"What is it, then, Tom?"
"The fact that whoever took them must know what they are—the plans for a sky racer that is to take part in the big meet. I have worked it out on a new principle, and it is not yet patented. Whoever stole my plans can make the same kind of a sky racer that I intended to construct, and so stand as good a chance to win the prize of ten thousand dollars as I will."
"That certainly is too bad, Tom. I never thought of that. Do you suspect any one?"
"No one, unless it's Andy Foger. He's mean enough to do a thing like that, but I didn't think he'd have the nerve. However, I'll see if I can learn anything about him. He may have been sneaking around, and if he has my plans he'd ask nothing better than to make a sky racer and beat me."
"Oh, Tom, I'm so sorry!" exclaimed Mr. Swift. "I—I feel very bad about it!"
"There, never mind!" spoke the lad, seeing that his father was looking ill again. "Don't think any more about it, dad. I'll get back those plans. Come, now. It's time for your medicine, and then you must lie down." For the aged inventor was looking tired and weak.
Wearily he let Tom lead him to his room, and after seeing that the invalid was comfortable Tom
