“Who said so?” Zoltan demanded.
Bud did not answer. Instead Tom said, “What does the Briggin gang plan to do with my invention that they stole?”
Zoltan snarled and backed up to the fire door.
“Come on, Pins. Open up! Science once saved your life. What have you got against it?” Tom demanded.
“I’m not telling you anything, Tom Swift!”
Zoltan slid along the fire door, feeling for the control button. His shifty eyes had a look of desperation. As Pins neared the release mechanism, Tom lunged toward him. But he was too late. The
82 TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT ROBOT
door zipped up like a window shade suddenly released. Zoltan fell to the floor and rolled into the corridor.
“Oh, my back!” he screamed in pain.
Tom, moved by pity, ran to the crumpled figure. Bud barked an alert through the phone, asking for plant police and a stretcher. The guards arrived within two minutes.
Zoltan still lay on the floor, having refused first aid from Tom. Hatred blazed in his eyes.
“Take him to Shopton Hospital,” Tom told the men. “I’ll send the town police there.”
As two of the guards lifted Pins to the stretcher, he screamed fanatically, “They’ll get you, Tom Swift! The rest of the gang will get you!” He vanished into an elevator, flanked by his guards.
Bud mopped his forehead. “Tom, I’m scared,” he said. “I’ve never seen such hatred on any man’s face. When the Briggin gang hears what happened, your life will certainly be in danger.”
“Don’t worry,” said Tom. “I’ve been in worse jams.”
Nevertheless, the young inventor was worried as he and Bud drove to the Swift home. By morning, however, in the familiar surroundings of his own office, Tom regained his natural optimism. He had an early appointment with Phil Radnor to talk over again the possibility of a security leak among employees.