The Tom Swift Megapack

by Victor Appleton

  “He just packed up a few clothes and ran out,” said one of the maids. “He didn’t say anything about our wages, either, and he owes me over a month.”

  “Me too,” said another.

  “Well, if he doesn’t pay me some of my back wages soon, I’ll sue him!” declared the gardener. “He owes me more than three months, but he kept putting me off.”

  And, so it seemed, Peters had done with several of his employes. When the promoter came to Shopton he had taken an elaborate house and engaged a staff of servants. Peters was not married, but he gave a number of entertainments to which the wealthy men of Shopton and their wives came. Later it was found that the bills for these had never been paid. In short, Peters was a “bluff” in more ways than one.

  Tom told enough of his story to the servants to get them on his side. Indeed, now that their employer had gone, and under such queer circumstances, they had no sympathy for him. They were only concerned about their own money, and Tom was given admittance to the house.

  Tom made a casual search, hoping to find some clue to the whereabouts of Mr. Damon, or to get some papers that would save his fortune. But the search was unsuccessful.

  There was a safe in the room Peters used for an office, but when Tom got there the strong box was open, and only some worthless documents remained.

  “He smelled a rat, all right,” said Tom, grimly. “After he telephoned to Mrs. Damon something happened that gave him an intimation that someone was after him. So he got away as soon as he could.”

  “But what are you going to do about it, Tom?”

  “Get right after him. He can’t have gotten very far. I want him and I want Boylan. We’re getting close to the end of the trail, Ned.”

  “Yes, but we haven’t found Mr. Damon yet, and his fortune seems to have vanished.”

  “Well, we’ll do the best we can,” said Tom, grimly. “Now I’m going to get a warrant for the arrest of Peters, and one for Boylan, and I’m going to get myself appointed a special officer with power to serve them. We’ve got our work cut out for us, Ned.”

  “Well, I’m with you to the end.”

  “I know you are!” cried Tom.

  CHAPTER XXIV

  THE LONELY HOUSE

  The young inventor had little difficulty in getting the warrants he sought. In the case of Boylan, who seemed to be Peters’s righthand man, when it came to criminal work, Tom made a charge of unlawfully taking the airship. This would be enough to hold the man on until other evidence could be obtained against him.

  As for Peters, he was accused of taking certain valuable bonds and stocks belonging to Mr. Damon. Mrs. Damon gave the necessary evidence in this case, and the authorities were told that later, when Peters should have been arrested, other evidence so skillfully gotten by Tom’s photo telephone, would be brought before the court.

  “It’s a new way of convicting a man—by a photo telephone—but I guess it’s a good one,” said the judge who signed the warrants.

  “Well, now that we’ve got what we want, the next thing to do is to get the men—Peters, and the others,” said Tom, as he and Ned sat in Tom’s library after several hours of strenuous work.

  “How are you going to start?” the young banker wanted to know. “It seems a strange thing that a man like Mr. Damon could be made away with, and kept in hiding so long without something being heard of him. I’m afraid, Tom, that something must have happened to him.”

  “I think so too, Ned. Nothing serious, though,” Tom added, quickly, as he saw the look of alarm on his chum’s face. “I think Mr. Damon at first went away of his own accord.”

  “Of his own accord?”

  “Yes. I think Peters induced him to go with him, on the pretense that he could recover his fortune. After getting Mr. Damon in their power they kept him, probably to get the rest of his fortune away from him.”

  “But you stopped that, Tom,” said Ned, proud of his chum’s abilities.

  “Well, I hope so,” admitted the young inventor. “But I’ve still got plenty to do.”

  “Have you a starting point?”

  “For one thing,” Tom answered, “I’m going to have Mrs. Damon mail a fake package to the address Peters gave. If he, or any of his men, call for it, we’ll have a detective on the watch, and arrest them.”

  “Good!”

  “Of course it may not work,” spoke Tom; “but it’s something to try, and we can’t miss any chances.”

  Accordingly, the next day, a package containing only blank paper, made up to represent the documents demanded by Peters as the price of releasing Mr. Damon, was mailed to the address Mrs. Damon had received over the wire from the rascally promoter. Then a private detective was engaged to be on the watch, to take into custody whoever called for the bundle. Tom, though, had not much hope of anything coming of this, as it was evident that Peters had taken the alarm, and left.

  “And now,” said Tom, when he had safely put away the wax record, containing the incriminating talk of Peters, and had printed several photographs, so wonderfully taken over the wire, “now to get on the trail again.”

  It was not an easy one to follow. Tom began at the deserted home of the alleged financier. The establishment was broken up, for many tradesmen came with bills that had not been paid, and some of them levied on what little personal property there was to satisfy their claims. The servants left, sorrowful enough over their missing wages. The place was closed up under the sheriff’s orders.

  But of Peters and his men not a trace could be found. Tom and Ned traveled all over the surrounding country, looking for clues, but in vain. They made several trips in the airship, but finally decided that an automobile was more practical for their work, and kept to that.

  They did find some traces of Peters. As Tom had said, the man was too prominent not to be noticed. He might have disguised himself, though it seemed that the promoter was a proud man, and liked to be seen in flashy clothes, a silk hat, and with a buttonhole bouquet.

  This made it easy to get the first trace of him. He had been seen to take a train at the Shopton station, though he had not bought a ticket. The promoter had paid his fare to Branchford, a junction point, but there all trace of him was lost. It was not even certain that he went there.

  “He may have done that to throw us off,” said Tom. “Just because he paid his way to Branchford, doesn’t say he went there. He may have gotten off at the next station beyond Shopton.”

  “Do you think he’s still lingering around here?” asked Ned.

  “I shouldn’t be surprised,” was Tom’s answer. “He knows that there is still some of the Damon property left, and he is probably hungry for that. We’ll get him yet, Ned.”

  But at the end of several days Tom’s hopes did not seem in a fair way to be realized. He and Ned followed one useless clue after another. All the trails seemed blind ones. But Tom never gave up.

  He was devoting all his time now to the finding of his friend Mr. Damon, and to the recovery of his fortune. In fact the latter was not so important to Tom as was the former. For Mrs. Damon was on the verge of a nervous collapse on account of the absence of her husband.

  “If I could only have some word from him, Tom!” she cried, helplessly.

  To Tom the matter was very puzzling. It seemed utterly impossible that Mr. Damon could be kept so close a prisoner that he could not manage to get some word to his friends. It was not as if he was a child. He was a man of more than ordinary abilities. Surely he might find a way to outwit his enemies.

  But the days passed, and no word came. A number of detectives had been employed, but they were no more successful than Tom. The latter had given up his inventive work, for the time being, to devote all his time to the solution of the mystery.

  Tom and Ned had been away from Shopton for three days, following the most promising clue they had yet received. But it had failed at the end, and one afternoon they found themselves in a small town, about a hundred miles from Shopton. They had been motoring.
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  “I think I’ll call up the house,” said Tom. “Dad may have received some news, or Mrs. Damon may have sent him some word. I’ll get my father on the wire.”

  Connection to Tom’s house was soon made, and Ned, who was listening to his chum’s remarks, was startled to hear him cry out:

  “What’s that you say? My airship taken again? When did it happen? Yes, I’m listening. Go on, Father!”

  Then followed a silence while Tom listened, breaking in now and then with an excited remark, Suddenly he called:

  “Good-by, Dad! I’m coming right home!”

  Tom hung up the receiver with a bang, and turned to his chum.

  “What do you think!” he cried. “The Eagle was taken again last night! The same way as before. Nobody got a glimpse of the thieves, though. Dad has been trying to get in communication with me ever since. I’m glad I called up. Now we’ll get right back to Shopton, and see what we can do. This is the limit! Peters and his crowd will be kidnapping us, next.”

  “That’s right,” agreed Ned.

  He and Tom were soon off again, speeding in the auto toward Shopton. But the roads were bad, after a heavy rain, and they did not make fast time.

  The coming of dusk found them with more than thirty miles to go. They were in an almost deserted section of the country when suddenly, as they were running slowly up a hill, there was a sudden crack, the auto gave a lurch to one side of the roadway and then settled heavily. Tom clapped on both brakes quickly, and gave a cry of dismay.

  “Broken front axle!” he said. “We’re dished, Ned!”

  They got out, being no more harmed than by the jolting. The car was out of commission. The two chums looked around Except for a lonely house, that bore every mark of being deserted, not a dwelling was in sight where they might ask for aid or shelter.

  And, as they looked, from that lonely house came a strange cry—a cry as though for help!

  CHAPTER XXV

  THE AIRSHIP CAPTURE

  “Did you hear that?” cried Ned.

  “I certainly did,” answered Tom. “What was it?”

  “Sounded to me like a cry of some sort.”

  “It was. An animal, I’d say.”

  The two chums moved away from the broken auto, and looked at each other. Then, by a common impulse, they started toward the lonely house, which was set back some distance from the road.

  “Let’s see who it was,” suggested Tom, “After all, though it looks deserted, there may be someone in the house, and we’ve got to have some kind of help. I don’t want to leave my car on the road all night, though it will have to be repaired before I can use it again.”

  “It sure is a bad break,” agreed Ned.

  As they walked toward the deserted house they heard the strange cry again. It was louder this time, and following it the boys heard a sound as if a blow had been struck.

  “Someone is being attacked!” cried Tom. “Maybe some poor tramp has taken shelter in there and a dog is after them. Come on, Ned, we’ve got to help!”

  They started on a run for the lonely house, but while still some distance away a curious thing happened.

  There was a sudden cry—an appeal for help it seemed—but this time in the open. And, as Tom and Ned looked, they saw several men running from the rear of the old house. Between them they carried an inert form.

  “Something’s wrong!” exclaimed Tom, “There’s crooked work going on here, Ned.”

  “You’re right! It’s up to us to stop it! Come on!”

  But before the boys had taken half a dozen more steps they heard that which caused them great surprise. For from a shed behind the house came the unmistakable throb and roar of a motor.

  “They’re going off in an auto!” cried Ned.

  “And they’re carrying someone with them!” exclaimed Tom.

  By this time they had gotten to a point where they could see the shed, and what was their astonishment to see being rolled from it a big biplane. At the sight of it Tom cried:

  “It’s the Eagle! That’s my airship, Ned!”

  “You’re right! How did it get here?”

  “That’s for us to find out. I shouldn’t wonder, Ned, but what we’re at last on the trail of Peters and his crowd!”

  The men—there were four or five of them, Ned guessed—now broke into a run, still carrying among them the inert form of another. The cries for help had ceased, and it seemed as if the unfortunate one was unconscious.

  A moment later, and before the boys could do anything, had they the power, the men fairly jumped aboard Tom Swift’s biggest airship. The unconscious one was carried with them.

  Then the motor was speeded up. The roar and throbbing were almost deafening.

  “Stop that! Hold on! That’s my machine!” yelled Tom.

  He might as well have spoken to the wind. With a rush and a roar the big Eagle shot away and upward, carrying the men and their mysterious, unconscious companion. It was getting too dark for Tom and Ned to make out the forms or features of the strangers.

  “We’re too late!” said Ned, hopelessly.

  “Yes, they got away,” agreed Tom. “Oh, if only I had my speedy little monoplane!”

  “But who can they be? How did your airship get here? And who is that man they carried out of the house?” cried Ned.

  “I don’t know the last—maybe one of their crowd who was injured in a fight.”

  “What crowd?”

  “The Peters gang, of course. Can’t you see it, Ned?”

  Unable to do anything, the two youths watched the flight of the Eagle. She did not move at her usual speed, for she was carrying too heavy a load.

  Presently from the air overhead, and slightly behind them, the boys heard the sound of another motor. They turned quickly.

  “Look!” cried Ned. “Another airship, by all that’s wonderful!”

  “If we could only stop them!” exclaimed Tom. “That’s a big machine, and they could take us aboard. Then we could chase the Eagle. We could catch her, too, for she’s overloaded!”

  Frantically he and Tom waved their caps at the man who was now almost overhead in his airship. The boys did not call. They well knew, with the noise of the motor, the occupant of the airship could not hear them. But they waved and pointed to the slowly-moving Eagle.

  To their surprise and delight the man above them shut off his engine, and seemed about to come down. Then Tom cried, knowing he could be heard:

  “Help us capture that airship? It’s mine and they’ve stolen it!”

  “All right! Be with you in a minute!” came back the answer from above.

  The second biplane came down to earth, ands as it ceased running along on its bicycle wheels, the occupant jumped out.

  “Hello, Tom Swift!” he called, as he took off his goggles.

  “Why—why it’s Mr. Halling!” cried the young inventor, in delight, recognizing the birdman who had brought him the first news of Mr. Damon’s trouble, the day the airship became entangled in the aerials of the wireless on Tom’s house.

  “What are you doing here, Tom?” asked Mr. Hailing. “What has happened?”

  “We’re looking for Mr. Damon. That’s a bad crowd there,” and he pointed toward the other aircraft. “They have my Eagle. Can you help me catch them?”

  “I certainly can—and will! Get aboard! I can carry four.”

  “Then you have a new machine?”

  “Yes, and a dandy! All the latest improvements—self-starter and all! I’m glad of a chance to show it to you.”

  “And I’m glad, too!” cried Tom. “It was providential that you happened along. What were you doing here?”

  “Just out on a trial spin. But come on, if we’re going to catch those fellows!”

  Quickly Tom, Ned, and Mr. Halling climbed into the seats of the new airship. It was started from a switch, and in a few seconds it was on the wing, chasing after the Eagle.

  Then began a strange race, a race in the air after the unknown strangers wh
o had Tom’s machine. Had the Eagle not been so heavily laden it might have escaped, for Tom’s craft was a speedy one. But this time it had to give the palm to Mr. Grant Halling’s. Faster and faster in pursuit flew the Star, as the new craft was called. Faster and faster, until at last, coming directly over the Eagle, Mr. Halling sent his craft down in such a manner as to “blanket” the other. In an instant she began to sink, and with cries of alarm the men shut off the motor and started to volplane to the earth.

  But they made an unskillful landing. The Eagle tilted to one side, and came down with a crash. There were cries of pain, then silence, and a few seconds later two men ran away from the disabled airship. But there were three senseless forms on the ground beside the craft when Tom, Ned and Mr. Halling ran up. In the fading light Tom saw a face he knew—three faces in fact.

  “Mr. Damon!” he cried. “We’ve found him, Ned!”

  “But—too late—maybe!” answered Ned, in a low voice, as he, too, recognized the man who had been missing so long.

  Mr. Halling was bending over the unconscious form of his friend.

  “He’s alive!” he cried, joyfully. “And not much hurt, either. But he has been ill, and looks half starved. Who are these men?”

  Tom gave a hasty look.

  “Shallock Peters and Harrison Boylan!” he cried. “Ned, at last we’ve caught the scoundrels!”

  It was true. Chance had played into the hands of Tom Swift. While Mr. Halling was looking after Mr. Damon, reviving him, the young inventor and Ned quickly bound the hands and feet of the two plotters with pieces of wire from the broken airship.

  Presently Mr. Damon opened his eyes.

  “Where am I? What happened? Oh, bless my watch chain—it’s Tom Swift! Bless my cigar case, I—”

  “He’s all right!” cried Tom, joyfully. “When Mr. Damon blesses something beside his tombstone he’s all right.”

  Peters and Boylan soon revived, both being merely stunned, as was Mr. Damon. They looked about in wonder, and then, feeling that they were prisoners, resigned themselves to their fate. Both men were shabbily dressed, and Tom would hardly have known the once spick and span Mr. Peters. He had no rose in his buttonhole now.