It clamped magnetically to Tom's rear bumper! His car was caught like a
fish on a line!

Tom stepped on the accelerator, trying to pull free. The truck at once
swerved off the road, steering around a utility pole. As the cable
tautened, there was a sickening screech of metal and the sports car was
brought to a crashing halt!

Tom's head slammed against the side window. With a groan, the young
inventor blacked out.

CHAPTER X

TELEPHONE CODE

As he regained consciousness, Tom's eyes fluttered open. Sparks of pain
shot through his head. A groan escaped his lips.

"Oo-o! What hit me?" Tom wondered.

He was lying on a sofa in a strange room. Someone was seated nearby,
watching him. Tom tried to move his limbs and sit up. Then he discovered
that his wrists and ankles were tied with sash cord.

"Better lie still, sonny boy," a gruff voice advised. "You ain't goin'
nowhere."

The man who had spoken got up from his chair and came over to the sofa.
He was of medium height, very muscular looking, with cold, glittering
eyes. Rolled-up shirt sleeves revealed his powerful, hairy arms.

"Where am I?" Tom asked, suddenly remembering the events on the road
before he blacked out. "And what's this all about?"

The man said with a mirthless grin, "You're a prisoner. And you're goin'
to stay here until the cops let Dimitri Mirov go. It's up to you how
fast they spring him."

The huge man lifted a telephone from an end table adjoining the sofa and
set it on the floor alongside Tom.

"Here's a phone. Go ahead and use it, but don't try any funny stuff."

In spite of his headache, Tom's brain was racing. What to do now? He
shut his eyes and screwed up his face in an expression of pain,
pretending to be still groggy while he stalled for time to figure out
his next move.

"How can _I_ get Mirov out of jail?" Tom faltered.

"You figure it out!" the man snarled. "And you'd better get results if
you want to stay healthy!"

Through half-slitted eyes, Tom noted the telephone number printed on the
dial. Evidently his captor had not thought to remove it from the
instrument. A lucky break!

If only, Tom thought, he could devise some way to transmit the number to
Ames without arousing his captor's suspicion--the phone's location could
then be traced!

What about some sort of double-talk code? For instance, Tom told
himself, keep slipping numbers into the conversation in order to
transmit the digits of the telephone numb