Chapter Five
Mr. Berg is Suspicious
Not for long did the young inventor endeavor to break his way out ofthe water-ballast tank by striking the heavy sides of it. Tom realizedthat this was worse than useless. He listened intently, but could hearnothing. Even the retreating footsteps of Andy Foger were inaudible.
"This certainly is a pickle!" exclaimed Tom aloud. "I can't understandhow he ever got here. He must have traced us after we went to Shoptonin the airship the last time. Then he sneaked in here. Probably he sawme enter, but how could he know enough to work the worm gear and closethe door? Andy has had some experience with machinery, though, and oneof the vaults in the bank where his father is a director closed justlike this tank. That's very likely how he learned about it. But I'vegot to do something else besides thinking of that sneak, Andy. I've gotto get out of here. Let's see if I can work the gear from inside."
Before he started, almost, Tom knew that it would be impossible. Thetank was made to close from the interior of the submarine, and theheavy door, built to withstand the pressure of tons of water, could notbe forced except by the proper means.
"No use trying that," concluded the lad, after a tiring attempt toforce back the sliding door with his hands. "I've got to call for help."
He shouted until the vibrations in the confined space made his earsring, and the mere exertion of raising his voice to the highest pitchmade his heart beat quickly. Yet there came no response. He hardlyexpected that there would be any, for with his father and Mr. Sharpaway, the engineer absent on an errand, and Mrs. Baggert in the housesome distance off, there was no one to hear his calls for help, even ifthey had been capable of penetrating farther than the extent of theshed, where the under-water craft had been constructed.
"I've got to wait until some of them come out here," thought Tom."They'll be sure to release me and make a search. Then it will be easyenough to call to them and tell them where I am, once they are insidethe shed. But--" He paused, for a horrible fear came over him. "Supposethey should come--too late?" The tank was airtight. There was enoughair in it to last for some time, but, sooner or later, it would nolonger support life. Already, Tom thought, it seemed oppressive, thoughprobably that was his imagination.
"I must get out!" he repeated frantically. "I'll die in here soon."
Again he tried to shove back the steel door. Then he repeated his criesuntil he was weary. No one answered him. He fancied once he could hearfootsteps in the shed, and thought, perhaps, it was Andy, come back togloat over him. Then Tom knew the red-haired coward would not dareventure back. We must do Andy the justice to say that he never realizedthat he was endangering Tom's life. The bully had no idea the tank wasairtight when he closed it. He had seen Tom enter and a sudden whimcame to him to revenge himself.
But that did not help the young inventor any. There was no doubt aboutit now--the air was becoming close. Tom had been imprisoned nearly twohours, and as he was a healthy, strong lad, he required plenty ofoxygen. There was certainly less than there had been in the tank. Hishead began to buzz, and there was a ringing in his ears.
Once more he fell upon his knees, and his fingers sought the smallprojections of the gear on the inside of the door. He could no morebudge the mechanism than a child could open a burglar-proof vault.
"It's no use," he moaned, and he sprawled at full length on the floorof the tank, for there the air was purer. As he did so his fingerstouched something. He started as they closed around the handle of a bigmonkey wrench. It was one he had brought into the place with him.Imbued with new hope he struck a match and lighted his lantern, whichhe had allowed to go out as it burned up too much of the oxygen. By thegleam of it he looked to see if there were any bolts or nuts he couldloosen with the wrench, in order to slide the door back. It needed buta glance to show him the futility of this.
"It's no go," he murmured, and he let the wrench fall to the floor.There was a ringing, clanging sound, and as it smote his ears Tomsprang up with an exclamation.
"That's the thing!" he cried. "I wonder I didn't think of it before. Ican signal for help by pounding on the sides of the tank with thewrench. The blows will carry a good deal farther than my voice would."Every one knows how far the noise of a boiler shop, with hammersfalling on steel plates, can be heard; much farther than can a humanvoice.
Tom began a lusty tattoo on the metal sides of the tank. At first hemerely rattled out blow after blow, and then, as another thought cameto him, he adopted a certain plan. Some time previous, when he and Mr.Sharp had planned their trip in the air, the two had adopted a code ofsignals. As it was difficult in a high wind to shout from one end ofthe airship to the other, the young inventor would sometimes pound onthe pipe which ran from the pilot house of the Red Cloud to theengine-room. By a combination of numbers, simple messages could beconveyed. The code included a call for help. Forty-seven was thenumber, but there had never been any occasion to use it.
Tom remembered this now. At once he ceased his indiscriminatehammering, and began to beat out regularly--one, two, three, four--thena pause, and seven blows would be given. Over and over again he rangout this number--forty seven--the call for help.
"If Mr. Sharp only comes back he will hear that, even in the house,"thought poor Tom "Maybe Garret or Mrs. Baggert will hear it, too, butthey won't know what it means. They'll think I'm just working on thesubmarine."
It seemed several hours to Tom that he pounded out that cry for aid,but, as he afterward learned, it was only a little over an hour. Signalafter signal he sent vibrating from the steel sides of the tank. Whenone arm tired he would use the other. He grew weary, his head wasaching, and there was a ringing in his ears; a ringing that seemed asif ten thousand bells were jangling out their peals, and he couldbarely distinguish his own pounding.
Signal after signal he sounded. It was becoming like a dream to him,when suddenly, as he paused for a rest, he heard his name calledfaintly, as if far away.
"Tom! Tom! Where are you?"
It was the voice of Mr. Sharp. Then followed the tones of the agedinventor.
"My poor boy! Tom, are you still alive?"
"Yes, dad! In the starboard tank!" the lad gasped out, and then he losthis senses. When he revived he was lying on a pile of bagging in thesubmarine shop, and his father and the aeronaut were bending over him.
"Are you all right, Tom?" asked Mr. Swift.
"Yes--I--I guess so," was the hesitating answer. "Yes," the lad added,as the fresh air cleared his head. "I'll be all right pretty soon. Haveyou seen Andy Foger?"
"Did he shut you in there?" demanded Mr. Swift.
Tom nodded.
"I'll have him arrested!" declared Mr. Swift. "I'll go to town as soonas you're in good shape again and notify the police."
"No, don't," pleaded Tom. "I'll take care of Andy myself. I don'treally believe he knew how serious it was. I'll settle with him later,though."
"Well, it came mighty near being serious," remarked Mr. Sharp grimly."Your father and I came back a little sooner than we expected, and assoon as I got near the house I heard your signal. I knew what it was ina moment. There were Mrs. Baggert and Garret talking away, and when Iasked them why they didn't answer your call they said they thought youwere merely tinkering with the machinery. But I knew better. It's thefirst time we ever had a use for 'forty-seven,' Tom."
"And I hope it will be the last," replied the young inventor with afaint smile. "But I'd like to know what Andy Foger is doing in thisneighborhood."
Tom was soon himself again and able to go to the house, where he foundMrs. Baggert brewing a big basin of catnip tea, under the impressionthat it would in some way be good for him. She could not forgiveherself for not having answered his signal, and as for Mr. Jackson, hehad started for a doctor as soon as he learned that Tom was shut up inthe tank. The services of the medical man were canceled by telephone,as there was no need for him, and the engineer came back to the house.
Tom was fully himself the next day, and aide
d his father and Mr. Sharpin putting the finishing touches to the Advance. It was found that somealteration was required in the auxiliary propellers, and this, much tothe regret of the young inventor, would necessitate postponing thetrial a few days.
"But we'll have her in the water next Friday," promised Mr. Swift.
"Aren't you superstitious about Friday?" asked the balloonist.
"Not a bit of it," replied the aged inventor. "Tom," he added, "I wishyou would go in the house and get me the roll of blueprints you'll findon my desk."
As the lad neared the cottage he saw, standing in front of the place, asmall automobile. A man had just descended from it, and it needed but aglance to show that he was Mr. Addison Berg.
"Ah, good morning, Mr. Swift," greeted Mr. Berg. "I wish to see yourfather, but as I don't wish to lay myself open to suspicions byentering the shop, perhaps you will ask him to step here."
"Certainly," answered the lad, wondering why the agent had returned.Getting the blueprints, and asking Mr. Berg to sit down on the porch,Tom delivered the message.
"You come back with me, Tom," said his father. "I want you to be awitness to what he says. I'm not going to get into trouble with thesepeople."
Mr. Berg came to the point at once.
"Mr. Swift," he said, "I wish you would reconsider your determinationnot to enter the Government trials. I'd like to see you compete. Sowould my firm."
"There is no use going over that again," replied the aged inventor. "Ihave another object in view now than trying for the Government prize.What it is I can't say, but it may develop in time--if we aresuccessful," and he looked at his son, smiling the while.
Mr. Berg tried to argue, but it was of no avail. Then he changed hismanner, and said:
"Well, since you won't, you won't, I suppose. I'll go back and reportto my firm. Have you anything special to do this morning?" he went onto Tom.
"Well, I can always find something to keep me busy," replied the lad,"but as for anything special--"
"I thought perhaps you'd like to go for a trip in my auto," interruptedMr. Berg. "I had asked a young man who is stopping at the same hotelwhere I am to accompany me, but he has unexpectedly left, and I don'tlike to go alone. His name was--let me see. I have a wretched memoryfor names, but it was something like Roger or Moger."
"Foger!" cried Tom. "Was it Andy Foger?"
"Yes, that was it. Why, do you know him?" asked Mr. Berg in somesurprise.
"I should say so," replied Tom. "He was the cause of what might haveresulted in something serious for me," and the lad explained aboutbeing imprisoned in the tank.
"You don't tell me!" cried Mr. Berg. "I had no idea he was that kind ofa lad. You see, his father is one of the directors of the firm by whomI am employed. Andy came from home to spend a few weeks at the seaside,and stopped at the same hotel that I did. He went off yesterdayafternoon, and I haven't seen him since, though he promised to go for aride with me. He must have come over here and entered your shopunobserved. I remember now he asked me where the submarine was beingbuilt that was going to compete with our firm's, and I told him. Ididn't think he was that kind of a lad. Well, since he's probably goneback home, perhaps you will come for a ride with me, Tom."
"I'm afraid I can't go, thank you," answered the lad. "We are very busygetting our submarine in shape for a trial. But I can imagine why Andyleft so hurriedly. He probably learned that a doctor had been summonedfor me, though, as it happened, I didn't need one. But Andy probablygot frightened at what he had done, and left. I'll make him more sorry,when I meet him."
"Don't blame you a bit," commented Mr. Berg. "Well, I must be gettingback."
He hastened out to his auto, while Tom and his father watched the agent.
"Tom, never trust that man," advised the aged inventor solemnly.
"Just what I was about to remark," said his son. "Well, let's get backto work. Queer that he should come here again, and it's queer aboutAndy Foger."
Father and son returned to the machine shop, while Mr. Berg puffed awayin his auto. A little later, Tom having occasion to go to a buildingnear the boundary line of the cottage property which his father hadhired for the season, saw, through the hedge that bordered it, anautomobile standing in the road. A second glance showed him that it wasMr. Berg's machine. Something had gone wrong with it, and the agent hadalighted to make an adjustment.
The young inventor was close to the man, though the latter was unawareof his presence.
"Hang it all!" Tom heard Mr. Berg exclaim to himself. "I wonder whatthey can be up to? They won't enter the Government contests, and theywon't say why. I believe they're up to some game, and I've got to findout what it is. I wonder if I couldn't use this Foger chap?"
"He seems to have it in for this Tom Swift," Mr. Berg went on, stilltalking to himself, though not so low but that Tom could hear him. "Ithink I'll try it. I'll get Andy Foger to sneak around and find outwhat the game is. He'll do it, I know."
By this time the auto was in working order again, and the agent tookhis seat and started off.
"So that's how matters lie, eh?" thought Tom. "Well, Mr. Berg, we'll bedoubly on the lookout for you after this. As for Andy Foger, I thinkI'll make him wish he'd never locked me in that tank. So you expect tofind out our 'game,' eh, Mr. Berg? Well, when you do know it, I thinkit will astonish you. I only hope you don't learn what it is until weget at that sunken treasure, though."
But alas for Tom's hopes. Mr. Berg did learn of the object of thetreasure-seekers, and sought to defeat them, as we shall learn as ourstory proceeds.
Tom Swift and His Submarine Boat; Or, Under the Ocean for Sunken Treasure Page 5
