“Well, I’d wait a bit about that if I were you,” went on Mr. Knowlton grimly. “Now look here,” he went on, producing a shotgun from behind one of the porch pillars. “I’ll give you fellows just one minute to run down the road and make yourselves scarce in any direction you like. Just one minute, and several seconds of that have already passed!” he added significantly, as he raised the gun. “But I say—look here!” broke out one of the men. “Half a minute gone!” said the inexorable farmer. “You don’t understand!” began the other plotter. “I understand how to use a shotgun!” said Mr. Knowlton. “There’s about fifteen seconds of that minute left and——” He cocked the gun. But the two men did not stay to argue longer. With black looks and shaking their fists at the imperturbable farmer, they ran out of the gate, and with a grim chuckle Mr. Knowlton returned to Tom to tell what had happened. “Thank you—a whole lot,” said the young inventor. “They are desperate men. They are going to blow up my factory. I must get back at once and look after my father. He is an old man—he may not take my telephone warning seriously. Nor may Ned. I must go there myself!” “But you aren’t fit to travel!” expostulated Mrs. Knowlton. “One of the hired men could go.” “No, I must make the trip,” decided Tom. “I’m all right now—except for my ankle. Have you an auto?” “Oh, yes, we have a flivver,” said the farmer. “Then lend it to me—or sell it to me!” cried Tom. “I must make this trip at once—before night. Where is this place, anyhow?” “You’re in Birchville,” was the answer. “It’s about thirty miles to Shopton from here.” “I can make it!” cried Tom. “I can hobble along and make the trip in the auto. You’ll let me go, won’t you, Doctor?” “Well, since you’re so set on it, I reckon I’ll have to. As you say, there’s nothing much the matter except a sprained ankle, and if some one will drive the car for you——” “I’ll drive!” cried the farmer. “I want to see this thing through now. I didn’t like the looks of those fellows with their lie about an escaped crazy man. I’ll drive you home, Tom Swift!” A little later they were on the road, and though the flivver made good time, still to Tom it seemed only to crawl. It was evening now, and rapidly getting dark. Just before setting out he had again called Ned on the wire, telling his manager where he was, briefly relating what had happened, and again warning about the danger of bombs. “Don’t worry, Tom,” Ned had ’phoned back. “We’re so glad you’re safe; nothing else matters. But we’ll be on our guard.” The lights of Shopton were in view. Mr. Knowlton drove his car down the slope that led to the Swift plant, the electric gleams of which could be made out now. “I guess everything’s all right,” Tom said, with a note of relief in his voice. But he had hardly spoken than there came the sound of a loud explosion. “There goes something!” cried the farmer.