CHAPTER XXI
PLOTS AND PLANS
More than anything else on Tom Swift's part, it had been a bluff to name Cunningham and say he wanted to see him. Still, since the mention of the Englishman's name and that of Floyd Barton, both Tom and his chum had felt certain that the two were in some way mixed up in the queer doings on Dismal Mountain. But Tom had no notion that the mere mention of the Englishman's name would so startle the guard.
"Did you see that, Ned?" asked Tom, nodding toward the man who had left so hurriedly.
"I sure did. What does it mean?"
"To my mind it means that Cunningham is a worse rascal than I thought him, that he is one of the ringleaders of this gang, but that they are surprised we have guessed it."
"Looks so. But what are you going to do next?"
"Eat," was Tom's laconic answer, and he moved toward the breakfast tray which, to do their captors justice, was bountifully laden and included a pot of steaming coffee.
Tom and Ned felt distinctly better after the meal, and they almost laughed at each other, for they presented a queer appearance in their borrowed clothes.
"But we'll have to wear them for some time," Ned remarked. "Our own were so thoroughly soaked it will take a couple of days to dry them out."
"Guess so," commented Tom. "Well, I've been worse off. Did you save your flashlight?"
"Yes," and Ned produced it, having slipped it, with some other possessions, from the pockets of his wet garments when the change was made the night before. "They got my gun, though."
"And mine," added Tom. "We'll have to sing small for a time, even if we manage to escape."
"Are you going to try that?"
"I surely am! But not right away. First I want to see what's going on around this castle."
They had ample time that day, though not much opportunity, for observation, since they were not released from the stone room. They had some relaxation, however, for there was a bathroom connected with it and they could wash and be comfortable. The man who came to remove the breakfast tray was not the same one who had brought it in, but Tom determined to experiment on him. Accordingly the young inventor snapped out:
"When is Mr. Basil Cunningham coming to see me?"
The guard showed no alarm or even interest, merely grunting and remarking:
"You'll have to ask somebody else. That isn't in my department."
"Gosh!" commented Ned, when the fellow had gone. "You'd think this was a regular business!"
"I'm beginning to believe it is," was Tom's comment.
"What, a business place?" asked Ned, in surprise.
"Yes. Cunningham is a business man, you know, though I don't like his style. He's clever and I think he has surrounded himself with a bunch of crooks like himself and is carrying on a regular business in this old castle."
"What sort of business?"
"Come here and take a look," was Tom's reply.
They could look out of the barred window into a courtyard. In it, coming and going, were a number of men and auto trucks. The trucks brought in rather large and heavy boxes. Some of these boxes were taken on hand trucks into various rooms of the old castle.
"That's been going on all morning," said Tom. "Once, when you were in the bathroom washing, I looked out of the grating in the door and I saw some men passing along the corridor carrying things that must have come out of the boxes."
"What sort of things?" Ned wanted to know.
As if to save Tom the need of answering, one of the boxes being unloaded from a truck suddenly slipped, fell, and broke open. Out of it tumbled what Ned recognized as high class scientific instruments, optical goods, binoculars, telescopes and the like.
"That's the stuff they're bringing into this castle," said Tom.
"My word! What for?" asked Ned.
"To doctor it up and dispose of it, I believe," Tom replied.
"But where do they get it? They don't manufacture those things here, do they?"
"Not yet. But I think they plan to," said the young inventor. "It was machinery for turning out such goods that Cunningham wanted me to make for him. But I saw his object—he wants to infringe on foreign patents. This stuff costs money, with the duty and royalty that has to be paid, and if Cunningham could bootleg it, so to speak, he'd get rich."
"But he seems to be making it," and Ned pointed to where men were hurriedly gathering up the scattered telescopes and other instruments.
"No, he didn't make that! He stole it!" exclaimed Tom.
"Stole it?"
"Either he or some of his gang," was Tom's answer. "You know some of those clippings you gave me about Dismal Mountain said that freight and through express trains were held up and several cases of high grade electrical, scientific and optical goods were taken."
"I remember," assented Ned. "I thought at the time that it was pretty queer stuff for train bandits to take."
"Well, that's some of the stuff, I believe," went on Tom. "Cunningham is evidently an expert in this line of goods and he knows how to handle and dispose of them better than any other stuff that might be stolen. I think he wanted me to make machinery to turn out tools like these so he could say, if he were caught, that this old castle was his manufacturing plant. But his greatest source of goods would be from robbing trains."
"It doesn't seem possible!" murmured Ned.
"I know it. But there are the facts," said Tom, and his chum could but agree with him.
For two days Tom and Ned were kept close prisoners in the old stone room. During this time they discussed many plans and plots for escaping. None seemed to fit in, however, or else the time was not yet ripe, so they remained in captivity.
Meanwhile, the activity on the part of men bringing in cases of goods and carrying them along the corridor and past the room where Tom and Ned were locked kept up night and day. Except for small quantities of what seemed to be bolts of silk, all the things were optical goods or machines used by scientists—stuff worth a great deal of money. There was a hum and buzz of work all through the old castle, but except for men who came to bring them food, Tom and Ned had no contact with any of their captors.
Then, one night, the same guard who had shown perturbation when Tom first mentioned Cunningham, again brought in the tray of food. It needed but a glance to show that he had been drinking, and Tom, with a whisper to Ned, decided the man's befuddled state would afford them a good opportunity to do some more bluffing.
So, having inspected the tray, as if to look and see that it contained all he wanted, Tom stepped toward the man and in stern tones exclaimed:
"Did you give my message to Basil Cunningham?"
Instead of being alarmed as he had been before, the man leered in his drunken manner and thickly said:
"Sure I did!"
"Oh, did you?" Tom was rather taken aback by this reply.
"I sure did, and he's coming to see you soon."
This was more and different news, and Tom and his chum did not know how to take it. But Tom had another card he wanted to play.
Stepping toward the fellow the young inventor took him by one shoulder and, giving him a shake, exclaimed sternly:
"Never mind about Cunningham! Send Floyd Barton to me!"
Tom had determined to try the effect of this name.
To his surprise, it did not upset the man in the least. He leered at Tom and Ned with drunken gravity and mumbled:
"Barton's lucky—thash wha' he is! Lucky—hic—dog!"
"Lucky! What do you mean?" snapped out Tom.
"Mean he's goin' to marry a fine girl—thash wha' he ish! Lucky dog, Barton—Lucky—hic—dog!"
"Who's the girl?" asked Ned, more for the sake of giving his chum a chance to think up his next verbal attack than for any desire for information. "Do you know her?"
"No, I don't know her. But I know her name. Name's Mary—thash wha' it is. Mary—Mary—hic!"
Even yet the two were not suspicious, and Ned still joked.
"Mary Hick! That's a queer name," he chuckled.
"Not Mary Hick—no!" mumbled the half-drunken guard. "Not Mary Hick—Mary Nestor. Thash who Barton's goin' marry—Mary Nestor—fine girl—Mary—hic!"
"What's that?" cried Tom Swift, hardly able to believe his ears. "You dirty scoundrel, don't you mention her name again! What do you mean bringing her into this conversation? What has she to do with that sap, Floyd Barton?"
"He's sap aw right—sure!" agreed the drunken fellow. "But he's got money. Goin' to marry fine girl—Mary—hic—no, not Mary Hick—thash wrong—Mary Nestor!"
Tom could restrain himself no longer. He stepped back, raised his fist and was going to let it drive full into the face of the guard when a sudden interruption came.
A man with a black handkerchief over the lower part of his face had entered the stone room, and, as Tom was about to fell the insulting guard, stepped between the two.
"You rotten beast!" Tom hissed.
He was suddenly pulled back by the masked man and swung to one side. But Tom's blood was up. Nothing could stop him now.
"Out of my way, you!" he yelled at the man who had hold of him. "Who are you, anyhow? None of your masked tricks with me! Off with that!"
Before the man who had stepped between Tom and the guard could put up his hands to prevent it, Tom had torn off the black handkerchief.
There, with a startled frown on his beefy red face, stood—Basil Cunningham!