combination machine shop, carpenter shop, forge and foundry below
stairs.

Mr. Fulton was an inventor. True, for the most part he invented
useless things; he had inherited money and did not need to make any
more. But the boys, who were allowed to roam through the workshop at
will, were wildly enthusiastic over the ingenious devices schemed
out by father and son, for Tod was a chip off the old block.

Now, Jerry did not go up to the front door, even though it was
standing ajar. Instead he hurried to the little side porch and
reached high up under the eaves, where an electric button was
concealed. He pushed it, hard, well knowing that if Mr. Fulton were
anywhere in the house he would hear that bell. That was why it had
been so well hidden.

But there was no response. Again Jerry rang; he could hear the
shrill br-r-r-r of the bell. After a long time he heard footsteps,
but something told him they were not those of Mr. Fulton. The door
swung open. There stood Mr. Aikens.

"Is Mr. Fulton here," demanded Jerry.

"Asleep," nodded Mr. Aikens.

"I've got to see him."

"All right--if you don't wake him up."

"I've got to talk to him--I've got big news."