"Regret inform you was compelled to jettison your cargo last night in bad storm to save ship. Approximate location four miles due east Port Baracoa, Cuba. Salvage boat take position at apex isosceles triangle 27.6 degrees with lighthouse and summit hill a mile to the south."(Signed) A. Mawson,Captain S.S. Perry.
"Regret inform you was compelled to jettison your cargo last night in bad storm to save ship. Approximate location four miles due east Port Baracoa, Cuba. Salvage boat take position at apex isosceles triangle 27.6 degrees with lighthouse and summit hill a mile to the south.
"(Signed) A. Mawson,Captain S.S. Perry.
"Was Compelled to Jettison Your Cargo."
"Say, Tom, that IS tough, having your meteorite thrown overboard!" exclaimed Ned, rereading the message. "All your work wasted and your marvelous invention junked—"
"Not yet!" broke in the young scientist grimly as he grabbed the telephone from his desk. "Hello, operator, get me long distance, please."
Tom Grabbed the Telephone
"What are you going to do?" asked Ned excitedly.
"Get divers," replied Tom as he waited. "I'm going to recover that meteorite or know the reason—Oh, hello! Yes. I want the main office of the Neptune Salvage Company in New York City. No, I haven't the address. Yes, I'll hold the line.
"These people are experts," he told his chum while waiting for his call to be put through. "If the stone isn't in too deep water they'll be able to raise it if anyone can."
"I'm Going to Recover the Meteorite."
"But how can they ever find it? Seems to me it'll be like hunting for the proverbial needle in a haystack, only more so!"
"Not quite that bad. Captain Mawson gives what seem to be pretty complete directions. You might try getting any further data the man may have."
"Captain Mawson Gave Directions."
Unfortunately for Tom, as he learned in the next two hours, the Neptune Company and other salvage concerns he called were very busy and could not spare a barge of the required size. Moreover, Ned could get no more information, when he finally contacted the freighter, than her commander had given already.
"Why doan yo' tak' yo' submarine boat down dere, Massa Tom?" asked Eradicate as he served luncheon to the young inventor, his father and Ned. "Ah 'members we once got some treasure off'n de bottom ob de sea dat way."
Eradicate Served Luncheon
"I did think of that, Rad," answered Tom a bit wearily, "but my ship isn't big enough to raise such a great weight."
"And so, son," said the elder Swift, "if you can't get the use of a large salvage craft you will have to give up your project; is that right?"
"That's right, Dad, and I surely hate to think of it. But I'm not going to give up, even if I have to bring men and equipment from the Pacific coast!"
"I'm Not Going to Give Up!"
"That'd be mighty expensive," objected Ned. In his capacity as the Swifts' business manager, he had earned the nickname "watchdog of the treasury." "Why not wait until some local firm can take the job?"
"Too risky. You see, ocean currents or some submarine upheaval might shift the big stone so great a distance that we could never find it. Don't forget that to the best of our knowledge the meteorite is the only source of X on earth."
"Ocean Currents Might Shift the Stone."
"Hmm," frowned Mr. Swift. "I used to know an old fellow very well who was in the diving business. Met him when we built the submarine 'Advance'—you boys remember her—but I can't seem to recall his name. Let me see—Ha! I have it! Britten! That's it, John Britten, the best salvage man on the coast!"
"Maybe he's busy too," said Ned, "as all the others seem to be."
"Maybe He's Busy, Too."
"I think not," replied the elderly scientist, "because he's retired. Yet I believe he'll undertake the job if I ask him as I once did him a great favor. His salvaging outfit is in Florida, but he lives on Delaware Bay. I'll phone him at once."
"That's great, Dad!" cried Tom, his face lighting up with renewed hope. "Tell him I'll bring him here by plane tomorrow. We can talk things over and start for Florida from here."
"He'll go," said Mr. Swift a few minutes later, turning away from the telephone with a smile. "Said he'll be tickled to get back in harness."
"He'll Go," Said Mr. Swift
"Thanks a million, Dad! You've saved the day!"
The following morning the boys hurried out to the Swift private airport to oversee the fueling of the huge plane Tom had decided to take. At first he had thought of making the trip in his small two-seated racer, since it was the fastest craft in the hangar. Realizing, however, that Captain Britten might want to bring along considerable baggage, the young inventor had told Ned he felt it best to go in his flying boat.
They Fueled the Huge Plane
The "Winged Arrow," in which Tom once had made a memorable rescue flight to Iceland, was equipped now with a retractable landing gear as well as with pontoons, enabling the craft to descend on both land and water. Suddenly Tom became very excited as he looked at the hydroplane.
"Look, Ned!" he cried. "Can you beat that!"
"Look, Ned," Tom Cried
IN PERIL
Upon inspection, it was found that three half-inch holes had been drilled into each pontoon. It was evident that only an enemy of Tom or of the Swift Company could have done such a thing.
"Ned, that proves it!" declared the young inventor gloomily.
Three Holes in Each Pontoon
"Proves what?" Ned asked.
"Can't you see? It all ties in with Mr. Damon's so-called relatives, and their knowledge of my formula for a bendable glass. Someone in our shops is a traitor—or worse!"
"But what has a damaged hydroplane to do with that?" objected Ned.
"If we had landed on water with these damaged pontoons, we'd have drowned most likely," replied Tom. "That would have suited the villains who want my formula, and no one would have been the wiser as to what caused the accident."
"We'd Have Been Drowned!"
"Admitting you're right, the thing's a pretty serious mess," said Ned. "But of course crooked people will go to long lengths for money, and if your formula is a good one, it certainly will bring a lot of money to someone or something."
"And that something is going to be the Swift Company!" declared Tom.
"It's a Pretty Serious Mess."
"Since we can't take off in the hydroplane today," said Ned, "let's go back to the office. I suppose it'll require some time to patch up those holes."
Tom immediately sent for one of his skilled mechanics, a man whom he knew to be trustworthy. He set the fellow to work welding patches over the holes. After cautioning his employee to maintain strict silence, he and Ned drove away.
He Welded Patches Over the Holes
"Don't say anything to Dad about this," warned Tom as the two left the field. "It would only worry him and could do no good. You and I must work out this mess by ourselves."
After dinner that evening Tom went to his private laboratory to check the thermostat controlling the temperature of the annealing oven in which his batch of new glass was being slowly cooled. Then he spent some time at his desk over certain intricate formulas. The room was in semi-darkness, lighted only by a shaded reading lamp.
Tom Checked the Thermostat
"Well, that's that," yawned the young inventor at length, locking up his desk. "Guess I'd better put the valuable disk back in the vault before I go home," he decided, switching on the ceiling lights and glancing toward the corner where Koku had placed the telescope.
With a start he saw that his invention was gone!
His Invention Was Gone
Quickly examining the instrument, he found that the green disk had been jerked roughly from its clamps by someone who evidently had been in too great a hurry to bother unscrewing the bolts which had held it in place.
"Ho!" suddenly boomed a deep voice. Tom became aware of a commotion outside the laboratory. "You no get 'way fum me! How you like 'nother knock on top head?"
"Don't hit me again!" whined someone. "I won't try to escape!"
Tom flung open the door and saw his giant servant dragging a man up the steps. A feeling of tremendous relief swept over young Swift as he discovered his precious green disk in Koku's left hand.
Koku Was Dragging a Man
"Ha, Master Tom! Catchum bad mans tryin' to sneak through gate! See green thing stick out of pocket and grabbum—bringum here. Want me hittum again?"
"Please don't let him hurt me, Mr. Swift," snivelled the man. "He hit me an awful blow back there."
"Want Me Hittum Again?"
"You had it coming to you," retorted Tom sternly. "Besides, you're not hurt very much. Koku, bring him in here. You certainly did a good piece of work when you nabbed this fellow. Take him into the office and we'll have a word or two with him before I call the police."
"I ain't talkin'," muttered the man, shifting uncomfortably and looking rather uneasily at the giant. "You ain't got nothin' on me. I just found that chunk of green glass in the field."
"You Ain't Got Nothin' on Me."
"Don't lie to me, unless you want to be mussed up some more," said Tom grimly, glancing at Koku. "I think I'll just take a look through your pockets. Perhaps you found a few other little things when you broke in here."
Under the menacing eye of the giant, the man submitted sullenly to the search. There was nothing in his clothes to identify him. Apparently he had stolen nothing else from the laboratory. He refused to answer any questions, however. Tom gave up and summoned the police by telephone.
Tom Searched the Man
"O Master, here other thing in man's pocket!" exclaimed Koku, after the thief had been carted away to jail. "It stuck to round green thing when I yank away from um." He handed Tom a bit of pasteboard from which the lower third had been torn.
"It's a business card of the Apex Glass Works with the representative's name ripped off!" exclaimed young Swift aloud. Then to himself he added, "I wonder? Maybe Ned was right after all and they ARE after my formula for bendable glass!"
A Business Card
Tom immediately called the home of Mr. Stern, head of the glass works, to whom he related the occurrence. The executive was shocked and very indignant at the thought of there being a criminal among his employees and promised to investigate thoroughly.
"I hope you don't think I had anything to do with this, Mr. Swift!" the man exclaimed.
The Executive Was Shocked
"Not in the least, sir. But if you turn up any clues, I hope you'll let me know."
"I most assuredly will. You may count on my help."
An early hour next day found Tom and Ned flying south over the sandy coast of New Jersey. Every inch of the "Winged Arrow" had been thoroughly inspected, but no other signs of damage had been discovered. Even so, the young business manager sat a bit uneasily in his seat as he peered out anxiously at the broad wings.
Tom and Ned Flew South
"Afraid they'll drop off, old man?" grinned Tom. "Don't worry. We X-rayed 'em and no struts have been filed nor any time-bombs planted!"
"Huh, I was just looking at the weather," grunted Ned indignantly. He was secretly relieved, for he had been pondering how easily a charge of dynamite could have been secreted aboard ship. "How soon do you think we'll reach Delaware Bay?"
Ned Was Uneasy
"Within the next twenty minutes," answered his chum, glancing at the instrument board. "Mr. Britten is to meet us at a dock near Lewes."
Less than half an hour later the pontoons of the "Winged Arrow" were plowing through the waters of Delaware Bay toward a near-by pier. A wharf attendant caught the line Ned threw him and the ship was moored securely to a stout post.
As Tom and his companion climbed up, a grizzled-looking old man hailed them in a voice that seemed well able to travel from quarterdeck to fo'c'sle even in the teeth of a hurricane.
The Plane Plowed Through the Waters
"Ahoy there!" he bellowed, though scarcely twenty feet away. "Are you young Swift and company?"
"Right you are. Captain Britten, I take it?"
Vastly flattered by the title, the red-faced old seaman warmly shook hands with the boys. "Correct ye are, me lad. Your good father tells me you need a bit o' salvagin' done an' I'm the man as'll do it proper!"
Captain Britten, the Grizzled Old Man
"Good for you, Captain!" said Tom. "That's exactly what my father said. And now, have you your equipment handy? If it's not too heavy we can load it aboard the plane right away. Oh, and I want to introduce my good friend here, Ned Newton."
"I Want to Introduce My Friend."
"Glad to meet ye, shipmate! As for my salvagin' outfit, it's aboard ship. We'll pick up my old barge, the 'Elizabeth B.,' but I calls her the 'Betsy B.,' at Key West, where I keeps her anchored. She's in a manner o' speakin' my winter home." Captain Britten picked up a huge, battered old suitcase. "If your flyin' machine is ready, so am I!"
The old man was obviously a trifle eccentric, but both boys were warmly attracted to him by his sincere and friendly manner. Besides, as Tom noted, there was a certain air of competence about him, as if he was well able to tackle and solve the hardest of problems in his line.
Captain Britten Carried His Suitcase
"Let's go, then!" proposed Ned, motioning to the attendant to cast off and handing him a coin at the same time.
Listening to a number of quaint seafaring expressions from old Captain Britten, who was starting his first voyage into the upper air, Tom sent the big craft roaring above the smooth water toward Shopton.
Tom Sent the Big Craft Roaring
"How do you like flying, Captain Britten?" Ned asked. "Ever been up?"
"Well, I guess it's all right," rumbled the salvaging expert, looking down at the sea dubiously. "But to tell you the truth, I'm more at home ON the water than OVER it!"
In a short time the nose of the "Winged Arrow" turned inland as Tom set his course direct for home. When they were nearing Shopton, the young inventor, intending to come down on solid ground, grasped the device which lowered the landing wheels. It seemed to work very stiffly, he thought, so he leaned over farther to exert more force. Suddenly there came a snapping noise.
The Plane Turned Inland
"What's up, Tom?" called Ned, hearing the noise and seeing his chum fumbling with the now useless mechanism.
"Landing gear out of commission. But there's no need to worry as we can descend on Lake Carlopa easily with the pontoons."
"Landing Gear out of Commission."
"By George!" exclaimed Ned Newton, banging his fist on the instrument panel. "Ten to one this is the work of the same scoundrel who bored holes in the floats. If I could get my hands on—"
"I hope you'll be in a condition to do so," cut in Tom in an oddly strained voice. "Take a look at the fuel gauge."
"It—it says zero! But that's impossible. We saw the tanks filled last night."
"Look at the Fuel Gauge."
"Sure, and when we took off this morning the gauge showed they were still full. Someone tampered with the pointer of the instrument and all but drained the gas containers when they wrecked the landing gear. Just now you dislodged the jammed needle when you struck the instrument board with your fist."
"Then we're in a pretty bad way, eh, Tom?" asked Captain Britten calmly.
"We're in a Pretty Bad Way?"
"I'll say," replied young Swift grimly. "We can't hope to reach Carlopa and there is nothing beneath us now but thick woodland. No question about it. A crack-up is the next thing on the program!"
As he finished speaking, the starboard motor emitted a groaning cough and stopped. The port engine might run for another five minutes or it might give out within the next five seconds!
The Starboard Engine Stopped
TOM DRUGGED!
Tom had headed the ship up at a steep angle so as to get as much altitude as possible before the other motor should stop. But he knew in his heart that he could not hope to glide so heavy a plane as far as the lake.
Tom Headed the Ship Up
In some surprise Ned observed that Captain Britten was fumbling with the straps about his big, old-fashioned valise. Young Newton wondered what the elderly man was looking for so intensely.
"Ahoy there, Tom Swift!" boomed the old diver, straightening up with a bottle in his hand. "I've got a drop o' gasoline here that may help ye!"
"I've Got a Drop of Gasoline."
"What's that?" gasped the pilot. Turning, he saw the quart bottle. Already the remaining engine was dying of thirst. "Quick, Ned!" he ordered, snatching the container. "Take the controls and hold the ship level."
Five seconds later the inventor was creeping out along one wing toward the intake valve of the port gas tank. Their hearts almost in their mouths, his companions watched his hazardous progress. In spite of the clutching hand of the wind and the quavering of the ship under Ned's inexpert guidance, Tom managed to reach his goal.
He Crept Along One Wing
Removing the cap with no little difficulty, he dumped the precious drops of gasoline into the tank. In a few moments he got back to the cabin. As he closed the door the laboring engine once more resumed its full-throated roar.
"Lad, you've got what it takes!" rumbled Captain Britten, shaking Tom's hand approvingly. "You're a mighty brave young fellow!"
"You mean YOU had what it takes," laughed the inventor, taking over the controls preparatory to landing on Carlopa. "Without that extra bit of gas we'd be piled up in a tree by now!"
He Emptied the Precious Drops
The quart of fuel was just sufficient to carry the ship safely down to the lake's surface at a point about three miles from the town. Fortunately one of Tom's friends was sailing near-by in his cat-boat and gladly offered to take the three over to the Swift dock, which jutted out from the grounds behind Tom's home.
It was mid-afternoon before the "Winged Arrow" was towed across to the dock and her tanks refilled with high-test gasoline. While this was being done, Tom and Ned went to the home of Mr. Damon to ask if he would like to accompany them to the West Indies.
Tom Saw a Friend
The man was found to be sitting in an easy chair on his front porch, where he spent much time, now that he was home from the hospital.
They Went to See Mr. Damon
"Bless my parachute, I'd like nothing better than to make the trip!" he said a trifle wistfully. "To tell you the truth, though," his voice sank to a whisper, "between the doctors and Mrs. Damon I'll be lucky if I'm allowed to walk around the block alone for some time to come!"
"Well, that's too bad, Mr. Damon. We were counting on you."
"We Were Counting on You."
"Bless my fishing tackle, Tom, I'm sorry too. But tell me! How did Captain Britten happen to be carrying a quart of gasoline in his satchel?" asked the eccentric gentleman after he had been told of the airplane's narrow escape.
"I thought it strange myself," said Tom, "but he claimed he always carries some with him to remove grease spots from his clothes."
"Ha! He must be quite a character. I suppose aboard a salvage boat folks get their clothes pretty dirty, at that."
After the boys returned home it was decided that they and Mr. Britten would set out for Florida the next morning. In the meantime, the elderly diver telegraphed his caretaker to get the "Betsy B." in order and arrange to hire a tug-boat.
They Planned to Start the Next Day
Late in the afternoon Tom called his chum on the phone. "Can you spare me a few minutes?" he asked. "Think I'm going to have something interesting to show you."
"Be right over," replied Ned. "Where are you?"
"In the lab."
A few minutes later young Newton had joined his friend. "What's up?" he asked Tom as he entered.
"What's up?" Asked Ned
Tom had discovered that his bendable glass mixture had cooled to a critical temperature, making it necessary to remove it from the furnace at once lest it be ruined. In a small secret chamber beneath his private laboratory he had set up a sort of miniature glass works which would have astonished any ordinary glass worker, for the young inventor had devised an entirely new method of procedure. As to its outcome, well, even to its inventor that feature remained in doubt.
A Miniature Glass Works
"Do you think it'll work, Tom?" asked Ned Newton anxiously as he followed the youthful scientist down the stairs. "Your experiments have cost a mint of money already—"
"Don't croak," chuckled Tom. "I've a few pennies left, haven't I?"
"You won't have so very many after you finish with your new telescope idea," declared Ned grimly. "And THAT certainly won't bring in any dividends."
Ned Followed Tom
"Nor is it intended to," said Tom a bit sharply. "There is, you know, such a thing as pursuing knowledge for its own sake."
"I'm sorry. You ought to know, though, that I'm thinking only of your interests, not of mine," he said as they reached the room below.
"Forgive me, old man!" Tom clapped Ned warmly on the back. "Don't feel for a minute that I don't appreciate everything you've done for me. To tell you the truth, I'm as worried about this new glass as you are. That's why I jumped on you. Let's forget it!"
"Forgive Me, Old Man!"
"Right!"
The two were standing now before the cylindrical furnace containing the mixture of silicates and other ingredients from which Tom Swift hoped would emerge a glass as flexible as rubber and as strong as steel. The thermometer on the front stood at twenty-one degrees Centigrade.
They Looked at the Thermometer
"She's just right," muttered the inventor, consulting a complicated chart hanging on the wall. "Now we'll see!"
The asbestos-coated door clanged open. Tom drew out a shallow tray, the contents of which were buried in a black powder.
"Charcoal!" he explained, setting the pan on a table. "It prevents any rapid temperature change. Even common glass must be cooled slowly or it becomes as brittle as peanut candy."
Tom Drew out a Shallow Tray
With the aid of a wooden rod Tom pulled out a glass bar about ten inches long and an inch thick. After picking it up carefully he examined it closely. In no way did the object appear different from ordinary glass.
"Well, here goes!" said the inventor and forthwith bent the bar into the shape of a horseshoe!
"Hurrah!" yelled Ned, clapping his friend on the back. "You've done it again, Tom Swift!"
He Bent the Glass
"Don't crow too soon. Perhaps it won't bend back again. If a rod of copper is annealed in a certain way it can be bent ONCE like rubber but then the crystal breaks up and it becomes as rigid as ever. Maybe this glass will act the same way."
"Then try it! Don't keep me in suspense!"
Perhaps Tom had been tantalizing his business manager, or maybe he really was doubtful about the flexibility of the bar. At any rate, when he applied pressure he did not seem surprised when the glass became straight again. Then he proceeded actually to tie a knot in it, so bendable was the new substance!
The Glass Became Straight Again
"This will revolutionize the glass industry!" declared Ned, noting that even the blows of a heavy sledge-hammer failed even so much as to crack the rod.
"It's not half as wonderful as that other kind of glass," said Tom, dreamily.
"Your glass eye, d'you mean?" chuckled Ned in high good humor. In his mind he could already see fat profits for the company.
A Heavy Hammer Did Not Crack It
"I'll give you a pair of black eyes if you make another bad joke!" laughed Tom, giving his chum a playful push. "But seriously, I'm mighty well pleased with this stuff; it turned out better than I dared hope. You know, I got the idea for bendable glass while I was trying to figure out a way to make a huge telescope mirror. That was before we found the meteorite."
"And I suppose you'll go back to the glass mirror if you can't find the big stone so you can make the large green disk."
"I'm Well Pleased With This."
"Yes, that's what I'll have to do if the salvage attempt fails. But I'm sure we'll succeed."
Captain Britten had been given a room at the Swift home. When the boys got there they found their guest and Tom's father deep in a game of chess.
The Two Men Were Playing Chess
"Well, son," laughed Mr. Swift, "I've met my match at last. John Britten has beaten me three straight games! But don't tell Damon about it!"
"I won't, Dad," grinned Tom. "What do you think of this?" He handed his father the bar of bendable glass.
"What do I think of it? Why, it looks like a glass rod, that's all I can see."
"Then watch!" Tom took the bar and deftly twisted it into the shape of a fat pretzel.
"You've done it, son!" cried Mr. Swift. "And to think I told you such a thing was impossible! Congratulations!"
"What Do You Think of This?"
At dinner that evening the conversation turned mainly to the projected flight to the West Indies. It was decided to start the next day at sunrise, as Captain Britten had received word from Florida that his barge had been made ready. A tug was getting up steam to haul it to the Cuban coast.
"Congratulations!" Cried Mr. Swift
"Mr. Damon can't go with us, Dad," said Tom. "His wife won't let him! By the way," he added with a laugh, "she was looking up the names of all his relatives—Mr. Damon said she was glad of the excuse to do so!—but she could find none named Jones or Brown. So that definitely proves those two fellows were fakes and that they merely pretended relationship in order to pump him about my work."
After supper Ned went to his home to pack a suitcase, for he was to spend the night at the Swifts' to be on hand for the early start that was being planned. Tom spent the evening in his office studying the latest available data on diving operations, and plotting the route over which the party would travel to the coast of Cuba.
Ned Packed His Suitcase
Immersed in his work, he at first paid but little attention to a peculiar odor that gradually was pervading the atmosphere.
Suddenly he realized that something was wrong; a strange buzzing filled his ears and the lights seemed to be growing dim. He started to get up, but instead fell across his desk.
Something Was Wrong
As Tom lay there motionless, a window opened noiselessly. Stealthily a masked figure climbed in. After a hasty glance around the room, the intruder hastened to the desk and leaned over the unconscious youth.
A Masked Figure Entered
DEEP SEA DIVING
Swiftly the masked man took a bunch of keys from Tom's pocket. With a directness that indicated familiarity with the place, he went straight to the rug covering the entrance to the secret vault. Throwing this aside, he unlocked the trap door and quietly raised it. The combination lock, which gave warning if tampered with, had not been set for the night.
He Unlocked the Trap Door
Now the intruder very carefully draped the rug over the door in such a way that it would spread itself as before when the trap should be closed from below. Two minutes later Tom was alone in the office, which appeared exactly as it had before he was rendered unconscious. Yet there crouched in the vault a hidden spy whose purpose was as sinister as his appearance.
He Draped the Rug Over the Door
"Mist' Swift, Massa Tom ain' come back fum de office yit," announced Rad Sampson as he placed the elderly inventor's nightly glass of hot milk on the library table. "I wuz jest up t' his room to ax him suffin' an' he wuzn't dar."
"Well, I guess the boy is working a bit late tonight. But you sound a trifle anxious, Eradicate. Do you think anything is wrong?"
"Uh—Oh, no suh. No suh," mumbled the old Negro. "I jest wondered ef yo'd seen him. Good night, suh! Good night!"
"Massa Tom Ain' Back Fum de Office."
"Good night, Rad."
"Mustn't worry ole Mist' Swift," the servant muttered to himself as he shuffled back to the kitchen. "But Massa Tom tole me hisself he gwine t' baid early 'cause he gotta git up befo' sunrise.
"Look hyah, Koku," he went on when he got to the kitchen. "Quit stuffin' dat 'ar pie an' go out an' see ef Massa Tom all right. He ought t' have bin in de house long sence. I'se skeered mebbe some villains mought've cotched him!"
"See Ef Massa Tom All Right."
"Whoo!" growled the giant, jumping up so quickly that his big, specially-built chair crashed over. "Where um war-club? Me fixum!"
"Doan make sich a racket, yo' big lummox! Yo' want to skeer ol' Mist' Swift? Heah, take mah rollin'-pin."
Clutching the rolling pin as a "war-club," Koku started through the darkness toward Tom's private laboratory. Following him at a discreet distance came old Rad Sampson, who had armed himself with a big butcher knife.
Rad Followed
"Dar's a light in de office, big boy," whispered the Negro. "Be keerful, now!"
The giant merely grunted, crept up to the window and peered within. His great height enabled him to do so easily. "Come," he said finally, turning toward the door. "We go in."
"Whut de matter?" demanded Eradicate, struggling to keep up with his companion. "Am suffin' wrong? Mah goodness!" he cried a moment later in the office. "Po' Massa Tom done been killed! Look at him a-layin' dere!"
The Giant Peered in the Window
"Him no dead!" rumbled Koku, leaning over his master. "Him heart still beatum. Him need fresh air." Gently he picked Tom up and carried him outside.
"I'll git a doctah!" exclaimed the old colored man. "Dey's a phone in heah."
"Him No Dead!" Rumbled Koku
Before the physician could be reached, the beneficial effects of the cool night air had brought the young inventor back to consciousness. At first he could not recall what had happened and was not a little astonished to find himself lying on the grass.
"What in the world is the matter, Koku?" he demanded, pressing his hand to his aching head. "What am I doing out here?"
"Master out, get knockum," said the giant. "We find you on desk. Rad callum medicine man now."
"What Am I Doing Here?"
"A doctor? No, I'm all right. Tell him to cancel the call." Tom managed to struggle to his feet. "I remember now! Some kind of gas must have been used on me. But I must see to the office. Maybe I've been robbed."
Leaning heavily on the giant's arm, Tom walked as fast as he could into the laboratory. At first glance everything seemed to be in order, and to his relief he found the vault was locked.
The Vault Was Locked
The young inventor did not know that a key was missing from his ring, nor, as he twirled the dial of the combination-lock, did he realize that a slender lever had been severed from below, thus rendering useless the intricate mechanism.
"Who done dis to you', Massa Tom?" asked Rad.
"Wish I knew. Anyhow, there's been no damage done except to me! My head's splitting, so I must get to bed. Koku, stay on guard here from now on until I return from Cuba. And get several of the men to relieve you. Another thing: I don't want either of you to mention this affair to anyone. Dad would hear about it and worry."
"Koku, Stay on Guard Here."
"If I catchum fella I breakum in little bits!" cried Koku fiercely. He shook the rolling-pin vigorously. "Better him stay 'way fum me!"
Tom awoke the next morning little the worse for his experience. Thanks to a rugged constitution, he had been able to throw off the ill effects of the poisonous fumes which had overcome him.
"Better Him Stay 'Way Fum Me!"
"I can't make it out, Ned," he said as the boys stood watching the mechanics warm up the engines of the big seaplane. "Nothing is missing. Whoever did the job didn't even rob me, and I had a good deal of cash in my wallet."
"Maybe nobody made an attempt on you or your property at all, Tom," Ned remarked slowly.
"What d'you mean? I certainly was knocked out!"
"Oh, I know that. But couldn't some sort of gas have seeped into your office from your adjoining laboratory? A bottle of acid might have cracked, or—"
The Mechanics Warmed up the Engines
"Nothing like that happened. I'm positive, because the same thought struck me. I made a careful inspection this morning. Everything was in perfect order."
"It certainly is strange," said Ned. "It looks as if some enemy is camping on your trail, Tom!"
"He'll have a hard time picking up that same trail in a few minutes," chuckled the inventor. "Here come Captain Britten and Dad. I guess we can take off soon."
"A Bottle of Acid Might Have Cracked."
"So your sea-goin' air-yacht is ready to cast off, is she?" asked the old diver. "Well, when ye haul in the gangplank, so to speak, I'll be aboard!"
"Take care of yourself, son," said Barton Swift, shaking Tom's hand. "I hope you will be successful in your attempt."
"Good-bye, Dad. And thanks."
"Doan git et up by no sharks or allygators!" cautioned Rad.
"Take Care of Yourself, Son."
The mechanics had finished their work and were seen climbing down from the fuselage. The passengers took their places in the roomy cabin while Tom seated himself behind the controls.
After running a critical eye over the score of instruments he reached for the throttle and clutched the wheel tighter. The intermittent coughing of the powerful motors changed to a deafening roar, and the huge ship lumbered off down the long field, gathering speed every second.
Tom Sat Behind the Controls
"We're off!" cried Ned, waving at the already distant figures left behind.
"And we'll bring home the meteorite!" muttered Tom to himself as the "Winged Arrow" glided smoothly toward the clouds lining the southern horizon. "For I'm going to make the most wonderful telescope the world has ever known!"
"We're off!" Cried Ned
TRAPPED BY A SEA MONSTER
"This is travelin' in style, all right," approvingly remarked Captain Britten, looking about the comfortably appointed cabin and sniffing the appetizing odor of lamb chops on the electric grill. When necessary, Ned Newton could cook an impromptu meal. He really was rather proud of his ability.
Ned Cooked Some Lamb Chops
As the amateur chef placed the meal on a small, collapsible table, Tom announced that they were now flying over the state of Georgia. "We should reach Key West about three P.M.," he said.
The ship droned steadily onward. At two o'clock in the afternoon they were passing near a large city. "Miami," declared Ned, who had been poring over a chart. "Airplanes go to many parts of South America from there."
"Miami," Declared Ned
Tom sent the "Winged Arrow" lower and lower. Finally he leveled off at an altitude of about five hundred feet above the blue sea. Here the full force of the fierce subtropical sun began to make itself felt.
The travelers, fresh from the comparatively cool northern summer, made haste to open all the air vents in the plane. Then they changed into white linen suits.
They Changed into Linen Suits
"Whew!" exclaimed Tom, mopping his brow. "I've traveled in the jungles of Africa but have never felt hotter!"
"Ah, it's the ship, my boy. You see, the dark metal hull fairly soaks up the sun, an' that's why we're a bit uncomfortable," said Captain Britten. "Once we land, you'll think the climate fine!"
Shortly afterward they flew over a grim-looking American battleship. It greeted them with a hoarse blast of her whistle as the flying boat shot by at the rate of two hundred miles an hour. On either side tiny islands, or cays, appeared, then vanished as if by magic. Finally a blue blur straight ahead began to loom even larger, and in a few minutes the "Winged Arrow" landed in the harbor of Key West.
They Flew Over a Battleship
"Half-past three," said Tom, glancing at the clock on the instrument panel. "A slow passage."
"Fast as I'd want to make it," declared Captain Britten. "A steamer'd have taken a good many hours where we needed only minutes. There's the old 'Betsy B.' tied to her pier, so let's get over to her!"
In the Harbor at Key West
The idling engines were speeded up and the flying boat moved slowly across the harbor. A tug with smoke curling from her single thick funnel lay near the broad-beamed barge.
A Tug Lay Near the Barge
Over the stern of the latter several grinning Negroes leaned. Their ancestors might have been stricken dumb at sight of the great sky craft tying up to their ship, but these darkies were familiar with daily passage of planes bound for South America and showed but little astonishment. In a liquid Spanish-English patois they bade the whites welcome. All of them were old retainers of Captain Britten.
As the elderly man had said, the old barge had served as winter quarters for him during the past years. In consequence, he had had her little cabins fitted up more luxuriously than is customary on such vessels. Tom and Ned were given one far more comfortable than they had expected.
The Cabins Were Comfortable
The rest of the afternoon was taken up with inspection of the ship, the arrangements for the safe-keeping of the "Winged Arrow," and the laying of plans. Immediately after the hydroplane had been moored to a small pier owned by Captain Britten, the tug-boat chugged out into the Gulf of Mexico at the rate of ten knots.
The Tug Chugged out into the Gulf
"I'd say we should reach the spot some time tomorrow afternoon," said Tom after studying the chart. "It's just under two hundred miles."
"And we'll get your meteorite for you!" predicted the old salvage man confidently. "Lucky the captain of that freighter 'Perry' took a bearing on the lighthouse at Port Baracoa; otherwise it would be like lookin' for a boll weevil in a bale o' cotton!"
Tom Studied the Charts
Ruiz, the coal-black cook, served a good supper at sundown. Shortly afterward the boys went to their bunks, for both were tired after the long flight. Then too, Tom was still feeling the effects of the gas inhaled the previous night.
Next morning found the "Betsy B." wallowing through a smooth sea a few miles off the east coast of Cuba. Under the supervision of Captain Britten, several of the crew were busy oiling the huge winch, overhauling steel cables, and seeing to a dozen other minor but important details. Altogether, it was a busy scene that met the eyes of Tom and Ned when they emerged on deck.
The Crew Was Busy
"Your father was right, I think," said Ned. "You certainly have a competent man. See how the crew jump at his word!"
"I agree," said Tom with satisfaction. "But me for breakfast! This sea air surely gives a fellow a good appetite."
A head wind coupled with a rising sea combined to hold back the tug and her rather clumsy tow as the day waned. Occasional heavy rain squalls made the deck of the barge a rather uncomfortable place, so the boys stayed in the main cabin and discussed plans.
Head Winds Held Back the Tug
"I think the rainy season must be at its height," groaned Ned at last as he and Tom sat sweltering. "Maybe we'll be cooped up here for the whole voyage."
Rain Kept the Boys in Their Cabins
"Not me," declared the young inventor with a laugh. "Since when have you grown afraid of a little rain? By afternoon we ought to be near the spot where Captain Mawson jettisoned the meteorite and then we'll begin to get busy, weather or no weather!"
"I hope the thing will be worth all our trouble," said Ned a bit crossly. "Perhaps we won't even be able to find it. What then?"
"You're just suffering from a touch of 'mal de mer'!" teased Tom, refusing to consider his chum's gloomy remarks.
"I'm not a bit seasick!" protested Ned indignantly. "I just think we're on a wild goose chase, that's all!"
"I'm Not Seasick," Protested Ned
"Wait and see."
Evening drew nigh, and the sudden tropical night fell. On the Cuban coast lights went on, dominated by the intermittent glare of a powerful beacon many miles ahead.
"Baracoa Light," announced Captain Britten, seeing this. "We will lay off-shore till morning and begin our work tomorrow."
The Captain Pointed to the Beacon
It spoke well for Tom Swift's nerves that he slept soundly, despite his great interest in the morrow's activities. During the night the sea abated and the rain ceased. Dawn broke with a brilliance to be seen only in tropical lands.
In order to reach the spot in the sea beneath which the meteorite lay, it was necessary to get the barge into a position corresponding to the apex of an isosceles triangle in relation to the lighthouse tower and the peak of a small hill near by.
Tom Made Some Observations
Captain Britten and Tom, sextants in hand, made repeated observations. Ned stood by the telephone connecting the tug and her tow, transmitting to the former's captain the navigation directions. Finally the barge was supposed to be exactly where the freighter had thrown overboard the big stone.
"We may have to look around a little, though," remarked Tom as Captain Britten ordered the tug halted and anchors lowered. "In the big storm Captain Mawson might have made a mistake in his reckoning."
The Chart Showed the Depth of the Water
The water was about three hundred feet deep here, the Hydrographic Office charts showed. When Ned learned this, he looked serious.
"The record depth attained by a diver is only 204 feet!" he exclaimed. "At least, that's what I read in an encyclopedia."
"Guess you're referring to James Hooper, who reached that depth off the South American coast some years ago," smiled Tom Swift. "But since then diving-dress has undergone considerable improvement, eh, Captain Britten?"
A Boom Was Swung Overside
"That's right. I have on board several of the newest type suits. Besides, I use native divers, men who, even without protection, can descend to almost unbelievable distances."
Quickly a boom was swung out overside. From it hung several pulleys to which was attached a narrow steel platform. Presently three tall Negroes carried out of the storeroom grotesque-looking diving suits which weighed over two hundred and fifty pounds apiece.
He Shuffled Across the Deck
Captain Britten spoke in Spanish to one of them, then the fellow began putting on the weird uniform. It made him look like a visitor from another world. The tremendous weight of his garb prevented him from moving at more than a slow shuffle across the deck, strong though he was.
A Trail of Bubbles
A section of the railing had been removed to allow access to the dangling metal platform upon which the diver stepped. The boom swung out and the drum of the winch began unrolling. In a few seconds only a trail of vanishing bubbles marked the spot where the Negro had gone into the sea.
"How long will it take him to reach bottom?" asked Ned, peering overside in fascination.
"About forty minutes," replied Captain Britten. "A diver must be lowered and raised gradually in order to avoid the terrible after-effects of a sudden change in pressure. At three hundred feet the pressure is more than eighteen thousand pounds per square foot!"
Tom Held His Watch to His Ear
Time dragged on. Down, down rolled the heavy cable supporting the diver. Finally Tom held his watch to his ear, as though he were afraid it might have stopped.
"Oh, it's still running," laughed Ned a little nervously as he observed his chum's action. "Only five more minutes, Tom!"
He Reported a Good Sandy Bottom
At last a bell tinkled and Captain Britten grabbed up the telephone instrument which connected barge and diver. For a few seconds he listened, then replied briefly in Spanish.
"Alvarez is down," he said to Tom as he hung up the receiver. "He reports a good, sandy bottom but no sight yet of the meteorite. At any rate, there's no danger of it having sunk in an oozy bottom."
Ten minutes later the phone buzzed again, this time with a request that the ship be moved a little east and that Manuel, Alvarez's mate, be sent down to help. This was done, and another telephone instrument was plugged in.
Manuel Was to Go Down
Tom, who understood a little Spanish, stood by to hear the report of the second diver. Both lines were now kept open continuously.
Finally Manuel reached bottom, saying that he had contacted Alvarez. For some minutes nothing came through either telephone but the sound of the submerged men's breathing.
Something Has Gone Wrong!
"I see something, Señor! A rock—'que grande'!" came to Tom's ears suddenly. "It must indeed be that which the Señor seeks. But, Santa Maria! there is something else—!" Manuel's voice broke off suddenly.
"Captain Britten! Can you hear your man?" shouted Tom after his repeated attempts to renew, the connection had failed.
"No! I can hear only a muffled groaning. Something has gone wrong. That's sure!"
"Stop, Señor!" Screamed the Engineer
"Pull 'em up quick, then!" advised Ned.
This seemed good advice, so the auxiliary engine was started and the winches began turning slowly.
"Stop, Señor!" suddenly screamed the native engineer, waving his arms excitedly and cutting off the steam. "The drums turn—si—but the cables do not rise. Something has caught the men!"
Loose the Winches