He was busy trying to figure out the best plan to pursue, and was hardly conscious of his surroundings. Seated on the log, with his back to the opening in the shed, the young inventor could not see a figure stealthily creeping up through the wet grass. Nor could he see an automobile, which had come to a stop back of the horse shelter--an automobile containing two rain-soaked men, who were anxiously watching the one stealing through the grass. Tom put his watch back into his pocket and looked out into the storm. It was almost over. The sun was trying to shine through the clouds, and only a few drops were falling. The youth stretched with a yawn, for he was tired of sitting still. At the moment when he raised his arms to relieve his muscles something was thrust through the opening behind him. It was a long club, and an instant later it descended on the lad's head. He went down in a heap, limp and motionless. Through the opening leaped a man. He bent over Tom, looked anxiously at him, and then, stepping to the place where the boards were off the shed, he motioned to the men in the automobile. They hurried from the machine, and were soon beside their companion. "I knocked him out, all right," observed the man who had reached through and dealt Tom the blow with the club. "Knocked him out! I should say you did, Featherton!" exclaimed one who appeared better dressed than the others. "Have you killed him?" "No; but I wish you wouldn't mention my name, Mr. Appleson. I--I don't like--" "Nonsense, Featherton. No one can hear us. But I'm afraid you've done for the chap. I didn't want him harmed." "Oh, I guess Featherton knows how to do it, Appleson," commented the third man. "He's had experience that way, eh, Featherton?" "Yes, Mr. Morse; but if you please I wish you wouldn't mention--" "All right, Featherton, I know what you mean," rejoined the man addressed as Morse. "Now let's see if we have drawn a blank or not. I think he has with him the very thing we want." "Doesn't seem to be about his person," observed Appleson, as he carefully felt about the clothing of the unfortunate Tom. "Very likely not. It's too bulky. But there's his motor-cycle over there. It looks as if what we wanted was on the back of the saddle. Jove, Featherton, but I think he's coming to!" Tom stirred uneasily and moved his arms, while a moan came from between his parted lips. "I've got some stuff that will fix him!" exclaimed the man addressed as Featherton, and who had been operating the automobile. He took something from his pocket and leaned over Tom. In a moment the young inventor was still again. "Quick now, see if it's there," directed Morse, and Appleson hurried over to the machine. "Here it is!" he called. "I'll take it to our car, and we can get away." "Are you going to leave him here like this?" asked Morse. "Yes; why not?" "Because some one might have seen him come in here, and also remember that we, too, came in this direction." "What would you do?"