“No, boss, honest to goodness I don’t know nothin’ about no kidnappin’!” cried the tramp, with vehement earnestness. “It was just as I told you—I picked that kite up in the field at Cherry Valley.” “It may have happened as this man says,” Tom said to Mr. Damon. “If Ned is a prisoner in some old farmhouse, he may be confined in an upper room. From there he could loose this kite and, on a windy day, it might be blown several miles.” “But how could he make a kite and fly it without being seen?” asked Mr. Damon. “And, when it comes to that, how could he make a kite, anyhow, if he’s a prisoner?” “It wasn’t much of a trick to make this kite,” replied Tom as he examined the remains of it again. “It’s made of a section torn from a paper bag, with sticks whittled off a window casing, I should say. Ned could do the whittling with his knife—he always carries one. Probably they brought him food in a paper bag, tied with a string. This looks like grocery store string,” he added, pulling out some strands from the tangled mess of sticks and paper. “I see, Tom.” “Well, having decided to the best of our knowledge that this message really comes from Ned and that he is a prisoner at the Smith place, the next thing to do is to rescue him. Will you come with us and show us just where you picked up this message kite?” he asked the old tramp. “Sure I will, boss, but I’m——” “I know! You’re tired and hungry!” interrupted the young inventor. “I’ll see that you get a rest and some food, and you’ll be paid well. We can’t start at once—a few preparations are necessary. We’ve got to organize a searching party and hit the trail after Ned.” “And I’m going with you!” cried Mr. Damon. “No, not a word—don’t forbid me!” he begged as he saw Tom hesitate. “I’m going!” “As you think best,” Tom Swift agreed. “But we’ll have to do considerable before we can get ready. I think I’ll take Koku along,” he said. “Good idea!” chuckled Mr. Damon. “He’ll be a match for any four men that may be holding Ned a prisoner. But why did they capture him, Tom? Answer me that!” “I wish I could,” was the musing answer. “I don’t know what to think. I’m afraid there’s a deeper plot in all this than I had any idea of at first. Starting with the attempt to blow me up, then Ned’s disappearance—I’m afraid it means that some one objects, very strongly, to my perfecting—well, what I am perfecting,” Tom concluded, not wishing to name his latest invention. “Well, let’s get going!” begged Mr. Damon, with the eagerness and enthusiasm of a boy. “Now don’t you run away!” he playfully ordered the old tramp. “Not much chance of that, boss. I’m too weak hardly to walk, let alone running.” “We’ll soon fix you up,” declared Tom, “in the way of food, anyhow. And you won’t need to walk. We’ll go in my electric runabout to the Smith place and get Ned out of the hands of these scoundrels.”