Before Tom could cry out or step back, he heard another noise on his right, and there, too, his flashlight revealed the feet and legs of another man. Suddenly the four feet and four legs made a rush and Tom felt himself caught by the arm on either side. His flashlight was knocked from his hand, but, falling to the ground, still glowed and its rays showed Tom that he had been caught by two Negroes. “Let me go!” he cried, fiercely struggling to free himself. But the black men held him fast. Then one spoke, in rather soothing accents, saying: “It’s all right, sir. We don’t aim to be rough with you, but we got our orders. I’m sorry I knocked your light down. I’ll pick it up for you,” and, stooping, he retrieved the flashlight which he gave to Tom. “Better put it in your pocket, sir,” suggested the other Negro. “You won’t need it where you’re going. We know the path in the dark. And don’t be worried. We aren’t going to hurt you.” “I’m not worried,” declared Tom boldly. “But this is an outrage! I came here of my own free will for a conference and——” “That’s all right, sir,” went on the first black man, still soothingly. “You’re going to be taken to the conference. That’s what we came down for—to meet you and show you the way.” Tom was at once struck by the fact that the language of these Negroes was above the average. They did not talk like poor, old Eradicate. Rather their talk was that of the man who has seen service in wealthy families. As this was in line with Tom’s theories regarding the identity of the men persecuting him, he ceased to struggle and said: “Very well. Lead me to the men with whom I have an appointment.” “That’s just what we’ll do, sir,” said the man who had picked up the flashlight. “It’s just a bit farther on.” The Negroes seemed able to find their way in the dark, which, Tom reflected, was more than he could have done. In a short time they led him, gently enough, into a little clearing and there, showing dimly in the light of the stars, was the house where Tom and Ned had been prisoners. If Tom had any compunctions about entering the house again he had no time to exercise them. Nor, be it known, had he the inclination. He was there for a purpose and intended to carry it out. “Right this way, sir,” said one of the Negroes, letting go of Tom’s right arm and preceding him to the front door. “They’re expecting you.” He knocked—whether in a signal code or not Tom was unable to determine—and the door was opened, letting out a flood of light. The place seemed to have been prepared for the reception of the young inventor. “Go straight ahead,” said the Negro who had opened the door, as he stepped back to allow Tom to enter. Tom walked into a hall, furnished only with a chair. One of the three Negroes—which he could not determine—glided ahead of him, tapped on a door at the end of the corridor, and opened it in response to a voice that said: “Enter!”