That it was the work of some enemy, or enemies, Tom did not for an instant doubt. It was not the first time those jealous of his success had tried to wrest from him by unfair means the fruits of his talents and toils. “What’s it all about, Ned?” he asked his manager, as he was rushed along in the electric car. “Don’t know, Tom,” was the answer. “I had gone over to the bank, and I was delayed a little while. As a matter of fact, I stopped to hear some reports about the forest fire, for I was anxious about you. “When I got back I found the office in confusion, and Eradicate, staggering about with a badly cut head, was telling some story about a big red-haired man who had burst in on your father and had tried to take some papers away from him. Mrs. Baggert, it seems, had come over to the office to bring your father a glass of milk which she thought he ought to have, and she tried to stop the attack. But the rascal went for her, too. “As soon as I got in your father, having in the meanwhile located you at Mary’s house, sent me over to get you. That’s all I know about it.” “Is dad all right?” “Yes—nothing serious. Though he’s greatly upset, and that isn’t any too good for him. But he got only a slight blow on the head.” “And a man with red hair did it,” mused Tom. “Red hair! I don’t know anybody with red hair who would be as desperate as all that. This is getting mysterious!” CHAPTER XV THE TRAP THE young inventor, followed by his manager and chum, hurried into the house. Tom found Dr. Clayton putting the finishing touches to the dressing on a scalp wound Eradicate had sustained in the encounter. In one corner of the room Mrs. Baggert, a bandage around one hand, was endeavoring to get Mr. Swift to drink something from a cup. “I tell you I’m all right,” insisted the old inventor. “I don’t need any catnip tea, my dear Mrs. Baggert!” “But it will be good for your nerves. Won’t it, doctor?” asked the solicitous housekeeper. “I guess it won’t do him any harm,” was the noncommittal answer. “There, Rad, now you’ll be all right,” he added. “You aren’t as badly hurt as you thought.” “Say, this looks like a first-line dressing station!” exclaimed Tom, for a glance showed him that the situation was not as desperate as it had at first seemed. No one was seriously hurt. “Three casualties, but they can all get back on the firing line soon,” announced Dr. Clayton, with a smile. “Are you able to talk to me about it, Dad?” asked Tom. “He should be in bed and taking hot catnip tea!” insisted Mrs. Baggert. “You ought to be in bed yourself, Mrs. Baggert!” returned Mr. Swift in kindly tones. “That wound in your hand——” “Pshaw! A mere scratch. I’ve done worse to myself lots of times with a darning needle!” she replied. “And I do wish you’d take this catnip tea!” “I’m not a baby!” laughed Mr. Swift. “But, give it here!”