For a few moments after their exclamations of surprise Tom and Mr. Damon did not know what else to say. They stared about in amazement, hardly able to believe that the shed could be empty. They had expected to see some form of aeroplane in it, and Tom was almost sure his eyes would meet a reproduction of his Humming-Bird, made from the stolen plans.
"Can it be possible there's nothing here?" went on Tom, after a long pause. He could not seem to believe it.
"Evidently not," answered Mr. Damon, as he advanced toward the center of the big building and flashed the light on all sides. "You can see for yourself."
"Or, rather, you can't see," spoke the youth. "It isn't here, that's sure. You can't stick an aeroplane, even as small a one as my Humming Bird, in a corner. No; it isn't here."
"Well, we'll have to look further," went on Mr. Damon. "I think—"
But a sudden noise near the big main doors of the shed interrupted him.
"Come on!" exclaimed Tom in a whisper. "Some one's coming! They may see us! Let's get out!"
Mr. Damon released the pressure on the spring switch, and the light went out. After waiting a moment to let their eyes become accustomed to the darkness, he and Tom stole to the door by which they had entered. As they swung it cautiously open they again heard the noise near the main portals by which Andy had formerly taken in and out the Anthony, as he had named the aeroplane in which he and his father went to Alaska, where, like Tom's craft, it was wrecked.
"Some one is coming in!" whispered Tom.
Hardly had he spoken when a light shone in the direction of the sound. The illumination came from a big lantern of the ordinary kind, carried by some one who had just entered the shed.
"Can you see who it is?" whispered Mr. Damon, peering eagerly forward; too eagerly, for his foot struck against the wooden side wall with a loud bang.
"Who's there?" suddenly demanded the person carrying the lantern.
He raised it high above his head, in order to cast the gleams into all the distant corners. As he did so a ray of light fell upon his face. "Andy Foger!" gasped Tom in a hoarse whisper.
Andy must have heard, for he ran forward just as Tom and Mr. Damon slipped out.
"Hold on! Who are you?" came in the unmistakable tones of the red-haired bully.
"I don't think we're going to tell," chuckled Tom softly, as he and his friend sped off into the darkness. They were not followed, and as they looked back they could see a light bobbing about in the shed.
"He's looking for us!" exclaimed Mr. Damon with an inward laugh. "Bless my watch chain! But it's a good thing we got in ahead of him. Are you sure it was Andy himself?"
"Sure! I'd know his face anywhere. But I can't understand it. Where has he been? What is he doing? Where is he building his aeroplane? I thought he was out of town."
"He may have come back to-night," said Mr. Damon. "That's the only one of your questions I can answer. We'll have to wait about the rest, I'm sure he wasn't around the house to-day, though, for I was working at weeding the flower beds, in my disguise as a tramp, and if he was home I'd have seen him. He must have just come back, and he went out to his shed to get something. Well, we did the best we could."
"Indeed we did," agreed Tom, "and I'm ever so much obliged to you, Mr. Damon."
"And we'll try again, when we get more clues. Bless my shoelaces! but it's a relief to be able to talk as you like."
And forthwith the eccentric man began to call down so many blessings on himself and on his belongings, no less than on his friends, that Tom laughingly warned him that he had better save some for another time.
The two reached home safely, removed their "disguises," and told Mr. Swift of the result of their trip. He agreed with them that there was a mystery about Andy's aeroplane which was yet to be solved.
But Tom was glad to find that, at any rate, the craft was not being made in Shopton, and during the next two weeks he devoted all his time to finishing his own machine. Mr. Jackson was a valuable assistant, and Mr. Damon gave what aid he could.
"Well, I think I'll be ready for a trial flight in another week," said Tom one day, as he stepped back to get a view of the almost completed Humming-Bird.
"Shall you want a passenger?" asked Mr. Damon.
"Yes, I wish you would take a chance with me. I could use a bag of sand, not that I mean you are to be compared to that," added Tom quickly, "but I'd rather have a real person, in order to test the balancing apparatus. Yes, we'll make a trial trip together."
In the following few days Tom went carefully over the aeroplane, making some slight changes, strengthening it here and there, and testing the motor thoroughly. It seemed to work perfectly.
At length the day of the trial came, and the Humming-Bird was wheeled out of the shed. In spite of the fact that it was practically finished, there yet remained much to do on it. It was not painted or decorated, and looked rather crude. But what Tom wanted to know was how it would fly, what control he had over it, what speed it could make, and how it balanced. For it was, at best, very frail, and the least change in equilibrium might be fatal.
Before taking his place in the operator's seat Tom started the motor, and by means of a spring balance tested the thrust of the propellers. It was satisfactory, though he knew that when the engine had been run for some time, and had warmed up, it would do much better.
"All ready, I guess, Mr. Damon!" he called, and the odd gentleman took his place. Tom got up into his own seat, in front of several wheels and levers by which he operated the craft.
"Start the propeller!" he requested of Mr. Jackson, and soon the motor was spitting fire, while the big, fan-like blades were whirring around like wings of light. The engineer and Eradicate were holding back the Humming-Bird.
"Let her go!" cried Tom as he turned on more gasoline and further advanced the spark of the motor. The roar increased, the propeller looked like a solid circle of wood, and the trim little monoplane moved slowly across the rising ground, increasing its speed every second, until, like some graceful bird, it suddenly rose in the air as Tom tilted the wing tips, and soared splendidly aloft!
Tom Swift sent his wonderful little craft upward on a gentle slant. Higher and higher it rose above the ground. Now it topped the trees; now it was well over them.
On the earth below stood Mr. Swift, Mr. Jackson, Eradicate and Mrs. Baggert. They were the only witnesses of the trial flight, and as the aged inventor saw his son's latest design in aeroplanes circling in the air he gave a cheer of delight. It was too feeble for Tom to hear, but the lad, glancing down, saw his father waving his hand to him.
"Dear old dad!" thought Tom, waving in return. "I hope he's well enough to see me win the big prize."
Tom and Mr. Damon went skimming easily through the air, at no great speed, to be sure, for the young inventor did not want to put too sudden a strain on his motor.
"This is glorious!" cried the odd gentleman. "I never shall have enough of aeroplaning, Tom!"
"Nor I, either," added his companion. "But how do you like it? Don't you think it's an improvement on my Butterfly, Mr. Damon?"
"It certainly is. You're a wonder, Tom! Look out! What are you up to?" for the machine had suddenly swerved in a startling manner.
"Oh, that's just a new kind of spiral dip I was trying," answered Tom. "I couldn't do that with my other machine, for I couldn't turn sharp enough."
"Well, don't do it right away again," begged Mr. Damon, who had turned a little white, and whose breath was coming in gasps, even though he was used to hair-raising stunts in the frail craft of the air.
Tom did not take his machine far away, for he did not want to exhibit it to the public yet, and he preferred to remain in the vicinity of his home, in case of any accident. So he circled around, did figures of eight, went up and down on long slants, took sharp turns, and gave the craft a good tryout.
"Does it satisfy you?" asked Mr. Damon, when Tom had once more made the spiral dip, but not at high speed.
"In a way, yes," was the answer. "I see a chance for several changes and improvements. Of course, I know nothing about the speed yet, and that's something that I'm anxious about, for I built this with the idea of breaking all records, and nothing else. I know, now, that I can construct a craft that will successfully navigate the air; in fact, there are any number of people who can do that; but to construct a monoplane that will beat anything ever before made is a different thing. I don't yet know that I have done it."
"When will you?"
"Oh, when I make some changes, get the motor tuned up better, and let her out for all she's worth. I want to do a hundred miles an hour, at least. I'll arrange for a speedy flight in about two weeks more."
"Then I think I will stay home," said Mr. Damon.
"No; I'll need you," insisted Tom, laughing. "Now watch. I'm going to let her out just a little."
He did, with the result that they skimmed through the air so fast that Mr. Damon's breath became a mere series of gasps.
"We'll have to wear goggles and mouth protectors when we really go fast!" yelled Tom above the noise of the motor, as he slowed down and turned about for home.
"Go fast! Wasn't that fast?" asked Mr. Damon.
Tom shook his head.
"You wait, and you'll see," he announced.
They made a good landing, and Mr. Swift hastened up to congratulate his son.
"I knew you could do it, Tom!" he cried.
"I couldn't, though, if it hadn't been for that wonderful engine of yours, dad! How do you feel?"
"Pretty good. Oh! but that's a fine machine, Tom!"
"It certainly is," agreed Mr. Jackson.
"It will be when I have it in better trim," admitted the young inventor modestly.
"By golly!" cried Eradicate, who was grinning almost from ear to ear, "I's proud oh yo', Massa Tom, an' so will mah mule Boomerang be, when I tells him. Yes, sah, dat's what he will be—proud ob yo', Massa Tom!"
"Thanks, Rad."
"Well, some folks is satisfied with mighty little under 'em, when they go up in the air, that's my opinion," said Mrs. Baggert.
"Why, wouldn't you ride in this?" asked Tom of the buxom housekeeper.
"Not if you was to give me ten thousand dollars!" she cried firmly. "Oh, dear! I think the potatoes are burning!" And she rushed back into the house.
The next day Tom started to work overhauling the Humming-Bird, and making some changes. He altered the wing tips slightly, and adjusted the motor, until in a thrust test it developed nearly half again as much power as formerly.
"And I'll need it all," declared Tom as he thought of the number of contestants that had entered the great race.
For the Eagle Park meet was to be a large and important one, and the principal "bird-men" of the world were to have a part in it. Tom knew that he must do his very best, and he spared no efforts to make his monoplane come up to his ideal, which was a very exacting one.
"We'll have a real speed test to-morrow," Tom announced to Mr. Damon one night. "I'll see what the Humming-Bird can really do. You'll come, won't you?"
"Oh, I suppose so. Bless my insurance policy! I might as well take the same chance you do. But if you're going to have such a nerve-racking thing as that on the program, you'd better get to bed early and have plenty of sleep."
"Oh, I'm not tired. I think I'll go out this evening."
"Where?"
"Oh, just around town, to see some of the fellows." But if Tom was only going around town merely to see his male friends, why did he dress so carefully, put on a new necktie, and take several looks in the glass before he went out? We think you can guess, and also the girl's name.
The young inventor got in rather late, and after a visit to the aeroplane shed, to see that all was right there, he went to bed, first connecting up the burglar-alarm wires that guarded the doors and windows of the aerodrome.
How long he had been asleep Tom did not know, but he was suddenly awakened by hearing the buzzing of the alarm at the head of his bed. At first he took it for the droning and humming of the aeroplane motor, as he had a hazy notion, and a sort of dream, that he was in his craft.
Then, with a start, he realized what it was—the burglar alarm.
"Some one's in the shed!" he gasped.
Out of bed he leaped, drawing on his trousers and coat, and putting on a pair of slippers, with speed worthy of a fireman. He grabbed up a revolver and rushed from his room, pounding on the door of Mr. Jackson's apartment in passing.
"Some one in the shed, after the Humming-Bird!" shouted Tom. "Get a gun, and come down!"
As Tom passed down the hall on his way to the side door, from which he could more quickly reach the aeroplane shed, he saw his father coming from his room.
"What's the matter? What is it?" asked Mr. Swift, and alarm showed on his pale face.
"It's nothing much, dad," said the youth, as quietly as he could, for he realized that to excite his father might have a bad effect on the invalid.
"Then why are you in such a hurry? Why have you that revolver? I know there is something wrong, Tom. I am going to help you!"
In his father's present weakened state Tom desired this least of all, so he said:
"Now, never mind, dad. I thought I heard a noise out in the yard, and I'm not going to take any chances. So I roused Mr. Jackson, and I'm going down to see what it is. Perhaps it may only be Eradicate's mule, Boomerang, kicking around, or it may be Rad himself, or some one after his chickens. Don't worry. Mr. Jackson and I can attend to it. You go back to bed, father."
Tom spoke with such assurance that Mr. Swift believed him, and retired to his room, just as the engineer, partly dressed, came hurrying out in response to Tom's summons. He had his rifle, and, had the invalid inventor seen that, he surely would have worried more.
"Come on!" whispered Tom. "Don't make any noise. I don't want to excite my father."
"What was it?" asked the engineer.
"I don't know. Burglar alarm went off, that's all I can say until we get to the shed."
Together the two left the house softly, and soon were hurrying toward the aeroplane shed.
"Look!" exclaimed Mr. Jackson. "Didn't you see a light just then, Tom?"
"Where?"
"By the side window of the shed?"
"No, I didn't notice it! Oh, yes! There it is! Some one is in there! If it's Andy Foger, I'll have him arrested, sure!"
"Maybe we can't catch him."
"That's so. Andy is a pretty slippery customer. Say, Mr. Jackson, you go around and get Eradicate, and have him bring a club. We can't trust him with a gun. Tell him to get at the back door, and I'll wait for you to join me, and we'll go in the front door. Then we'll have 'em between two fires. They can't get away."
"How about the windows?"
"They're high up, and hard to open since I put the new catches on them. Whoever got in must have forced the lock of the door. There goes the light again!"
As Tom spoke there was seen the faint glimmer of a light. It moved slowly about the interior of the shed, and with a peculiar bobbing motion, which indicated that some one was carrying it.
"Go for Eradicate, and don't make any more noise than you can help in waking him up," whispered Tom, for they were now close to the shed, and might be heard.
Mr. Jackson slipped off in the darkness, and Tom drew nearer to the building that housed his Humming-Bird. There was one window lower than the others, and near it was a box, that Tom remembered having seen that afternoon. He planned to get up on that and look in, before making a raid to capture the intruder.
Tom raised himself up to the window. The light had been visible a moment before he placed the box in position, but an instant later it seemed to go out, and the place was in darkness.
"I wonder if they've gone away?" thought Tom. "I can't hear any noise."
He listened intently. It was dark and silent in the shop. Suddenly the light flashed up brighter than before, and the young inventor caught sight of a man walking around the new aeroplane, examining it carefully. He carried, as Tom could see, a large-sized electric flash-lamp, with a brilliant tungsten filament, which gave a powerful light.
As the youth watched, he saw the intruder place the light on a bench, in such a position that the rays fell full upon the Humming-Bird. Then, adjusting the spring switch so that the light would continue to glow, the man stepped back and drew something from an inner pocket.
"I wonder what he's up to?" mused Tom. "I wish Eradicate and Mr. Jackson would hurry back. Who can that fellow be, I wonder? I've never seen him before, as far as I know. I thought sure it was going to turn out to be Andy Foger!"
Tom turned around to look into the dark yard surrounding the shed. He was anxious to hear the approach of his two allies, but there was no sound of their footsteps.
As he turned back to watch the man he could not repress a cry of alarm, for what the intruder had drawn from his pocket was a small hatchet, and he was advancing with it toward the Humming-Bird!
"He's going to destroy my aeroplane!" gasped Tom, and he raised his revolver to fire.
He did not intend to shoot at the man, but only to fire to scare him, and thus hasten the coming of Mr. Jackson and the colored man. But there was no need of this, for an instant later the two came running up silently, Eradicate with a big club.
"Whar am he?" he asked in a hoarse whisper. "Let me git at him, Massa Tom!"
"Hush!" exclaimed the young inventor. "We have no time to lose! He's in there, getting ready to chop my aeroplane to bits! Go to the back door, Rad, and if he tries to come out don't let him get away."
"I won't!" declared the colored man emphatically, and he shook his club suggestively.
"Come on! We'll go in the front door," whispered Tom to the engineer. "I have the key. We'll catch him red-handed, and hand him over to the police."
Waiting a few seconds, to enable Eradicate to get to his place, Tom and the engineer stole softly toward the big double doors. Every moment the youth expected to hear the crash of the hatchet on his prize machine. He shivered in anticipation, but the blows did not fall.
Tom pushed open the door and stepped inside, followed by Mr. Jackson. As they did so they saw the man standing in front of the Humming-Bird. He again raised the little hatchet, which was like an Indian tomahawk, and poised it for an instant over the delicate framework and planes of the air craft. Then his arm began to descend.
"Stop!" yelled Tom, and at the same time he fired in the air.
The man turned as suddenly as though a bullet had struck him, and for a moment Tom was afraid lest he had hit him by accident; but an instant later the intruder grabbed up his flashlight, and holding it before him, so that its rays shone full on Tom and Mr. Jackson, while it left him in the shadow, sprang toward them, the hatchet still in his hand.
"Look out, Tom!" cried Mr. Jackson.
"Out of my way!" shouted the man.
Bravely Tom stood his ground. He wished now that he had a club instead of his revolver. The would-be vandal was almost upon him. Mr. Jackson clubbed his rifle and swung it at the fellow. The latter dodged, and came straight at Tom.
"Look out!" yelled the engineer again, but it was too late. There was the sound of a blow, and Tom went down like a log. Then the place was in darkness, and the sound of footsteps in rapid flight could be heard outside the shed.
The intruder, after wounding the young inventor, had made his escape.
"What's de mattah? Shall I come in? Am anybody hurted?" yelled Eradicate Sampson as he pounded on the rear door of the aeroplane shed. "Let me in, Massa Tom!"
"All right! Wait a minute! I'm coming!" called Mr. Jackson. He tried to peer through the darkness, to where a huddled heap indicated the presence of Tom. Then he thought of the electric lights, which were run by a storage battery when the dynamo was shut down, and a moment later the engineer had switched on the incandescents, filling the big shed with radiance.
"Tom, are you badly hurt?" gasped Mr. Jackson.
There was no answer, for Tom was unconscious.
"Let me in! Let me git at dat robber wif mah club!" cried the colored man eagerly.
Knowing that he would need help in carrying Tom to the house, Mr. Jackson hurried to the back door. He had a key to it, and it was quicker to open it than to send Eradicate away around the shed to the front portals.
"Whar am he?" gasped the faithful darky, as he took a firmer grasp of his club and looked around the place. "Let me git mah hands on him! I'll feed him t' Boomerang, when I gits froo wif him!"
"He's gone," said the engineer. "Help me look after Tom. I'm afraid he's badly hurt."
They hastened to the unconscious lad. On one side of his head was a bad cut, which was bleeding freely.
"Oh! he's daid! I know he's daid!" wailed Eradicate.
"Not a bit of it. He isn't dead, but he may die, if we don't get him into the house, and have a doctor here soon," said Mr. Jackson sternly. "Catch hold of him, Rad, and, mind, don't carry on, and get excited, and scare Mr. Swift. Just pretend it isn't very bad, or we'll have two patients on our hands instead of only Tom."
They managed to get the youth into the house, and, contrary to their fears, Mr. Swift was not nearly so nervous as they had expected. Calmly he took charge of matters, and even telephoned for Dr. Gladby himself, while Mr. Jackson and Eradicate undressed Tom and got him to bed. Mrs. Baggert busied herself heating water and getting things in readiness for the doctor, who had promised to come at once.
Tom was just regaining consciousness when the physician came in, having driven over at top speed.
"What—what happened? Did the Humming-Bird fall?" asked Tom in a whisper, putting his hand to his head.
"No, something fell on you, I guess," said the doctor, who had been hurriedly told of the circumstances. "But don't worry, Tom. You'll be all right in a few days. You got a bad cut on the head, but the skull isn't fractured, I'm glad to say. Here, now, just drink this," and he gave Tom some medicine he had mixed in a glass.
The cut was soon dressed, and Tom felt much better, though weak and a trifle dizzy.
"Did he hit me with the hatchet?" he asked Mr. Jackson.
"I couldn't tell," was the engineer's reply, "it all happened so quickly. In another instant I'd have bowled him over, instead of him landing on you, but I just missed him. He either used the hatchet, or some blunt instrument."
"Well, don't talk about it now," urged the doctor. "I want Tom to get quiet and go to sleep. He'll be much better in the morning, but I must forbid any aeroplane flights." And he shook his finger at Tom in warning. "You'll have to lie quiet for several days," he added.
"All right," agreed the young inventor weakly, and then he dozed off, for the physician had given him a quieting medicine.
"Haven't you any idea who it was?" asked Dr. Gladby of Mr. Jackson, as he prepared to leave.
"Not the slightest. It was no one Tom or I had ever seen before. But whoever it was, he intended to destroy the Humming-Bird, that was evident!"
"The scoundrel! I'm glad you foiled him in time; but it's too bad about Tom. However, we'll soon have him all right again."
"I knows who done it!" broke in Eradicate, who was a sort of privileged character about the Swift home.
"Who?" asked Mr. Jackson.
"It were dat Andy Foger. Leastways, he send dat man heah t' make mincemeat oh de Hummin'-Bird. I's positib 'bout dat, so I am!" And Eradicate grinned triumphantly.
"Well, perhaps Andy did have a hand in it," admitted Mr. Swift, "but we have no proof of it, I can't see what his object would be in wanting to destroy Tom's new craft."
"Pure meanness. Afraid that Tom will beat him in the race," suggested Mr. Jackson.
"It's too big a risk to take," went on the aged inventor. "I'm inclined to think it might be one of the gang of men who made the diamonds in the cave in the mountains. They might have sent a spy on East, and he might try to damage the aeroplane to be revenged for what Tom and Mr. Jenks did to them."
"It's possible," agreed the engineer. "Well, we'll wait until Tom can talk, and we'll go over it with him."
"Not until he is stronger, though," stipulated the physician as he went away. "Don't excite Tom for a few days."
The young inventor was much better the following day, and when Dr. Gladby called he said Tom could sit up for a little while. Two days later Tom was well enough to be talked to, and his father and Mr. Jackson went over all the details of the matter. Mr. Damon, who had returned home, came to see his friend as soon as he heard of his plight, and was also a member of the consulting party.
"Bless my dictionary!" exclaimed the eccentric man. "I wish I had been here to take a hand in it. But, Tom, do you believe it was one of the diamond-making gang?"
"I hardly think so," was the reply. "They would take some other means of revenge than by destroying my new aeroplane. I'm inclined to think it was some one who is in with Andy Foger."
"Then we'll hire detectives, and locate him and them," declared Mr. Damon, blessing several things in succession.
Tom, however, did not like that plan, and it was decided to do nothing right away. In another few days Tom was able to be up, though he was still a semi-invalid, not venturing out of the house.
It was one afternoon, when, rather tired of his confinement, he was wishing he could resume work on his air craft, that Mrs. Baggert came in, and said:
"Some one to see you, Tom."
"Is it Mr. Damon?"
"No, it's a lady. She—"
"Oh, Tom! How are you?" cried a girlish voice, and Mary Nestor walked into the room, holding out both hands to the young inventor. Tom, with a blush, arose hastily.
"No! no! Sit still!" commanded the girl. "Oh! I'm so sorry to hear about your accident! In fact, I only heard this morning. We've been away, mamma and I, and we just got back. Tell me all about it, that is, if you feel able. But don't exert yourself. Oh! I wish I had hold of that man!"
And Miss Nestor clenched her two pretty little hands and set her white, even teeth grimly together, as though she would do most desperate things indeed.
"I wish you did, too!" exclaimed Tom. "That is, so you could hold him until I had a chance at him. But I'm all right now. It was very good of you to call. How are you, and how are your folks?"
"Very well. But I came to hear about you. Tell me," and she looked anxiously at Tom, while Mrs. Baggert discreetly withdrew to the adjoining room, and made a great noise, rattling papers and moving chairs about.
Thereupon Tom told what had happened, while Mary Nestor listened interestedly and with expressions of fear at times.
"But if Andy had anything to do with it," concluded Tom, "I can't understand what his object is. Andy is acting very strangely lately. We can't locate him, nor find out where he is building his airship. That's what I want to know; but Mr. Damon and I, after a lot of trouble, only found his aeroplane shed empty."
"And you want to find out where Andy Foger is building his aeroplane which he has entered in the big race?" asked Miss Nestor.
"That's what I'd like to know," declared Tom earnestly. "Only we can't seem to do it. No one knows."
"Why don't you write to Mr. Sharp, or some one of the aviation meet committee?" asked the girl simply. "They would know, for you say Andy made his formal entry with them, and the rules require him to tell from what city and State he will enter his craft. Write to the committee, Tom."
For a moment the young inventor stared at her. Then he banged his fist down on the arm of his chair.
"By Jove, Mary! That's the very thing!" he cried. "I wonder why I never thought of that, instead of fiddling around in disguises, and things like that? I wonder why I never thought of that plan?"
"Perhaps because it was so simple," she answered, with a pretty blush.
"I guess that's it," agreed Tom. "It takes a woman to jump across a bridge to a conclusion every time. I'll write to Mr. Sharp at once."
Tom lost no time in writing to Mr. Sharp. He wondered more and more at his own neglect in not before having asked the balloonist, when the latter was in Shopton, where Andy was building his aeroplane. But, as it developed later, Mr. Sharp did not know at that time.
While waiting for a reply to his letter, Tom busied himself about his own craft, making several changes he had decided on. He also began to paint and decorate it, for he wanted to have the Humming-Bird present a neat appearance when she was officially entered in the great race.
Miss Nestor called on Tom again, and Mr. Damon was a frequent visitor. He agreed to accompany Tom to the aviation park when it was time for the race, and also to be a passenger in the ten-thousand-dollar contest.
"It must be perfectly wonderful to fly through the air," said Miss Nestor one day, when Tom and Mr. Damon had the Humming-Bird out on the testing ground, trying the engine, which had been keyed up to a higher pitch of speed. "I consider it perfectly marvelous, and I can't imagine how it must seem to skim along that way."
"Come and try it," urged Tom suddenly. "There's not a bit of danger. Really there isn't."
"Oh! I'd never dare do it!" replied the girl, with a gasp. "That machine is too swift by name and swift by nature for me."
"Why don't you take Miss Nestor on a grass-cutting flight, Tom?" suggested Mr. Damon. "Bless my lawn mower! but she wouldn't be frightened at that."
"Grass cutting?" repeated the girl. "What in the world does that mean?"
"It means skimming along a few feet up in the air," answered the young inventor, who had now fully recovered from the effects of the blow given him by the midnight intruder. In spite of many inquiries, no clues to his identity had been obtained.
"How high do you go when you 'cut grass,' as you call it?" asked Miss Nestor, and Tom thought he detected a note of eager curiosity in her voice.
"Not high at all," he said. "In fact, sometimes I do cut off the tops of tall daisies. Come, Mary! Won't you try that? I know you'll like it, and when you've been over the lawn a few times you'll be ready for a high flight. Come! there's no danger."
"I—I almost believe I will," she said hesitatingly. "Will you take me down when I want to come?"
"Of course," said Tom. "Get in, and we'll start."
The Humming-Bird was all ready for a trial flight, and Tom was glad of the chance to test it, especially with such a pretty passenger as was Miss Nestor.
"Bless my shoelaces!" cried Mr. Damon. "I can see where I am going to be cut out, Tom Swift. I'll not get many more rides with you now that Miss Nestor is taking to aeroplaning, you young rascal!" And he playfully shook his finger at Tom.
"Oh, I don't expect to get enthusiastic over it," said Miss Nestor, who, now that she had taken her place in one of the small seats under the engine, appeared as if she would be glad of the chance to change her mind. But she did not.
"Now, if you take me more than five feet up in the air, I'll never speak to you again, Tom Swift!" she exclaimed.
"Five feet it shall be, unless you yourself ask to go higher," was the youth's reply, as he winked at Mr. Damon. Well he knew the fascination of aeroplaning, and he was almost sure of what would happen. "You can take a tape measure along, and see for yourself," he added to his fair passenger. "The barograph will hardly register such a little height."
"Well, it's as high as I want to go," said the girl. "Oh!" with a scream, as Tom started the propeller. "Are we going?"
"In a moment," was his reply. He took his seat beside the girl. The motor was speeded up until it sounded like the roar of the ocean surf in a storm.
"Let her go!" cried Tom to Mr. Damon and Mr. Jackson, who were holding back the Humming-Bird. They gave her a slight shove to over-come the inertia, and the trim little craft darted across the ground at every increasing speed.
Miss Nestor caught her breath with a gasp, glanced at Tom, and noted how cool he was, and then her frantic grip of the uprights slightly relaxed.
"We'll go up a little way in a minute!" shouted Tom in her ear as they were speeding over the level ground.
He pulled a lever slightly, and the Humming-Bird rose a little in the air, but only for a short distance, not more than five feet, and Tom held her there, though he had to run the engine at a greater speed than would have been the case had he been in the sustaining upper currents. It was as if the Humming-Bird resented being held so closely to the earth.
Around in a big circle, back and forth went the craft, at no time being more than seven feet from the ground. Tom glanced at Miss Nestor. Her cheeks were unusually red, and there was a bright sparkle in her eyes.
"It's glorious!" she cried. "Do you—do you think there's any danger in going higher? I believe I'd like to go up a bit."
"I knew it!" cried Tom. "Up we go!" And he pulled the wind-bending plane lever toward him. Upward shot the craft, as if alive.
"Oh!" gasped Mary.
"Sit still! It's all right!" commanded Tom.
"It's glorious; glorious!" she cried. "I'm not a bit afraid now!"
"I knew you wouldn't be," declared the young inventor, who had calculated on the fascination which the motion through the air, untrammeled and free, always produces. "Shall we go higher?"
"Yes!" cried Miss Nestor, and she gazed fearlessly down at the earth, which was falling away from beneath their feet. She was in the grip of the air, and it was a new and wonderful sensation.
Tom went up to a considerable distance, for, once a person loses his first fright, one hundred feet or one thousand feet elevation makes little difference to him. It was this way with Miss Nestor.
Now, indeed, could Tom demonstrate to her some of the fine points of navigation in the upper currents, and though he did no risky "stunts," he showed the girl what it means to do an ascending spiral, how to cut corners, how to twist around in the figure eight, and do other things. Tom did not try for the great speed of which he knew his craft was capable, for he knew there was some risk with Miss Nestor aboard. But he did nearly everything else, and when he sent the Humming-Bird down he had made another convert and devotee to the royal sport of aeroplaning.
"Oh! I never would have dared believe I could do it!" exclaimed the girl, as with flushed cheeks and dancing eyes she dismounted from the seat. "Mamma and papa will never believe I did it!"
"Bring them over, and I'll take them for a flight," said Tom, with a laugh, as Mary departed.
Tom received an answer to his letter to Mr. Sharp that night.
"Andy Foger's entry blank states," wrote the balloonist, "that he is constructing his aeroplane in the village of Hampton, which is about fifty miles from your place. If there is anything further I can do for you, Tom, let me know. I will see you at the meet. Hope you win the prize."
"In Hampton, eh?" mused Tom. "So that's where Andy has been keeping himself all this while. His uncle lives there, and that's the reason for it. He wanted to keep it a secret from me, so he could use my stolen plans for his craft. But he shan't do it! I'll go to Hampton!"
"And I'll go with you!" declared Mr. Damon, who was with Tom when he got the note from the balloonist. "We'll get to the bottom of this mystery after a while, Tom."
Delaying a few days, to make the final changes in his aeroplane, Tom and Mr. Damon departed for Hampton one morning. They thought first of going in the Butterfly, but as they wanted to keep their mission as secret as possible, they decided to go by train, and arrive in the town quietly and unostentatiously. They got to Hampton late that afternoon.
"What's the first thing to be done?" asked Mr. Damon as they walked up from the station, where they were almost the only persons who alighted from the train.
"Go to the hotel," decided Tom. "There's only one, I was told, so there's not much choice."
Hampton was a quiet little country town of about five thousand inhabitants, and Tom soon learned the address of Mr. Bentley, Andy's uncle, from the hotel clerk.
"What business is Mr. Bentley in?" asked Tom, for he wanted to learn all he could without inquiring of persons who might question his motives.
"Oh, he's retired," said the clerk. "He lives on the interest of his money. But of late he's been erecting some sort of a building on his back lot, like a big shed, and folks are sort of wondering what he's doing in it. Keeps mighty secret about it. He's got a young fellow helping him."
"Has he got red hair?" asked Tom, while his heart beat strangely fast.
"Who? Mr. Bentley? No. His hair's black."
"I mean the young fellow."
"Oh! his? Yes, his is red. He's a nephew, or some relation to Mr. Bentley. I did hear his name, but I've forgotten it. Sandy, or Andy, or some such name as that."
This was near enough for Tom and Mr. Damon, and they did not want to risk asking any more questions. They turned away to go to their rooms, as the clerk was busy answering inquiries from some other guests. A little later, supper was served, and Tom, having finished, whispered to Mr. Damon to join him upstairs as soon as he was through.
"What are you going to do?" asked the eccentric man.
"We're going out and have a look at this new shed by moonlight," decided Tom. "I want to see what it's like, and, if possible, I want to get a peep inside. I'll soon be able to tell whether or not Andy is using my stolen plans."
"All right. I'm with you. Bless my bill of fare! But we seem to be doing a lot of mysterious work of late."
"Yes," agreed Tom. "But if you have to bless anything to-night, Mr. Damon, please whisper it. Andy, or some of his friends, may be about the shed, and as soon as they hear one of your blessings they'll know who's coming."
"Oh, I'll be careful," promised Mr. Damon.
"Andy will find out, sooner or later, that we are in town," went on Tom, "but we may be able to learn to-night what we want to know, and then we can tell how to act."
A little later, as if they were merely strolling about, Mr. Damon and Tom headed for Mr. Bentley's place, which was on the outskirts of the town. There was a full moon, and the night was just right for the kind of observation Tom wanted to make. There were few persons abroad, and the young inventor thought he would have no one spying on him.
They located the big house of Andy's uncle without trouble. Going down a side street, they had a glimpse of a shed, built of new boards, standing in the middle of a large lot. About the structure was a new, high wooden fence, but as Tom and his friend passed along it they saw that a gate in it was open.
"I'm going in!" whispered Tom.
"Will it be safe?" asked Mr. Damon.
"I don't care whether it will be or not. I've got to know what Andy is doing. Come on! We'll take a chance!"
Cautiously they entered the enclosure. The big shed was dark, and stood out conspicuously in the moonlight.
"There doesn't seem to be any one here," whispered Tom. "I wonder if we could get a look in the window?"
"It's worth trying, anyhow," agreed Mr. Damon. "I'm with you, Tom."
They drew nearer to the shed. Suddenly Tom stepped on a stick, which broke with a sharp report.
"Bless my spectacles!" cried Mr. Damon, half aloud.
There was silence for a moment, and then a voice cried out:
"Who's there? Hold on! Don't come any farther! It's dangerous!"
Tom and Mr. Damon stood still, and from behind the shed stepped Andy Foger and a man.
"Oh! it's you, is it, Tom Swift?" exclaimed the red-haired bully. "I thought you'd come sneaking around. Come on, Jake! We'll make them wish they'd stayed home!" And Andy made a rush for Tom.