He had about given up, as it was getting toward
late afternoon, when, as he came out of a billiardroom, where the
bully was in the habit of spending much of his time, Tom saw the lad
of whom he was in search.
"Hold on there, Andy Foger!" cried the young inventor. "I want to
see you!"
"What about?"
"You know very well. Where's that map you stole?"
"I haven't got it."
"Take care!" and Tom, with a quick step was beside the bully, and
had grasped him firmly by the arm.
"You let me alone, Tom Swift!" cried Andy.
"Where's that map?" and Tom gave Andy's arm a wrench.
"It's at your house; that's where it is! I just took it back. It was
only a joke."
"A joke, eh? And you took it back?"
"Yes, I did. Now you let me go!"
"I will when I find out if you're telling me the truth or not, Andy
Foger. You come with me!"
"Where?"
"To my house. I want to see if that map's there."
"Well, you'll find that it is, and you'd better let me go! My father
told me to take the map back, and I did. You let me go!"
Andy struggled to get loose, but Tom had too tight a grip. There was
something, too, in the manner of our hero that warned Andy not to
trifle with him. So, concluding that discretion was the better part
of valor, Andy walked sullenly along toward Tom's home, the young
inventor never relaxing the grip on his enemy's arm.
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