The Tom Swift Megapack

by Victor Appleton

  This struck Tom, afterward, as being rather a queer remark, but he did not think so at the time.

  The truth was that the young inventor wished very much to try out a new device on his noiseless aeroplane and wanted to get rid of Mr. Gale before doing so. So he did not pay as much attention to the remarks of the president as, otherwise, he might have done.

  It was not until after Mr. Gale had taken his leave and Tom had finished the particular work on which he was engaged when the president of the rival company came in, that the young man did some hard thinking. And this thinking was done after he had received a telephone call from Mary Nestor, asking, if by any chance, he had heard anything like a clue as to the whereabouts of her father.

  Tom had been obliged to tell her that he had not. Everything possible was being done to find the missing man but he had disappeared as completely as though he had ridden on his bicycle into the crater of some extinct volcano on the meadow, and had fallen to the bottom.

  An effort was made to trace him through an automobile association which had a large membership. That is, the members were asked to make inquiries to ascertain, if possible, whether any one had heard of an unreported accident—one in which Mr. Nestor might have been carried away by persons who accidently ran him down.

  But this came to naught, and the police and other authorities were at a loss how farther to proceed. It was a theory in some quarters that Mr. Nestor was perfectly safe, but that he was out of his mind, and was either wandering around, not knowing who he was, or was, in this condition, detained somewhere, the persons having him in charge not realizing that he was the missing man so widely sought.

  This belief was a relief to Mrs. Nestor and Mary in many ways for it prevented them from giving way to the fear that Mr. Nestor was dead. That he was alive was Tom Swift’s firm opinion, and he was doing all he could to prove it.

  It was not until the day after the visit of Mr. Gale that Tom, having concluded some intricate calculations about the strength of cylinder valves, uttered an exclamation.

  “I wonder if he could have meant that?” cried the young inventor. “I wonder if he could have meant that? I must find out at once! Queer I didn’t think of that before!”

  He put in a long distance call to New York, asking to speak to Mr. Gale. But when, eventually, he was connected with the office of the Universal Flying Machine Company he was told that Mr. Gale and Mr. Ware had sailed for France that day, going over as government representatives to investigate aeroplane motors. Gale’s visit to Tom had been just previous to taking the boat, it was said.

  “This is tough luck!” mused Tom, his suspicions doubly aroused now. “I can’t let this rest here! I’ve got to get after it! As soon as I make this final test, and invite Uncle Sam’s experts out to see how my noiseless motor works, I’ll get after Gale and Ware if I have to follow them to the battlefields of France! I wonder if it was that he was hinting at all the while! I begin to believe it was!”

  Tom Swift had decided on another flight for his new craft before he would let the government experts see it.

  “Silent Sam must do his very best work for Uncle Sam before I turn him over,” said the young inventor.

  “And after this flight I’ll offer the machine to the government, and then devote all my time to finding Mr. Nestor,” said Tom. “I’d do it now, but private matters, however deeply they affect us, must be put aside to help win the war. But this will end my inventive work until after Mr. Nestor is found—if he’s alive.”

  Preparations for the test flight went on apace, and one afternoon Tom and Jackson took their places in the big, new aeroplane. He no longer feared daylight crowds in case of an accident. They made a good start, and the motor was so quiet that as Tom passed over his own plant the men working in the yard, who did not know of the flight, did not look up to see what was going on. They could not hear the engine.

  “I think we’ve got everything just as we want it, Jackson,” said Tom, much pleased.

  “I believe you,” answered the mechanician. “It couldn’t be better. Now if—”

  And at that moment there came a loud explosion, and Silent Sam began drifting rapidly toward the earth, as falls a bird with a broken wing.

  CHAPTER XX

  QUEER MARKS

  “What happened?” cried Jackson to Tom, as he leaned forward in his seat which was in the rear of the young inventor’s.

  “Don’t know, exactly,” was the answer, as Tom quickly shifted the rudders to correct the slanting fall of his craft. “Sounded as though there was a tremendous back-fire, or else the muffler blew up. The engine is dead.”

  “Can you take her down safely?”

  “Oh, yes, I guess so. She’s a bit out of control, but the stabilizer will keep her on a level keel. Good thing we installed it.”

  “You’re right!” said Jackson.

  Now they were falling earthward with great rapidity, but, thanks to the gyroscope stabilizer, the “side-slipping,” than which there is no motion more dreaded by an aviator, had nearly ceased. The craft was volplaning down as it ought, and Tom had it under as perfect control as was possible under the circumstances.

  “We’ll get down all right if something else doesn’t happen,” he said to Jackson, with grim humor.

  “Well, let’s hope that it won’t,” said the mechanic. “We’re a good distance up yet.”

  They were, as a matter of fact, for the explosion, or whatever had happened to the craft, had occurred at a height of over two miles, and they at once began falling. As yet Tom Swift was unaware of the exact nature of the accident or its cause. All he knew was that there had been a big noise and that the engine had stopped working. He could not see the silencer from where he sat, as it was constructed on the underside of the motor, but he had an idea that the same sort of mishap had occurred as on the occasion when the test machine had sailed through the roof of his workshop.

  “But, luckily, this wasn’t as bad,” mused Tom. “Anyhow the motor is out of business.”

  And this was very evident. The young inventor had tried to start the apparatus after its stoppage by the explosion, but it had not responded to his efforts, and then he had desisted, fearing to cause some further damage, or, perhaps, endanger his own life and that of Jackson.

  Down, down swept Silent Sam—doubly silent now, and Tom began looking about for a good place to make a landing. This was nothing new for either him or his mechanician, and they accepted the outcome as a matter of course.

  “Not a very lively place down there,” remarked Jackson, as he looked over the side of the cockpit.

  “If we have to depend for help on any one down there, I guess we’ll be a long time waiting,” agreed Tom. They were about to land in a very lonely spot. It was one he had never before visited, though he knew it could not be much more than twenty miles from his own home, as they had not flown much farther than that distance.

  But, somehow or other, Tom had not visited this particular section, and knew nothing of it. He saw below him, as Jackson had seen, a lonely stretch of country—a big field, once a wood-lot, evidently, as scattered about were some stumps and some second growth trees. There were also a number of evergreens—Christmas trees Jackson called them. And this was the only open place for miles, the surrounding country being a densely wooded one. There did not appear to be a house or other building in sight where they might seek help.

  “But maybe we can make the repairs ourselves and keep on,” the lad thought.

  With practiced eye he picked out a smooth, grassy, level spot, in the midst of scattered evergreen trees, and there Tom Swift skillfully brought his Air Scout to rest. With a gentle thud the rubber-tired wheels struck the Earth, rolled along a little distance, and then called to a stop.

  Hardly had the aeroplane ceased moving when Tom and his companion jumped out and began eagerly to examine the machinery to see the extent of damage.

  “I thought so!” Tom exclaimed. “The silencer cracked under the strain. Those e
xhaust gases have more pressure that I believed possible. I increased the margin of safety on this muffler, too. But she’s cracked, and I can’t use the machine until I put on a new one. Good thing I didn’t ask for a government inspection until after this trial flight.”

  “That’s so,” agreed Jackson. “But can’t you patch it up, or go on without a muffler, so we can get back home?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Tom answered. “You see I removed all the old exhaust pipe fittings when I put on my new silencer. Now if I took off my attachment there wouldn’t be anything to carry off the discharged gases, and they’d form a regular cloud about us. We couldn’t stand it without gas masks, such as they use in the trenches, and we haven’t any of those with us.”

  “That’s right,” agreed Jackson. “Well, what do you want to do? Have me stay here and guard the machine while you go for help? Or shall I go?”

  “I don’t know why we both can’t go,” said Tom. “There is no use trying to patch up this machine here. I’ll have to send a truck after it, and dismantle it before I can get it home.

  “As for either of us staying here on guard, I don’t quite see the need of that. This looks like the jumping-off place to me. I don’t believe there’s a native within miles. I didn’t see any houses as we came down, and I think Silent Sam will be perfectly safe here. No one can run off with him, anyhow. He’d be as hard to start as an automobile with all four wheels gone. Let’s leave it here and both walk back.”

  “All right,” agreed Jackson. “That suits me. Might as well leave our togs here, too. It will be easier walking without them,” and he began taking off the fur-lined suit, his cap, and his goggles, such as he and Tom wore against the piercing cold of the upper regions.

  “We can stuff them in the cockpit and leave them,” went on the mechanician, as he divested himself of his garments. As he stowed them away in his seat he gave one more look at the broken muffler. As Tom Swift said, his new silencer had literally blown up, a large piece having been torn from the gas chamber.

  Something that Jackson saw caused him to utter an exclamation that brought Tom Swift to his side.

  “What is it?” asked the young inventor.

  “Look!” was the answer. “See! Just at the edge of that break! It’s been filed to make the metal thinner there than anywhere else. You didn’t do that, did you?”

  “I should say not!” cried Tom. “Why, to file there would mean to weaken the whole structure.”

  “And that’s exactly what’s happened!” declared Jackson, as he gave another look. “Some one has filed this nearly through—leaving only a thin metal skin, and when the gas pressure became too much it blew out. That’s what happened!”

  Tom Swift made a quick but thorough examination.

  “You’re right, Jackson!” he exclaimed. “That was filed deliberately to cause the accident. And it must have been done lately, for I carefully inspected the silencer when I put it on, and it was in perfect order. There’s been spy work here. Some one got into the hangar and filed that casing. Then the accumulated pressure of the gases did the rest.”

  “As sure as you’re alive!” agreed Jackson. “Maybe that’s what Gale did when he called.”

  “No,” returned Tom, shaking his head, “he didn’t get a chance to do anything like that. I watched him all the while. But perhaps this is what he referred to when he said he and his company would repudiate any act of that spy with the gold tooth—Lydane, so Gale said his name was. Maybe that’s what Lydane did.”

  “He was capable of it,” agreed the mechanic, “but he couldn’t have done it that time you tripped him into the mud puddle. This silencer wasn’t built then.”

  “No, you’re right,” assented Tom. “Then he must have been around since, doing some of his tricky work!”

  “I don’t see how that could have been,” said Jackson slowly. “We’ve kept a very careful watch, and your shop has been specially guarded.”

  “I know it has,” said Tom. “There couldn’t much get past Koku; but some one seems to have done it, or else how could that filing have been done?”

  Jackson shook his head. The problem was too much for him. He looked carefully at the exploded and broken silencer, and Tom, too, gave it a critical eye. There was no doubt but that it had been filed in several places to weaken the structure of the metal.

  “When did you last see that it was in perfect condition?” asked Jackson.

  Tom named a certain date.

  “That was just before Gale called,” observed the mechanician. “He might have known of it.”

  “I wish I’d known of it at the time,” said Tom savagely. “He wouldn’t have gotten away as easily as he did. Well, there’s no use standing here talking about it. Let’s get back to civilization and we’ll send back one of the trucks. Luckily I have another silencer I can put on for the government test. This one will never be of any more use, though I may be able to save some of the valves and baffle plates.”

  Slowly they turned from the disabled aeroplane and started to look for a path that would lead them out of the lonely place. Tom as the first to strike what seemed to be a cow path, or perhaps what had been a road into the wood lot in the early days.

  As he tramped along it, followed by Jackson, the young inventor suddenly stopped, as he came to a sandy place, and, stooping over, looked intently at some queer marks in the soil.

  “What is it?” asked the mechanician.

  “Looks like the marks of an automobile,” said Tom slowly. “And I was just trying to remember where I’d seen marks like these before.”

  CHAPTER XXI

  THE DESERTED CABIN

  For several seconds the young inventor remained bending over the queer marks in that little sandy path of the lonely field in the midst of the silent woods. Jackson watched him curiously, and then Tom straightened up, exclaiming as he did so:

  “I have it! Now I know where it was! I saw marks like these the night Mr. Nestor disappeared. Mr. Damon and I noticed the marks in the dust on the road the time we made the forced landing the first night we tried out the silent motor. That’s it! They are the same marks! I’m sure of it!”

  “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” said Jackson slowly. He was more deliberate than Tom Swift, a fact for which the young inventor was often glad, as it saved him from impulsive mistakes.

  “This may not be the same auto,” went on the mechanician. “I’ll admit I never saw square tire marks like those before. Most of the usual ones are circular, diamond-shape or oblong. Some tire manufacturer must have tried a new stunt. But as for saying these marks were made by the same machine you saw evidences of the night Mr. Nestor disappeared, why, that’s going a little too far, Tom.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is,” admitted the young inventor. “But it’s a clue worth following. Maybe Mr. Nestor has been brought to some lonely place like this, and is being held.”

  “Why would any one want to do that?” asked Jackson. “He had no enemies.

  “Well, perhaps those who ran him down and injured him are afraid to let him go for fear he will prosecute them and ask for heavy damages,” suggested Tom. “They may be holding him a captive until he gets well, and aim on treating him so nicely that he won’t bring suit.”

  “That’s a pretty far-fetched theory,” said the mechanician as he carefully looked at the tracks. “But of course it may be true. Anyhow, these tire marks are rather recent, I should say, and they are made by a new tire. Do you think we can follow them?”

  “I’m going to try!” declared Tom. “The only trouble is we can’t tell whether it was going or coming—that is we don’t know which way to go.”

  “That’s so,” agreed his companion. “And so the only thing to do is to travel a bit both ways. The path, or road, or whatever you call it, is plainly enough marked here, though you can’t always pick out the tire marks. They show only on bare ground. The grass doesn’t leave any tracks that we can see, though doubtless they are there.

&n
bsp; “But as for thinking this car is the same one the marks of which you saw on the lonely moor, the night you heard the call for help—that’s going too far, Tom Swift.”

  “Yes, I realize that. Of course there must be more than one car with tires which have square protuberances. But it’s worth taking a chance on—following this clue.”

  “Oh, sure!” agreed Jackson.

  “The only question is, then, which way to go,” returned Tom.

  They settled that, arbitrarily enough, by going on in the direction they had started after leaving the stranded airship. They followed a half-defined path, and were rewarded by getting occasional glimpses on bare ground of the odd tire marks.

  Through a devious winding way, now hidden amid a lane of trees, and again cutting across an open space, the path led. They saw the marks often enough to make sure they were on the right trail, and in one place they saw several different patches of the odd marks.

  They went on perhaps half a mile more, when they came to a lonely road and saw where the car had turned from that into the wood-lot, as Tom called the place where his craft had settled down.

  “Look!” cried the young inventor to Jackson. “They’ve been here more than once, and have gone along the road in both directions. They seem to have used this turning into the lot as a sort of stopping place.”

  This was plain enough from an examination of the marks in the sandy soil of the road, which was one not often used. The automobile with the queer, square marks on the tires had turned into the lot, coming and going in both directions.

  “This settles it!” cried Tom, when he finished making an examination. “There’s something farther back in this lot that we’ve got to see. This auto has been coming and going, and we should have followed the tracks the other way from the point where we first saw them, instead of coming this way.”

  “Except that we’ve learned the place of departure,” suggested Jackson. “Evidently the wood-lot is a blind alley. The car goes in, but it can come out only just at this point, or, at least, it does.”