The Tom Swift Megapack

by Victor Appleton

  As I have said, the telephoning of the instructions about the papers took some time. Tom had counted on this, and had made his plans accordingly.

  As soon as the telephone call had come in, Tom had communicated with a private detective who was in waiting, and this man had gone to the drug store whence the first call had come. He was going to try to make the arrest of the man telephoning.

  But for fear the scoundrel would go to a different instrument, Tom took another precaution. This was to have one of the operators in the central exchange on the watch. As soon as Mrs. Damon’s house was in connection with another telephone, the location of the latter would be noted, and another private detective would be sent there. Thus Tom hoped to catch the man at the ’phone.

  Meanwhile Tom listened to the hoarse voice at the other end of the wire, giving the directions to Mrs. Damon. Tom hoped that soon there would be an arrest made.

  Meanwhile the talk was being faithfully recorded on the phonograph cylinder. And, as the man talked on, Tom became aware of a curious undercurrent of sound. It was a buzzing noise, that Tom knew did not come from the instrument itself. It was not the peculiar tapping, singing noise heard in a telephone receiver, caused by induced electrical currents, or by wire trouble.

  “This is certainly different,” mused Tom. He was trying to recall where he had heard the noise before. Sometimes it was faint, and then it would gradually increase, droning off into faintness once more. Occasionally it was so loud that Mrs. Damon could not hear the talk about the papers, and the man would have to repeat.

  But finally he came to an end.

  “This is all now,” he said, sharply. Tom heard the words above the queer, buzzing, humming sound. “You are keeping me too long. I think you are up to some game, but it won’t do you any good, Mrs. Damon. I’ll ’phone you tomorrow where to send the papers. And if you don’t send them—if you try any tricks—it will be the worse for you and Mr. Damon!”

  There was a click, that told of a receiver being placed back on the hook, and the voice ceased. So, also, did the queer, buzzing sound over which Tom puzzled.

  “What can it have been?” he asked. “Did you hear it, Mrs. Damon?”

  “What, Tom?”

  “That buzzing sound.”

  “Yes, I heard, but I didn’t know what it was. Oh, Tom, what shall I do?”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll see if anything happened. They may have caught that fellow. If not I’ll plan another scheme.”

  Tom’s first act was to call up the telephone exchange to learn where the second call had come from. He got the information at once. The address was in the suburbs. The man had not gone to the drug store this time.

  “Did the detective get out to that address?” asked Tom eagerly of the manager.

  “Yes. As soon as we were certain that he was the party you wanted, your man got right after him, Mr. Swift.”

  “That’s good, I hope he catches him!” cried the young inventor. “We’ll have to wait and find out.”

  “He said he’d call up and let you know as soon as he reached the place,” the telephone manager informed Tom.

  There was nothing to do but wait, and meanwhile Tom did what he could to comfort Mrs. Damon. She was quite nervous and inclined to be hysterical, and the youth thought it wise to have a cousin, who had come to stay with her, summon the doctor.

  “But, Tom, what shall I do about those papers?” Mrs. Damon asked him. “Shall I send them?”

  “Indeed not!”

  “But I want Mr. Damon restored to me,” she pleaded. “I don’t care about the money. He can make more.”

  “Well, we’ll not give those scoundrels the satisfaction of getting any money out of you. Just wait now, I’ll work this thing out, and find a way to catch that fellow. If I could only think what that buzzing sound was—”

  Then, in a flash, it came to Tom.

  “A sawmill! A planing mill!” he cried. “That’s what it was! That fellow was telephoning from some place near a sawmill!”

  The telephone rang in the midst of Tom’s excited comments.

  “Yes—yes!” he called eagerly. “Who is it—what is it?”

  “This is Larsen—the private detective you sent.”

  “Oh, yes, you were at the drug store.”

  “Yes, Mr. Swift. Well, that party didn’t call up from here.”

  “I know, Larsen. It was from another station. We’re after him. Much obliged to you. Come on back.”

  Tom was sure his theory was right. The man had called up the Damon house from some telephone near a sawmill. And a little later Tom’s theory was proved to be true. He got a report from the second detective. Unfortunately the man had not been able to reach the telephone station before the unknown speaker had departed.

  “Was the place near a sawmill?” asked Tom, eagerly.

  “It was,” answered the detective over the wire. “The telephone is right next door to one. It’s an automatic pay station and no one seems to have noticed who the man was who telephoned. I couldn’t get a single clue. I’m sorry.”

  “Never mind,” said Tom, as cheerfully as he could. “I think I’m on the right track now. I’m going to lay a trap for this fellow.”

  CHAPTER XX

  SETTING THE TRAP

  Troublesome problems seemed to be multiplying for Tom Swift. He admitted as much himself after the failure to capture the man who had telephoned to Mrs. Damon. He had hoped that his plan of sending detectives to the location of the telephones would succeed. Since it had not the youth must try other means.

  “Now, Ned,” he said to his chum, when they were on their way from Mrs. Damon’s, it being impossible to do anything further there. “Now, Ned, we’ve got to think this thing out together.”

  “I’m willing, Tom. I’ll do what I can.”

  “I know you will. Now the thing to do is to go at this thing systematically. Otherwise we’ll be working around in a circle, and won’t get anywhere. In the first place, let’s set down what we do know. Then we’ll put down what we don’t know, and go after that.”

  “Put down what you don’t know?” exclaimed Ned. “How are you going to put down a thing when you don’t know it?”

  “I mean we can put a question mark after it, so to speak. For instance we don’t know where Mr. Damon is, but we want to find out.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, let’s start off with the things we do know.”

  The two friends were at Tom’s house by now, having come from Waterford in Tom’s airship. After thinking over all the exciting happenings of the past few days, Tom remarked: “Now, Ned, for the things we do know. In the first place Mr. Damon is missing, and his fortune is about gone. There is considerable left to Mrs. Damon, however, but those scoundrels may get that away from her, if we don’t watch out. Secondly, my airship was taken and brought back, with a button more than it had when it went away. Said button exactly matched one off Mr. Boylan’s coat.”

  “Thirdly, Mr. Damon was either taken away or went away, in an airship—either in mine or someone else’s. Fourthly, Mrs. Damon has received telephonic communications from the man, or men, who have her husband. Fifthly, Mr. Peters, either legally or illegally, is responsible for the loss of Mr. Damon’s fortune. Now: there you are—for the things we do know.”

  “Now for the things we don’t know. We don’t know who has taken Mr. Damon away, nor where he is, to begin with the most important.”

  “Hold on, Tom, I think you’re wrong,” broke in Ned.

  “In what way?”

  “About not knowing who is responsible for the taking away of Mr. Damon. I think it’s as plain as the nose on your face that Peters is responsible.”

  “I can’t see it that way,” said Tom, quickly. “I will admit that it looks as though Boylan had been in my airship, but as for Peters taking Mr. Damon away—why, Peters is around town all the while, and if he had a hand in the disappearance of Mr. Damon, do you think he’d stay here, when he knows we are working on the case? And
would he send Boylan to see me if Boylan had been one of those who had a hand in it? They wouldn’t dare, especially as they know I’m working on the case.”

  “Peters is a bad lot. I’ll grant you, though, he was fair enough to pay for my motor boat. I don’t believe he had anything to do with taking Mr. Damon away.”

  “Do you think he was the person who was talking to Mrs. Damon about the papers?”

  “No, Ned. I don’t. I listened to that fellow’s voice carefully. It wasn’t like Peters’s. I’m going to put it in the phonograph, too, and let you listen to it. Then see what you say.”

  Tom did this, a little later. The record of the voice, as it came over the wire, was listened to from the wax cylinder, and Ned had to admit that it was not much like that of the promoter.

  “Well, what’s next to be done?” asked the young banker.

  “I’m going to set a trap,” replied Tom, with a grin.

  “Set a trap?”

  “Yes, a sort of mouse-trap. I’m glad my photo telephone is now perfected, Ned.”

  “What has that got to do with it?”

  “That’s going to be my trap, Ned. Here is my game. You know this fellow—this strange unknown—is going to call up Mrs. Damon tomorrow. Well, I’ll be ready for him. I’m going to put in the booth where he will telephone from, one of my photo telephones—that is, the sending apparatus. In Mrs. Damon’s house, attached to her telephone, will be the receiving plate, as well as the phonograph cylinder.”

  “When this fellow starts to talk he’ll be sending us his picture, though he won’t know it, and we’ll be getting a record of his voice. Then we’ll have him just where we want him.”

  “Good!” cried Ned. “But, Tom, there’s a weak spot in your mouse-trap.”

  “What is it?”

  “How are you going to know which telephone the unknown will call up from? He may go to any of a hundred, more or less.”

  “He might—yes. But that’s a chance we’ve got to take. It isn’t so much of a chance, though when you stop to think that he will probably go to some public telephone in an isolated spot, and, unless I’m much mistaken he will go to a telephone near where he was today. He knows that was safe, since we didn’t capture him, and he’s very likely to come back.”

  “But to make the thing as sure as possible, I’m going to attach my apparatus to a number of public telephones in the vicinity of the one near the sawmill. So if the fellow doesn’t get caught in one, he will in another. I admit it’s taking a chance; but what else can we do?”

  “I suppose you’re right, Tom. It’s like setting a number of traps.”

  “Exactly. A trapper can’t be sure where he is going to get his catch, so he picks out the place, or run-way, where the game has been in the habit of coming. He hides his traps about that place, and trusts to luck that the animal will blunder into one of them.”

  “Criminals, to my way of thinking, are a good bit like animals. They seem to come back to their old haunts. Nearly any police story proves this. And it’s that on which I am counting to capture this criminal. So I’m going to fit up as many telephones with my photo and phonograph outfit, as I can in the time we have. You’ll have to help me. Luckily I’ve got plenty of selenium plates for the sending end. I’ll only need one at the receiving end. Now we’ll have to go and have a talk with the telephone manager, after which we’ll get busy.”

  “You’ve overlooked one thing, Tom.”

  “What’s that, Ned?”

  “Why, if you know about which telephone this fellow is going to use, why can’t you have police stationed near it to capture him as soon as he begins to talk?”

  “Well, I did think of that, Ned; but it won’t work.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, in the first place this man, or some of his friends, will be on the watch. When he goes into the place to telephone there’ll be a look-out, I’m sure, and he’d either put off talking to Mrs. Damon, or he’d escape before we had any evidence against him.”

  “You see I’ve got to get evidence that will stand in the courts to convict this fellow, and if he’s scared off before we get that, the game will be up.”

  “That’s what my photo telephone will do—it will get the evidence, just as a dictaphone does. In fact, I’m thinking of working it out on those lines, after I clear up this business.”

  “Just suppose we had detectives stationed at all the telephones near the sawmill, where this fellow would be likely to go. In the first place no one has seen him, as far as we know, so there’s no telling what sort of a chap he is. And you can’t go up to a perfect stranger and arrest him because you think he is the man who has spirited away Mr. Damon.”

  “Another thing. Until this fellow has talked, and made his offer to Mrs. Damon, to restore her husband, in exchange for certain papers, we have no hold over him.”

  “But he has done that, Tom. You heard him, and you have his voice down on the wax cylinder.”

  “Yes, but I haven’t had a glimpse of his face. That’s what I want, and what I’m going to get. Suppose he does go into the telephone booth, and tell Mrs. Damon an address where she is to send the papers. Even if a detective was near at hand he might not catch what was said. Or, if he did, on what ground could he arrest a man who, very likely, would be a perfect stranger to him? The detective couldn’t say: ‘I take you into custody for telephoning an address to Mrs. Damon.’ That, in itself, is no crime.”

  “No, I suppose not,” admitted Ned. “You’ve got this all thought out, Tom.”

  “I hope I have. You see it takes quite a combination to get evidence against a criminal—evidence that will convict him. That’s why I have to be so careful in setting my trap.”

  “I see, Tom. Well, it’s about time for us to get busy; isn’t it?”

  “It sure is. There’s lots to do. First we’ll go see the telephone people.”

  Tom explained to the ’phone manager the necessity for what he was about to do. The manager at once agreed to let the young inventor have a free hand. He was much interested in the photo telephone, and Tom promised to give his company a chance to use it on their lines, later.

  The telephone near the sawmill was easily located. It was in a general store, and the instrument was in a booth. To this instrument Tom attached his sending plate, and he also substituted for the ordinary incandescent light, a powerful tungsten one, that would give illumination enough to cause the likeness to be transmitted over the wire.

  The same thing was done to a number of the public telephones in that vicinity, each one being fitted up so that the picture of whoever talked would be transmitted over the wire when Tom turned the switch. To help the plan further the telephone manager marked a number of other ’phones, “Out of Order,” for the time being.

  “Now, I think we’re done!” exclaimed the young inventor, with a sigh, late that night. He and Ned and the line manager had worked hard.

  “Yes,” answered the young banker, “the traps are set. The question is: Will our rat be caught?”

  CHAPTER XXI

  THE PHOTO TELEPHONE

  Tom Swift was taking, as he afterward confessed, “a mighty big chance.” But it seemed the only way. He was working against cunning men, and had to be as cunning as they.

  True, the man he hoped to capture, through the combination of his photo telephone and the phonograph, might go to some other instrument than one of those Tom had adjusted. But this could not be helped. In all he had put his new attachment on eight ’phones in the vicinity of the sawmill. So he had eight chances in his favor, and as many against him as there were other telephones in use.

  “It’s a mighty small margin in our favor,” sighed Tom.

  “It sure is,” agreed Ned. They were at Mrs. Damon’s house, waiting for the call to come in.

  “But we couldn’t do anything else,” went on Tom.

  “No,” spoke Ned, “and I have a great deal of hope in the proverbial Swift luck, Tom.”

  “Well,
I only hope it holds good this time!” laughed the young inventor.

  “There are a good many things that can go wrong,” observed Ned. “The least little slip-up may spoil your traps, Tom.”

  “I know it, Ned. But I’ve got to take the chance. We’ve just got to do something for Mrs. Damon. She’s wearing herself out by worrying,” he added in a low voice, for indeed the wife of his friend felt the absence of her husband greatly. She had lost flesh, she ate scarcely anything, and her nights were wakeful ones of terror.

  “What if this fails?” asked Ned.

  “Then I’m going to work that button clue to the limit,” replied Tom. “I’ll go to Boylan and see what he and Peters have to say.”

  “If you’d done as I suggested you’d have gone to them first,” spoke Ned. “You’ll find they’re mixed up in this.”

  “Maybe; but I doubt it. I tell you there isn’t a clue leading to Peters—as yet.”

  “But there will be,” insisted Ned. “You’ll see that that I’m right this time.”

  “I can’t see it, Ned. As a matter of fact, I would have gone to Boylan about that button I found in my airship only I’ve been so busy on this photo telephone, and in arranging the trap, that I haven’t had time. But if this fails—and I’m hoping it won’t—I’ll get after him,” and there was a grim look on the young inventor’s face.

  It was wearying and nervous work—this waiting. Tom and Ned felt the strain as they sat there in Mrs. Damon’s library, near the telephone. It had been fitted up in readiness. Attached to the receiving wires was a sensitive plate, on which Tom hoped would be imprinted the image of the man at the other end of the wire—the criminal who, in exchange for the valuable land papers, would give Mr. Damon his liberty.

  There was also the phonograph cylinder to record the man’s voice. Several times, while waiting for the call to come in, Tom got up to test the apparatus. It was in perfect working order.

  As before, there was an extension telephone, so that Mrs. Damon could talk to the unknown, while Tom could hear as well. But he planned to take no part in the conversation unless something unforeseen occurred.