But, as he felt Hank's body bend back and his sinews crack, two of the other men flung themselves on the Dreadnought Boy from behind. A few brief seconds later, Ned, borne down by overwhelming numbers, was a prisoner. Even as he fell he recognized the two who had come to Hank's aid as Carl Schultz and Ralph Kennell. "This is the kind of work I should have expected to find you taking part in," sneered Ned, as he lay on his back, his arms and legs pinioned by Hank and Carl Schultz and Kennell's evil face glaring down into his. "It's the kind of work you'll have no reason to like," grinned Hank meaningly. "I fancy that we'll be able to even up things now." Ned disdained to answer the fellow, and returned his threats with a stare of cold contempt. The next instant he set up a shout, which was instantly choked back by a rough hand on his throat. Kennell it was who had compressed the Dreadnought Boy's windpipe till breathing became painful. "Your handkerchief--quick!" Kennell ordered Schultz. The graceful Schultz brought out a scented piece of linen. "Now, younker, open your mouth again," ordered Kennell, taking his hand from Ned's throat. Ned set his teeth firmly, however. Kennell, beside himself with fury, struck him a cowardly blow across the face with his clenched fist. Still Ned's mouth was locked. The blue-jacket, seeing that it would take too long to force Ned's lips open in that way, then seized hold of the lad's nose, compressing the nostrils. In a short time Ned was compelled to open his mouth to breathe and the handkerchief was then thrust in between his teeth, making an effectual gag. The Dreadnought Boy was then rudely yanked to his feet. As he stood upright, he noticed a faint, sickly smell in the air. Chloroform! The inventor's figure, white-faced and outstretched as though in a deep sleep, lay a few paces away. His stupor showed to what purpose the drug had been put. "He'll give us no more bother," grinned Pulsifer, nodding in the direction of the recumbent inventor, over whom the scowling Silas stood guard. "Got any left for the kid, if he gets mussy?" inquired Kennell. "No, confound it," muttered the younger Pulsifer; "the stuff upset and spilled on the grass." "I should say it did. The place smells like a medical college," commented Kennell. "Now, guv'nor, where's the gasoline gig?" "Two of you fellows pick up Varian," ordered Pulsifer, "and follow me. Kennell, you take care of the boy--wherever he came from. Tie his hands. The rig is right outside the rear gate of the grounds."