“What’sthe matter, Tom?” asked Mr. Damon, for he could not fail to note the agitation of the young inventor on reading the strange message brought by so strange a messenger. “Bless my favorite detective story, but you act as though you had news!”
“I hope it proves to be good news and true news,” said Tom, looking sharply at the whining old man. “Read that, Mr. Damon!”
Tom thrust the dirty piece of paper into the extended hand of the eccentric man. Slowly, for the writing was not very clear, Mr. Damon read:
“Take this to Tom Swift and receive ten dollars. Help. Am prisoner at Smith place. Brick house—flat roof—three cherry trees—old stone well. Ned Newton.”
“Take this to Tom Swift and receive ten dollars. Help. Am prisoner at Smith place. Brick house—flat roof—three cherry trees—old stone well. Ned Newton.”
“Why—why—” faltered Mr. Damon, turning the paper over, “it’s from—from Ned Newton, who’s missing. It’s from him!”
“Itpurportsto be,” said Tom in a low voice, looking at the old man who was rubbing with a lean hand a chin very much in need of the good offices of a razor. “But it may be a hoax.”
“Is it Ned’s writing?” asked Mr. Damon.
“Let me look at it again,” suggested the young inventor. “I was so surprised by the import of the message that I didn’t pay much attention to the handwriting.” He scrutinized it closely and said in a low voice to his odd friend: “It’s Ned’s scribbling all right. No one else makes a capital N just like Ned. Where did you get this?” he asked the old man sharply.
“In a field, boss. I picked it up and I made out to read it. I saw your name on it and I made some inquiries and folks directed me here. It’s been a long walk, and I’m tired and hungry and——”
“We’ll see that you don’t lose anything by what you did if this turns out to be no fake,” said Tom, still a bit sternly. “It will be worth a good deal more than ten dollars to you if this leads to the finding of my helper. Now tell me straight, where did you get this?”
“In the field, boss, I told you.”
“What field?”
“About five miles from here, over Cherry Valley way. I’m on the tramp—there’s no use lying to you—I’m a sort of a bum, but it ain’t all my fault. I work at helping on a farm when I can, but there’s been so much rain lately I couldn’t get much to do.”
“He’s right there—it has rained a lot,” said Mr. Damon.
“Sure it has, boss. I’ve been tramping around and I was cooking a little meal in a field over Cherry Valley way when I picked up this paper. I can read—I went to school once,” he said, with a flash of pride, but it was only a brief flash. “I read what it said and I asked my way here.”
“How did the paper get in the field?” asked Tom. “Did it blow there?”
“No, boss, it come down on a kite.”
“On akite?” cried Mr. Damon. “Bless my phonograph, but he’s hoaxing you, Tom! Pay no attention to him. It’s all a trick to get money out of you.”
But the old man did not appear to be one who would play a joke, and his face was grave as he made the surprising statement about the kite. Also there was about him a pathetic, hungry, hoping look as he glanced at Tom Swift.
“You say this message came down in a field on akite?” asked Tom, and his voice though at first stern, was now kinder, for he felt sorry for the old codger.
“Yes, boss, in a field where I was roasting some ears of corn a farmer said I could have. They was almost roasted when down out of the air swooped this kite. First I thought some boys must ’a’ been playing around there and it got away from them. But I didn’t see no boys. Then I picked up the kite and this message was on it.”
“You mean this message was tied to the tail or to the string of the kite itself?”
“No, it wasn’t tied on. It was part of the kite—part of the paper the kite was made of. There wasn’t no string to speak of. Looked to me like the kite broke away. This message was writ right on the paper of the kite. It was partly tore off so I finished ripping it loose, and put it in my pocket.”
“Where’s the remainder of the kite?” asked Tom. He was going to prove this strange tale to the very bottom.
“Here ’tis.” The shuffling old tramp drew from a pocket of his ragged coat a tangled mass of broken sticks, brown paper and string.
Tom took the tattered stuff and smoothed it out. Slowly he assembled it into a small kite of the kind that needs no tail to be sent up, a curve of the cross stick and the consequent bellying of the loose paper serving to hold the wind against the kite’s surface. From the center of the kite a piece of the paper had been torn. This piece was represented by the fragment containing the message appealing for help. Tom fitted it in and proved that this part of the old tramp’s tale was true.
“It looks as if there might be something in it, Tom,” said Mr. Damon.
“Yes. But whether this will help us find Ned or not is another question. You say this kite was blown to where you were in the field?” Tom asked the old fellow.
“Yes, boss. It come down right near my fire.”
“From which direction?”
The tramp considered for a moment and answered.
“Right from the south.”
Tom knew that the prevailing winds at this time of year in the vicinity of Shopton, where he lived, were from the south. So far the tramp had not tripped himself up.
“What do you make of it, Tom?” asked the eccentric man as he began an examination of the remains of the kite.
“I don’t know what to think,” was the reply. “This is most certainly from Ned, and he seems to be a prisoner on the ‘Smith place,’ wherever that is.”
“Maybe I can help you out there,” broke in the tramp. “I asked some questions before I started off to locate you, and I heard that about a mile from Cherry Valley is an abandoned farm known as the Smith place.”
“Good!” cried Tom. “I’m beginning to believe you, my man. If this works out it will be the best day’s work you’ve done for a long time.”
“But, Tom!” objected Mr. Damon who, in spite of his eccentricities was hard-headed when it came to business. “Assuming, Tom, that Ned is a prisoner on the Smith place, how could he fly this kite to ask for help? Maybe this man is just making up that part of the story. He may be one of those who helped kidnap Ned and have brought this message from the captors.”
“No, boss, honest to goodness I don’t know nothin’ about no kidnappin’!” cried the tramp, with vehement earnestness. “It was just as I told you—I picked that kite up in the field at Cherry Valley.”
“It may have happened as this man says,” Tom said to Mr. Damon. “If Ned is a prisoner in some old farmhouse, he may be confined in an upper room. From there he could loose this kite and, on a windy day, it might be blown several miles.”
“But how could he make a kite and fly it without being seen?” asked Mr. Damon. “And, when it comes to that, how could he make a kite, anyhow, if he’s a prisoner?”
“It wasn’t much of a trick to make this kite,” replied Tom as he examined the remains of it again. “It’s made of a section torn from a paper bag, with sticks whittled off a window casing, I should say. Ned could do the whittling with his knife—he always carries one. Probably they brought him food in a paper bag, tied with a string. This looks like grocery store string,” he added, pulling out some strands from the tangled mess of sticks and paper.
“I see, Tom.”
“Well, having decided to the best of our knowledge that this message really comes from Ned and that he is a prisoner at the Smith place, the next thing to do is to rescue him. Will you come with us and show us just where you picked up this message kite?” he asked the old tramp.
“Sure I will, boss, but I’m——”
“I know! You’re tired and hungry!” interrupted the young inventor. “I’ll see that you get a rest and some food, and you’ll be paid well. We can’t start at once—a few preparations are necessary. We’ve got to organize a searching party and hit the trail after Ned.”
“And I’m going with you!” cried Mr. Damon. “No, not a word—don’t forbid me!” he begged as he saw Tom hesitate. “I’m going!”
“As you think best,” Tom Swift agreed. “But we’ll have to do considerable before we can get ready. I think I’ll take Koku along,” he said.
“Good idea!” chuckled Mr. Damon. “He’ll be a match for any four men that may be holding Ned a prisoner. But why did they capture him, Tom? Answer me that!”
“I wish I could,” was the musing answer. “I don’t know what to think. I’m afraid there’s a deeper plot in all this than I had any idea of at first. Starting with the attempt to blow me up, then Ned’s disappearance—I’m afraid it means that some one objects, very strongly, to my perfecting—well, what I am perfecting,” Tom concluded, not wishing to name his latest invention.
“Well, let’s get going!” begged Mr. Damon, with the eagerness and enthusiasm of a boy. “Now don’t you run away!” he playfully ordered the old tramp.
“Not much chance of that, boss. I’m too weak hardly to walk, let alone running.”
“We’ll soon fix you up,” declared Tom, “in the way of food, anyhow. And you won’t need to walk. We’ll go in my electric runabout to the Smith place and get Ned out of the hands of these scoundrels.”
In spite of Tom’s haste in making preparations, it was not until the next morning that he was able to take the mysterious trail that he hoped would lead to his kidnapped chum. In the first place, the old tramp was really so weak from lack of food and from his long walk that Dr. Layton said it would not be wise to start out with him as a guide until he had had a night’s rest and plenty of nourishing food.
Then a slight accident occurred in one of the shops and Tom had to straighten that out. It was not serious, however. So, early the morning following the receipt of the kite message, Tom, with Mr. Damon, Koku and Bill Tagg, as the tramp called himself, started off in the speedy electric runabout for Cherry Valley.
Just as they were about to leave, Jacob Greenbaum came hurrying out of the private laboratory.
“Are you going away, Mr. Swift?” the man asked.
“Yes,” Tom answered, though he gave no further particulars. The attempt to rescue Ned was being kept secret. No information was given out concerning the identity of the strange tramp, Bill Tagg, and, aside from a private message conveyed to Mr. and Mrs. Newton that Ned had been heard from, nothing was said about the strange clue. “Yes, Greenbaum, I am going away for a little trip. Is there anything you wanted to see me about?”
“Yes, Mr. Swift, there is. I’ve reached a critical point in this magnetic gear shift model and if you could come in my room——”
There was a strange look in the man’s eyes—a look Tom Swift did not like. The man seemed unduly eager to get Tom out of the auto and back into the laboratory.
“I haven’t time, Greenbaum,” the young inventor said. “I’ll see you when I get back. That gear shift will keep.” With that Tom turned on the current and the runabout speeded down the drive. A look back over his shoulder showed the man still standing there, with that same eager, tense look on his face.
“I think,” said Tom to himself, “that my suspicions of you will soon be justified, Greenbaum. But just now I’m on the trail of Ned Newton!”
The motors hummed more shrilly as the runabout gathered speed.
“Thisis a pretty slick little car, boss,” said Tagg when they had passed the confines of Shopton and were heading out into the country. “She sure can go! Beats old Shanks’ mare,” and he looked down at his legs which had carried him to Tom’s home with the mysterious message.
The tramp had been provided with some decent clothes, he had taken a bath and shaved, and was quite a different looking man from the one who first encountered Mr. Damon and Tom.
“Yes,” admitted the young inventor as he listened to the hum of the small but powerful motors as they received their impulses from the storage battery Tom had evolved. “At one time this was the speediest car on the road, but I have some now that can beat this.”
“And they aren’t in it with some of the airships Mr. Swift has,” remarked Mr. Damon.
“That’s what I want to do before I die, boss,” murmured the tramp. “I want to ride in an airship.”
“Well, if we rescue my friend through your help, I’ll see that you have your wish,” promised the head of the Swift plant. “It’s easily done.”
“Gee, boss, but I sure would love that!” murmured Bill Tagg.
“Airship—him lots good!” grunted Koku, who sat stolidly on the rear seat with the tramp, listening to the talk. Koku was not much given to conversation, but when it came to fighting he was as wide awake and as lively as heart could wish. Tom had brought the giant along in case there should be a fight, which seemed likely. Men who go to the length of kidnapping seldom stop there in their desperate ventures. “Lots good—airships!” rumbled Koku in his deep voice.
“You ought to know. You came from your country of giants in one,” chuckled Mr. Damon, for he well remembered that exciting trip, the details of which will be found set down in another volume.
Tom knew the road to Cherry Valley, and it did not take long, in his speedy car, to arrive in the vicinity. The entrance to the valley led up a long hill, and the car was half way over this rather stiff climb when there was a sudden grinding noise from the machinery and the runabout stopped.
“Something wrong!” cried Mr. Damon.
“Sounds that way,” admitted Tom as he made a quick turn and let the car back slowly down against a tree at the side of the road where it was held safely from rolling farther in case the brakes did not hold. In an instant the young inventor was out and peering into the interior of his runabout.
“Dirty work here!” he exclaimed as he pulled out a twisted piece of metal. “See what was in the gears!”
“What?” asked Mr. Damon, who did not know much about machinery, as you can guess when you read how he managed the first motorcycle he bought. “What is it?”
“A screw driver!” exclaimed Tom. “It was put in here, suspended on a piece of rope in such a manner that the rope would gradually wear through, letting the screw driver drop into the gears. And that’s just what happened! One set of gears is chewed to nothing!”
“That’s bad!” said Mr. Damon. His scant knowledge of machinery was sufficient for him to understand that something vitally wrong had happened to the car, even if the serious look on Tom’s face had not informed him of the same fact. “How did it happen?”
“It didn’t happen—it was caused!” was the answer. “Some one, just before we started out, suspended this screw driver in the gear box knowing that after we had run a few miles the rope would wear through and the thing would drop. Dirty work!”
“You seem to be getting a lot of bad breaks lately, Tom,” said the odd man. “Who do you suppose did this?”
“I think it’s the same man I suspect of other things,” was the reply. “I’m going to find out.”
“Are we stuck, Tom? Can’t we go on and rescue Ned?” Mr. Damon inquired.
“Oh, yes, we can go on, but we can’t make much speed. I’ll have to run in third. Fourth and fifth gears are all chewed up.” It was because of its five selective speeds that the electric runabout was such a wonderful machine.
“Whoever did this made a little mistake,” chuckled Tom, for he had a saving sense of humor. “If they’d fixed it so the screw driver dropped into the lower gears we never could have started again once we stopped. As it is, we can go on, but we can’t make speed.”
It did not take him long to cut out the two higher gearing mechanism attachments, and then the runabout proceeded again. Even at the lowered rate its speed was better than that of many gasoline automobiles. And in due time the head of the slope was reached. Before the searchers lay Cherry Valley which, they hoped, contained the Smith place and the captive Ned Newton.
“Now, Tagg, show us the field where you saw the kite come down,” requested Tom when they were driving along a level road.
“It’s about a mile farther on,” the tramp said, looking about for landmarks. “Yes, just about a mile.”
This distance was soon covered, and when the car was stopped Tagg led the way into the field and showed where he had built a fire to roast ears of corn. The blackened ashes and the remains of his feast proved that, so far, he had spoken the truth. Then he showed just where he had picked up the broken kite, and some fragments of the brown-bag paper which bore Ned’s message were found among the hills of corn.
“It looks as if we were on the right track,” said Mr. Damon.
“I hope so,” murmured Tom. “Now to locate the Smith place.”
“It’s south of here, about a mile and a half,” said the tramp. “ ’Tisn’t a very good road, though.”
“That won’t keep us back,” declared Tom, and once more they were on the way. The runabout was doing fairly well in spite of the handicap of two stripped gears.
Cherry Valley was rather a sparsely settled part of the country and as Tom and his friends advanced they noticed that it grew more and more deserted. They passed one ramshackle farmhouse and learned, on inquiry, that they were headed right for the old Smith homestead.
“But they don’t nobody live there now, mister,” said a slattern of a woman who shuffled to the door in response to Tom’s knock. “They ain’t been nobody livin’ in the Smith place nigh onto four years now.”
“That’s all right—we’ll find it I guess,” responded the young inventor, and once more he drove his electric car onward.
Near the end of the valley and adjoining a patch of dense woods, they came upon the Smith house. It had once been the home of a prosperous farmer, but he had fallen upon evil days and the place had long been deserted.
“That’s it!” cried Mr. Damon, catching sight of the old brick house. “There it is, three cherry trees, old stone well, and everything just as Ned described it.”
“Hush, please! Not so loud!” begged Tom, slowing up his car and guiding it behind a clump of trees not far from the house. “If we’re going to make a rescue it might be well to take these kidnappers by surprise.”
“Bless my ear trumpet, I never thought of that!” whispered the odd man. “Of course! Certainly! Yes! Quiet does it!”
“Can you use a gun?” asked Tom curtly of the tramp.
“Well, boss, I’m not a very good shot, but——”
“I don’t believe there’ll be any need of shooting,” interrupted Tom, “but there’s no use taking any chances. Here,” and he handed the tramp an automatic pistol, reserving one for himself and giving Mr. Damon another. “We may have an easy time and we may have a hard one,” said Tom. “But, whatever it is, I’m going to rescue Ned!”
“Doesn’t Koku want a gun?” asked the tramp, noting that the giant carried no weapon.
“Me no shoot. Me scrunch um in my hands me catch!” muttered the giant, opening and closing his immense fists. It was answer enough.
“We’ll approach from four sides at once,” decided Tom as they began to creep cautiously toward the old farmhouse. “Separate now. You to the east, Mr. Damon; you west, Tagg; you south, Koku; and I’ll take the north side. When I whistle we’ll rush the place.”
“Correct!” said Mr. Damon in a low voice.
Waiting until he was sure they were in their places, Tom looked toward the old house. It seemed deserted, quiet and lonely. But from behind the sagging shutters of the grimy and broken windows evil eyes might be peering out.
Tom gave a low whistle. On his left he could hear Mr. Damon beginning to run forward and on his right he caught the sound of the advance of Tagg. Then Tom began to run, and beyond the house he caught a glimpse of the giant lurching forward.
Together the four searchers reached the four sides of the old house, but still there was no sign of life. The front door was on Tom’s side and, his weapon ready, he ran up the steps. He tried the door. To his surprise, it gave and he pushed it open. At the same time he heard Koku crash through the open door on the south.
“This way!” cried Tom to Mr. Damon and the tramp. “Rush ’em!”
An instant later they were in the house.
“Surrender!” yelled Tom, though he saw no one. “You’re surrounded! Surrender!”
Still no reply.
A hurried search of the first floor revealed no one. A look through the second floor was likewise unsuccessful. The attic revealed not a soul and the cellar was tenantless.
“We’re too late!” exclaimed Tom Swift. “They’ve gone! But they have been here!” he declared, pointing into a room with iron bars over the only window. “They’ve been here and I believe Ned was a prisoner here. Yes, he was!” he cried, picking something up in a corner.
“How do you know Ned was here?” asked Mr. Damon.
“This is his stickpin,” Tom replied, showing a scarf ornament of silver and jade. “Ned’s been here all right. But they have taken him away. We’re too late!”
“What’s to be done now?” asked Tagg.
“Follow them!” cried Tom. “We’ve got to get Ned back. Let’s have another look around.”
They looked, but found little to aid them in their search.
“They haven’t been gone long!” cried Tom, as they came out of the kitchen.
“How do you know?” asked Mr. Damon.
“The stove is still warm,” was the answer. “Come on! We’ve got to trail them and get Ned!”
Tom Swiftwas the first of the four searchers to rush out of the old brick farmhouse, ready to take up the trail once more in the search. Mr. Damon followed, then came Bill Tagg, and lastly the big, lumbering Koku.
“Me find nobody can smash,” the giant complained as he clenched his immense fists. “Master say maybe I fight. No fight?” and he looked at Tom questioningly.
“There may be a fight yet, if we can catch them,” said the young inventor, pausing a moment in the front to look back at the house. “They’ve given us the slip. If it hadn’t been for the accident to my electric runabout we’d have been here sooner and we’d have caught them.”
“Yes,” agreed Mr. Damon. “It looks, Tom, as if the somebody who tried to wreck your machine had an interest in preventing your getting here sooner. They, whoever it was, wanted to delay you so word could be sent here to get Ned out of the way.”
“That’s very probable,” admitted the young inventor.
Again he looked up at the window of what had been his chum’s prison room, and Tom tried to picture how Ned, in his desperation, had secretly constructed the kite of wrapping paper, whittled sticks and string. Then the young manager had waited until a stiff wind was blowing and had loosed the silent messenger into the air.
The electric runabout was in the road a short distance away from the deserted farmhouse. Tom wished he had time to repair it so the machine would show some of the former speed, but this was out of the question. They would have to go along as best they could.
The vicinity of the farmhouse was lonesome and no other building was in view save a tumbledown barn. Tom, therefore, and his companions were rather surprised when, on coming out of the yard, they saw a ragged boy in the road walking around the runabout and admiring it.
“Hello!” called Tom genially. “Do you live near here?”
“Just down the road a piece.” The boy dug his dirty, bare toes into the soft dust of the road.
“Know anybody who lives in here?” went on the young inventor, seeing a possible chance to get some information.
“Don’t nobody live here,” the boy replied. “But there’s been some men in here the last few days, only they’re gone now. They went away a little while ago in an auto, but it was bigger’n what yours is.”
“Oh, so some men went away from here a little while ago in a big auto, did they?” asked Tom. “We’re on the track!” he whispered to Mr. Damon. Then to the boy again: “What kind of men were they and how many of them were there?”
“They was just men,” the boy replied. “Men like you,” and he comprised the four in a roving glance. “But they wasn’t dressed so good as what you are—you three I mean,” and he indicated Tom, Mr. Damon and Koku. He seemed to omit Tagg, and a moment later the reason was obvious. For the boy added: “They was dressed more like what he is,” and he pointed directly at the tramp. In spite of the fact that Bill Tagg had been freshened up considerably since he shuffled to Tom with Ned’s message, there was still an air of vagrancy about the wanderer. It stuck out all over him. He did not seem to mind being made use of for this not very flattering comparison.
“How many men were there?” asked Tom.
“Three well ones and a sick one,” the boy answered.
“A sick man!” exclaimed Mr. Damon. “What do you mean?”
“Well, his head was tied up in rags and the other men carried him out on a cot. He didn’t say nothin’, the sick man didn’t.”
“That was Ned!” murmured Mr. Damon. “Bless my doctor’s bill, Tom, but do you think they’ve done for poor Ned?”
“No, I don’t think so,” was the reply. “I think they gagged Ned so he couldn’t call for help, and they probably bound him with rope. Naturally he couldn’t walk, and they had to carry him out. So he would appear to be a sick person. Well, we know how many we have to fight—three men,” he concluded. “Can you tell me anything more about the men who were here, son?” asked Tom, tossing the boy a quarter which the lad picked up in his toes after it had fallen in the dust near him. “Did you see them often?”
“I sneaked down here pretty near every day after they come to this old house,” the boy answered. “They didn’t see me, ’cause I hid in the bushes. But they was funny men.”
“How do you mean—funny?”
“They used to fly kites out of the window—anyhow, one of ’em did. But I couldn’t see him plain, ’cause there’s iron bars over that window—up there,” and he pointed to the casement of the room where Tom had found Ned’s stick pin.
“So one of the men flew kites out of that window, did he?” encouraged Tom. “What happened to them?”
“Most of ’em fell in the weeds,” the boy said. “They wasn’t very good kites—just made of old, brown-bag paper. I can make better kites ’n them. They was made of old sticks. I picked some of ’em up, but they wasn’t any good. One flew a long way off, though. I couldn’t find that.”
“I can see just what happened,” Tom spoke in a low voice to Mr. Damon. “Poor Ned tried two or three kite messengers before he finally got one into a stiff breeze that carried it to Cherry Valley. But we are losing valuable time. Which way did the three well men take the sick man in their big auto?” Tom asked the barefooted lad.
“Down there,” and he pointed to the western road.
“Where does that lead to?”
“Lake Carlopa, ’bout ten miles farther on.”
“Lake Carlopa!” cried Tom. “That’s where they’re heading for. Come on! We may catch them yet!”
Tossing the lad another quarter, Tom led his friends toward his car and they were soon off again on the wild chase. They had a definite object now, for the lad had given them such a description of the other auto as to make it easy for them to inquire about it along the way.
Their inquiries were fruitful to the extent that at several garages and hot-dog stands along the highway the pursuers learned that the machine in question, containing three men and one who appeared to be ill or injured had passed not long before.
“We’re catching up to them!” Tom exulted, when they had covered half the distance to Lake Carlopa. This was evident by the information given at different garages. Whereas at first the fleeing car had been half an hour ahead, it was now but ten minutes. “We’ll get them!” cried the young inventor.
Though Tom got every inch of speed possible out of his crippled runabout, when Lake Carlopa was reached they found the kidnappers’ car abandoned on the shore of the lake.
“Just too late again!” sighed Mr. Damon. “We’ll never get Ned!”
“We may!” shouted Tom. “Look!” He pointed across the lake, and about half a mile out was discerned a motorboat containing three men. “There they are—I’m sure of it!” cried Tom. “Now if we only had another boat to chase them!”
“There’s a feller a little farther on who rents motorboats,” volunteered Bill Tagg.
“Good!” cried Tom. “We’ll chase them in their own way. Where’s that motorboat chap?”
The tramp pointed out the dock, and in a short time, leaving his runabout in charge of the boat proprietor, Tom and his friends were in a sturdy gasoline craft giving chase to the other, which was now but a speck amid the blue waters of Lake Carlopa.
“Do you think they have Ned with them?” asked Mr. Damon while Tom hastily adjusted the motor so as to get the maximum speed from the boat.
“I hope so,” was the reply. “We’ll soon find out, if this old tub can stand the pace.”
“Have we a chance?” asked Bill, who was taking quite an interest in this pursuit.
Tom looked at the fleeing boat. Then he calculated the speed of the craft he had hired. A few minutes of observation caused him to make this remark:
“We’re gaining on them—slowly. Whether we catch up to them before they get to the other side is a question. We’ll do our best to catch ’em, however.”
He made a slight adjustment in the carburetor to get a few more revolutions per minute from the flywheel and then the four settled back for the chase.
Tom’s statement about their speed proved true. In a short time it was discerned that his craft was overhauling the other. The three men could be plainly seen now, and a muffled object could be made out in the bottom of the boat.
“Bless my cranberry sauce, there’s Ned!” cried Mr. Damon.
“I hope so,” murmured Tom.
The chase was now becoming exciting. Every moment they were drawing nearer the fleeing boat.
“Hold on there, you fellows!” shouted Tom. “We want to speak to you!”
“Haven’t got time!” sneered one of the three rascals. “See you later!”
Suddenly the boat in front swerved off to one side. But Tom was ready for this and shifted his own wheel to intercept the other craft.
“Look out! Rocks!” suddenly cried Mr. Damon.
“What’sthat? What’s the matter?” cried Tom Swift, hearing Mr. Damon’s shout. “Are they going to ram us?”
Tom had been bending over the gasoline throttle in an endeavor to coax a little more speed out of their craft. Now he looked up to see that they were very near the fleeing boat.
“No, I said rocks ahead! Look! Bless my life preserver, we’re going to hit them!” yelled the eccentric man. “Look out!”
Then, but too late, Tom saw and realized why the other boat had swerved so suddenly. It was to avoid the rocks. And now theGull, which was the name of the boat Tom had hired, was headed directly for the black, sharp rocks that reared their ugly heads out of the blue water of Lake Carlopa.
“Hand me that boat hook and maybe I can fend us off,” called out the tramp.
Tom, however, was sure this would be of no service, so he did not obey the request. He was trying with all his might to pull the wheel around far enough to steer theGullaway from the rocks. But the craft was a heavy one, rather clumsy, and did not respond readily.
“See if she’ll reverse, Mr. Damon!” panted Tom, who had to use both hands on the wheel. “Throw that lever back!” and he pointed to one with his foot.
“Yes, I know how!” Mr. Damon replied. He grasped the gear lever and began straining on it. Suddenly there was a sharp report.
“Did it break?” cried Tom, looking at the rocks on to which they seemed about to crash.
“No. They’re shooting at us!” yelled Bill Tagg. “There they go again!” he added, ducking down into the bottom of the boat.
Tom and Mr. Damon were both occupied with trying to save theGullfrom going on the rocks and they could not draw their weapons. The tramp, however, aimed his automatic and sent a couple of answering shots toward the boat containing Ned.
“Look out you don’t hit our friend,” warned Tom, who felt the rudder gradually coming around, so that he had hopes of saving theGullfrom a direct crash.
“I fired over their heads,” explained Bill Tagg. “They’re doing the same, I guess—trying to bluff us!” He fired again, high enough to clear those in the fleeing craft, and again came a response. This time the bullet was lower and Tom instinctively ducked, though he knew the missile must have passed him before his ear caught the vicious whine of its passage through the air.
Then, so suddenly that no warning was given, theGullstruck on a rock just beneath the surface. It was a glancing blow, and the rock, luckily, was smooth, or the craft might have been shattered. As it was, theGullcareened to one side, and so sharply that Tom Swift was thrown overboard, landing in the lake with a great splash.
Instinctively, he took a long breath and held it, closing his mouth that had been opened preparatory to shouting further directions to Mr. Damon about reversing the craft.
Down into the depths sank Tom, while theGull, whose speed was not slackened, slued around from her impact on the rock and shot off on a tangent in a direction directly opposite from that taken by theTurtle, the boat containing the three roughly attired men and that silent, wrapped figure in the bottom—a figure that was supposed to be Ned Newton.
“Bless my steamship ticket!” yelled Mr. Damon, “where’s Tom?”
“Overboard!” yelled the tramp. “And I can’t swim!”
“Me get him!” shouted Koku, peeling off his coat preparatory to a dive over the side.
“Stay where you are!” came the stern command from the other boat which had circled around and was now headed for the place where Tom Swift’s head appeared in the watery circles caused by his plunge. “We’ll drill the first man that goes overboard!”
Two of the rascals stood in the bow with leveled weapons, while the third was steering the boat straight toward Tom.
“They’re going to ram him!” gasped the tramp. He did not seem capable of doing anything to help, and Koku, being now without a weapon, was of no service. Mr. Damon had laid aside his pistol to work the reverse lever and, even if he could have recovered it, there was a question as to his ability to use it.
Thus fate favored the rascals, and Mr. Damon and his two companions were forced to see themselves being carried farther and farther away from theTurtleas theGull, whose engine was still running, headed away from the rocks. Apparently little damage had been done by striking the obstruction.
From a distance Mr. Damon, the tramp, and the giant watched to see what would happen to Tom Swift. At first it seemed as though he was going to be run down by the unprincipled men in theTurtle. But they had other plans in mind and, reaching the swimming inventor, the two men in the bow reached over, grasped him, and pulled him in. He could not fight back, and, indeed, having gone overboard with all his clothes on, was having a hard struggle to keep afloat. Rescue, even at the hands of the enemy, was welcome.
“They’ve got him!” gasped Mr. Damon.
“We go take him away!” growled Koku. “Make boat go odder way, Mr. Damon—we get Master Tom.”
“I—I’m afraid I don’t know how to operate this craft,” confessed the eccentric man. “I might run it back on the rocks.”
Once Tom was hauled, dripping wet, aboard theTurtle, the boat was put about and went speeding off and away from theGullwhich, to tell the truth, was headed back toward her own dock.
Tom, as he was pulled over the side, had a glimpse of theGullgoing back where she came from. He remembered that neither Mr. Damon nor Koku could operate the craft without some one along to advise them, and the young inventor had doubts about the tramp’s navigating ability in the emergency.
“Well, anyhow, she’ll get to shore and they’ll be all right,” reasoned Tom.
Then he gave thought to his own situation.
“Well, we’ve sure got him now!” chuckled one of the three men.
“You said it!” echoed another. “We didn’t make no mistake this time!”
Tom almost fell on the gagged and bound body of another young man, and it needed but a glance to show him that here was Ned Newton, a prisoner like himself. Ned could not speak and could hardly move, but his eyes flashed a greeting to Tom.
“They’ve got us both!” said Tom in a low voice to his chum, as he crawled alongside of Ned. “But they won’t keep us long. Are you hurt, Ned?”
A shake of the head in negation was the only way Ned could reply.
Then further talk on Tom’s part was stopped, for one of the men, standing over the two captives with an automatic in one hand, growled:
“Shut up down there!”
Notone to submit tamely to indignities, Tom Swift, instead of complying with the command, struggled to his feet and advanced toward the two rough men standing in the bow of the boat. The third member was at the wheel and, Tom noticed, was heading the boat out toward the wider part of the lake.
“Look here!” said Tom boldly, for his nerve, somewhat shaken by his sudden plunge into the water, was coming back to him. “What’s your game, anyhow? What do you mean by keeping Mr. Newton and me on this boat? I demand that you set us ashore at once!”
“Oh, you do, eh?” chuckled one of the men.
“Yes, I do! And if you do it within a reasonable time I may overlook what you’ve done. But if you don’t at once release us I’ll cause your arrest, and it will go hard with you!”
“Listen to him!” sneered one of the scoundrels. “You’d think he was chief of police or something like that!”
“Ha! Ha!” chuckled another. “We’ve got Tom Swift right where we want him this time. No mistake now!”
Tom was beginning to understand some things in connection with the kidnapping—things hitherto a mystery to him. He looked at the men. They were burly, brutal fellows and Tom knew that even if Ned were free to help him, they would not be able to fight these fellows. Perhaps subterfuge and craft were better than a show of force. Tom decided on other tactics.
“Look here!” he said again. “I don’t know what your game is, but you’re bound to lose out in the end. My friends will soon rescue us and you’ll be jailed for this. Kidnapping is a serious offense.”
“We took one chance and we got the wrong man,” said one of the fellows, thus confirming Tom’s new suspicions. “Now we have the right one—that’s you—and we’re going to hold on to you. We don’t worry none about getting jailed.”
“We’ve rich friends that’ll soon get us out,” said the man at the wheel.
“Shut up, Torpy!” commanded one of the two in the bow. “Close your trap! You talk too much!”
“Aw, you make me tired!” complained the one addressed as Torpy.
“You can’t bluff us, Tom Swift!” went on the largest of the three scoundrels. “We got you dead to rights now and you’ll tell us what we want to know before we let you go.”
“Oh, so you’re after information, are you?” asked Tom, hoping to draw the men out.
“Yes, we are.”
“What kind?” Tom inquired, trying to wring some of the water out of his coat.
“You’ll find out soon enough when we get to the island.”
“What island?” the young inventor wanted to know.
“You ask too many questions. You’re as bad as Torpy—you talk too much!” complained one of the two in the bow.
Tom glanced down at Ned and, guessing how his friend must be suffering, bound and gagged as he was, decided on a new plan.
“All right,” he seemed to agree, “I’ll stop asking questions. But as long as you’ve got me safe, as you seem to have, there’s no object in keeping my chum trussed up as he is. Why don’t you loosen him and take that rag out of his mouth? Be decent, can’t you?”
“We might as well let up on him a bit,” said the big man. “As he says, we got him now and the other can’t do any harm if he does yell. We’re out of the way now—soon be at the island.”
“Sure,” assented his companion, and they at once loosened Ned’s ropes and removed the gag, for which relief he was very grateful.
“What happened, old man?” asked Tom in a low voice, as he sat down on the bottom of the boat beside his now unbound chum. “We’ve been all upset over you.”
“I’ve been a bit upset myself,” admitted Ned, whose tongue was thick from the effects of the gag. “But, in brief, I was set upon that night after I left your laboratory, a cloth was thrown over my head at a dark corner, not far from your place, and, before I knew what was happening, I was gagged, bound, and bundled into an auto. I was taken some distance and brought to that old farmhouse. The men hustled me out of there a little while ago, and after a wild ride put me in this boat. You know the rest.”
“Have you been kept in the old Smith place ever since you were kidnapped up until a little while ago?” asked Tom.
“Yes, they held me a prisoner there. But it didn’t take them long to find out I was the wrong man. They mistook me for you, and thought they were kidnapping the great inventor.”
“I had begun to suspect that,” said Tom. “Well, what happened?”
“Oh, they were pretty much upset when they learned who I was,” chuckled Ned. “They asked me a lot of questions about your inventions, and wanted to know how the new talking-picture projector worked. But of course I was as mum as an oyster.”
“Did they ask specifically about my new patent?” asked Tom, somewhat excited by this news.
“That’s what they did.”
“How did they know about it? I supposed that was a dead secret from all but you, dad and me.”
“So did I,” responded Ned. “But there must be a leak somewhere around your shop. Perhaps a spy.”
“I believe there is!” exclaimed Tom.
“I tried to escape, but I couldn’t,” said Ned. “Even though they found out I was the wrong man, they still held me. I was kept in an upper room with barred windows. Then, when they brought me food in paper bags, I thought of the kite idea. I sent out half a dozen, but I guess they didn’t blow far. I wrote messages to you, hoping some one would pick them up and take them to you. But I began to think nothing would come of it until one day a kite that I’d made went high up in the air and I knew it would travel a long way.”
“It did,” said Tom. “All the way to Cherry Valley where a tramp picked it up and brought it to me. That was yesterday, and I came as soon as I could.”
“I thought you would,” Ned responded. “But when, a little while ago, they bundled me up again and took me away, I thought it was all up with me. They must have had some warning you were on their trail, they got off in such a hurry.”
“I think the same man who tried to blow me up gave the warning,” stated Tom.
“Tried to blow you up!” gasped Ned. “What do you mean?”
Tom told of the explosion and fire, relating the sad tale of the wrecking of the talking-picture machine, but in words that would mean nothing to the three men even if they should hear. But they did not appear to be listening.
“Whew!” exclaimed Ned. “You were as badly off as I was!”
“Pretty near,” agreed Tom. “We couldn’t imagine what had become of you. Your folks were worried, but I sent word to them about your kite message and that relieved their minds.”
“Did you start to swim after me?” asked Ned, with a smile, noting Tom’s wet clothes.
“Swim? No. Oh, I see what you mean! You couldn’t see what happened because you were down on the bottom here. Well, I was chasing these fellows in a motorboat I’d hired, with Mr. Damon, Koku and the tramp that picked up your kite. We hit a rock and I went overboard. Then they hauled me in, for my boat slued off and I guess headed back for her own dock.”
“Tough luck!” murmured Ned. “Well, what’s the next item on the bill, I wonder?”
They were not left long in doubt. A few minutes later the speed of the boat began to slacken and, looking ahead, Tom and Ned saw that the craft was approaching a large island. It was known to the young men as a rendezvous for criminals and other unsavory characters. Tom had not visited Rattlesnake Island, as it was called, for a number of years, nor had his chum.
“Are you going to land us there?” Tom demanded, as he saw that the boat was heading for a dilapidated dock.
“You said it!” chuckled one of the men who, Ned said, was named Snogg. The other, and larger, was addressed as Janner. Those two, with Torpy, comprised the kidnapping gang.
“If you leave us here, will you be decent enough to send some one to take us off after you get away?” asked Tom.
“Don’t worry—we’re not going away!” sneered Janner. “We’ll be right with you all the while, boys!”
It was plain, then, that Tom and Ned were to be held captive on the island with the three unscrupulous men as guards.
“Now you can walk along quiet if you choose, or, if you want to kick up a fuss, we’ll bind, gag and carry you,” said Snogg, when the boat was made fast to the dock. “Which’ll it be?”
“Since we can’t help ourselves,” replied Tom bitterly, “we’ll go quietly. But we won’t submit to any indignities!”
“You won’t be any worse treated than you have been,” said Janner. “And if you come across and answer my questions you’ll get home all the sooner. It’s up to you.”
To this Tom Swift made no answer and a little later he and Ned were led toward a rough, two-story house, situated near the middle of Rattlesnake Island, and left to themselves, locked in a room.
“Well, this is that!” said Ned as he sank down on a chair near the bed, for there was some furniture in the room. “What do you think they’ll do to us, Tom?”
“Hard to say. I don’t quite fathom their game, unless it’s to make me give up the secret of——”
He did not finish, but Ned knew what was meant.
“I hope they feed us, anyhow,” sighed Tom’s manager. “They gave me pretty decent food back in the farmhouse, but I haven’t had any breakfast, and I need it.”
After this there was silence. A few minutes later the door was unlocked and Torpy came in with two trays of fairly good food.
“The boss says you’re to eat and then he’ll be up and question you,” the man reported.
“He won’t get much out of me,” snapped Tom.
“Nor me!” added Ned.
“You’d better not r’ile the boss,” was Torpy’s advice as he put the trays down on a chair.
Ned was very hungry, and Tom Swift, in spite of his rage, anxiety, and his recent ducking, was also beginning to feel an appetite. So the young men ate and then, casually, Tom began strolling around the room seeking a possible chance to escape. To his disappointment the apartment was more solid than it looked. The door was heavy and securely locked and the window covered with a heavy wire screen and iron bars. Evidently the room had been used before as a prison.
But Tom Swift did not give up very easily, and now he had still several cards to play in the desperate game with the three men. When the food had been satisfactorily disposed of, the door opened again and big Janner came swaggering in.
“Well, I see you had your appetites with you, boys,” he remarked. “And now we’ll get down to business. It’s you I want to talk with, Tom Swift, and not your manager that we took away in a hurry by mistake for you. He don’t know the answers to some of the questions I’m going to ask.”
“Maybe I don’t, either,” observed Tom.
“Oh, yes you do!” was the quick retort. “And you’ll tell me, too, or I’ll find a way to make you!” The man’s voice was an ugly snarl now.
“We’ll see,” was all Tom said.
Then began a rapid series of questions concerning some of Tom’s recent inventions, including hisAir Monarchin which he had circled the globe. As this machine had lately been turned over to the Government for use in the Air Service, there was no secret about it, and Tom had no hesitation in telling things concerning it. He thought it might put Janner in a better humor.
From theAir Monarch, the man switched to other machines about which greater secrecy was desirable, and Tom refused to answer inquiries, though his refusals did not appear to anger Janner much.
“How’s your photo telephone doing these days?” the man suddenly inquired.
“That? Why, most people know all there’s to be known about that. It’s an old invention of mine,” said Tom.
“Is it? But I understand you’re using something like it now to make pictures appear inside a radio machine!” Janner suddenly shot at Tom.
At once the young inventor saw the drift of the inquiries. There had been some leak in connection with his recent work on the talking-picture machine, and these men, or this man, knew about it. Tom did some quick thinking just then.
“I haven’t any machine that will make pictures appear in a radio receiver,” Tom said calmly.
This was true enough. The fire and blast had destroyed the best part of the new invention, though Tom had plans for rebuilding and perfecting it.
“Oh, you haven’t got such a machine, eh?” sneered Janner. “Well, I know you have. We’re not going to let you spoil our business.”
“What business is that?” asked Tom.
“Never you mind. We’re not going to let you make a machine that will permit folks to sit at home and see and hear a show without paying the admission price. Not in a thousand years!”
In a flash Tom knew now who were at the bottom of the plot against him. Powerful moving picture and theater interests would not want to see such an invention as Tom Swift planned put on the market. It would bring ruin to many of them.
“You’ve got such a machine, or you’ll soon have one, and I know it!” stormed Janner. Tom knew, then, that he had been spied upon. “And I’m going to make you tell all about it and promise to drop it!” fairly shouted Janner.
“You’ve got a big contract on your hands,” stated Tom calmly. “I’ll tell you nothing and there isn’t a man or a company living that can make me drop anything I undertake until I’m ready to let go of it!”
“Oh, is that so?”
“Yes, that’s so!”
“Well, I guess we can find ways and means to make you!” said Janner in a snarling voice as he advanced toward Tom Swift.
InstinctivelyNed Newton, who had pretty well recovered from the harsh treatment accorded him while bound and gagged, started to Tom’s side.
The young inventor, seeing that a fight was imminent, also prepared for it. Though he still felt the effects of the shock and injuries attendant upon the attempt to blow him up, he was in a fighting mood and did not shrink from it.
“I’ll make you tell what I want to know!” snarled Janner. “You haven’t anybody here to help you now, Tom Swift. You’ll either give up that secret and give the plans to me or you’ll wish you’d never fallen into my hands.”
“I wish that now,” replied Tom coolly. “Not that I’m afraid of your hands,” he added, bracing himself for the struggle he felt sure was coming, “but I don’t like your company nor that of your gang. So you have my regrets already, though as for any secrets I may have, or any new inventions, they remain my exclusive property!”
“Oh, they do, do they?” sneered the man. “Well, we’ll see——”
He was about to rush upon Tom and Ned, who stood side by side ready to ward off the assault, when there came a call from the hall outside.
“Hey, Janner! Hop to it!”
“What’s the matter?” asked the big ruffian. “Don’t bother me!”
“The Chief is on the wire!” came the answer, and Tom and Ned recognized Snogg’s voice. “He wants to talk to you. Step on it—the Chief’s in a hurry!”
“In that case your affair can wait,” said the big fellow, with a threatening gesture toward the two young men. “Don’t think you’re going to get away,” he added. “I’ll be back!”
He walked to the door, still facing the two, tapped on it without turning about and, when it was opened from the hall, evidently by Snogg, the big plotter stepped outside and quickly locked the door again before Tom and Ned had a chance to rush him, which Janner evidently expected would happen.
“There was a chance we missed!” exclaimed Ned, when he heard the lock click. “We might have bowled them over, Tom, and gotten away.”
“Yes, that idea occurred to me. But it was too risky. These fellows may not intend to kill us, but even if they only shot at us to cripple us something might go wrong and we’d get a bullet where it would do a lot of damage. I think we can get the best of them in another way.”
“How?”
“We’ll have a look around this place and see if we can’t escape—perhaps not now, but after dark. It will soon be night. This room looks strong, but from the outside the house didn’t look either strongly built or in good repair. We’ll have a go at it.”
“I’m with you, Tom. But what do you think’s going on now? What was that talk about the Chief being on the wire?”
“It bears out what I have been thinking for some time,” replied the young inventor. “These fellows who have kidnapped us are not the principals in this matter. They are an organized gang, but they are working at the behest of others. I could tell, from the way Janner asked questions about my inventions, that he had no real, scientific knowledge. He had been told to ask those questions by some one who did know, however. He made several breaks that I passed over. I wanted to see how far he would go.”
“What’s the game, Tom? They went to a good deal of preliminary trouble—I mean kidnapping me for you.”
“Admittedly on their part, that was a mistake,” said Tom. “It was me they were after all the time, only you happened to leave the laboratory first and they pounced on you. Then came the explosion. Whether that was set to go off and destroy my laboratory after I was supposed to be out of it or whether they really wanted to do me up, I don’t know. But they’ve got both of us now.”
“Any idea who they may be, Tom—I mean these men?”
“They might be the Hussy and Kilborn crowd.”
“You mean that bunch of theRed Arrowwho tried to stop us from circling the globe?”
“That’s who I mean. However, it’s only a guess. It may turn out to be an entirely different gang. But now that we have a little time to ourselves, let’s look around and see what the chances are for getting away.”
It was dusk, but by the last rays of the setting sun which shone through the window, the young men began a tour of the apartment, seeking any possible means of exit. Naturally, they first gave their attention to the window and door. As stated before, the former was screened not only with a wire mesh, but also with strong iron bars. A search through the pockets of Tom and Ned revealed, in the way of tools, only two knives. Tom’s knife contained a small screw driver, and at first he thought he might be able to loosen the fastenings of the screen and window bars. But it did not take long to demonstrate that a much more powerful instrument would be needed for this work.
“Anyhow, if we did get the bars off we’d have a big drop to the ground,” said Ned. “We’re higher up than I thought.”
“We could improvise a rope from the bed-clothes,” suggested Tom, indicating them. “That would be the easiest part of it. But those bars were put there to stay.”
“Maybe we can whittle away the wood enough to loosen the screws,” suggested Ned. They tried this, but the space to work in was cramped, the wood was tough, and when Ned broke the largest blade of his knife and cut his hand rather severely in so doing, Tom insisted that they give up this attempt.
“Let’s try the door,” he said.
It was now dark in the room, but both young men had matches, Tom’s being in a waterproof case which had kept dry during his sudden bath, and with these they made as good an examination of the door and its frame as was possible.
The lock defied picking with the poor tools at their disposal, and when this had been proved Tom said:
“We can cut a hole through the door near the lock, big enough for a hand to get through, and maybe we can turn the lock that way.”
“It’s worth trying,” Ned declared. “We’ll work at it in shifts.”
Their captors seemed to have made up their minds to leave the prisoners alone, though voices and movements in the rooms below indicated that the three men were still on guard. Perhaps orders had come from the mysterious “Chief” not to attempt violence.
There was more than enough food in the supply which had been brought to provide a late supper and even breakfast for the captives, and there was a large jug of water.
Throughout the hours of the night, Tom Swift and Ned Newton toiled desperately to cut a hole through the door. With only pocket knives to work with, it was tremendously difficult labor.
It was long past midnight when Tom, whose turn it was at the task, uttered an exclamation of dismay.
“What’s the matter?” asked Ned, who had thrown himself on the bed to rest. “Break your knife or cut yourself?”
“Neither,” Tom replied. “But we’ll have to give this up.”
“Why?”
“There’s an iron plate outside this door. I’ve cut through the wood and come to the iron. It’s all off.”
It was a bitter disappointment.
“We’ll try something else in the morning,” decided Tom after a moment, closing his knife with a snap. “Meanwhile, I’m going to get some rest.”
“Yes, we both need it,” admitted Ned, with a weary sigh. “But when they come in here in the morning and see what we’ve done in the way of spoiling their door, they may take us to another room.”
“No use crossing a bridge until we come to it,” Tom responded. “I’m going to get some sleep.”
They ate a little of the food, and then, bracing a chair under the knob of the door to prevent an entrance without causing noise enough to arouse them, the two threw themselves on the bed and slept the sleep of exhaustion.
Faint daylight was struggling through the barred window next morning when Tom awoke and sat up. There was a peculiar noise for which at first he could not account. He looked toward the casement and then recognized the dash of rain against the glass and heard the roar of wind. It was this that caused the racket.
“What’s the matter?” asked Ned, turning over.