He raised it high above his head, in order to cast the gleams into all the distant corners. As he did so a ray of light fell upon his face.
"Andy Foger!" gasped Tom in a hoarse whisper.
Andy must have heard, for he ran forward just as Tom and Mr. Damon slipped out.
"Hold on! Who are you?" came in the unmistakable tones of the red-haired bully.
"I don't think we're going to tell," chuckled Tom softly, as he and his friend sped off into the darkness. They were not followed, and as they looked back they could see a light bobbing about in the shed.
"He's looking for us!" exclaimed Mr. Damon with an inward laugh. "Bless my watch chain! But it's a good thing we got in ahead of him. Are you sure it was Andy himself?"
"Sure! I'd know his face anywhere. But I can't understand it. Where has he been? What is he doing? Where is he building his aeroplane? I thought he was out of town."
"He may have come back to-night," said Mr. Damon. "That's the only one of your questions I can answer. We'll have to wait about the rest. I'm sure he wasn't around the house to—day, though, for I was working at weeding the flower beds, in my disguise as a tramp, and if he was
