The Tom Swift Megapack

by Victor Appleton

  “Well, perhaps you didn’t, exactly, but your confederates did. Why did you rap on the glass, and why were you staring in so intently?”

  “I wasn’t lookin’ in.”

  “Well, if it wasn’t you, it was some one just like you. But why did you run when I raced down the street?”

  “I—I don’t know,” and the lad began to snivel. “I—I jest ran—that’s all—’cause I see everybody else runnin’, an’ I thought there was a fire.”

  “Ha! That’s a likely story! You ran because you are guilty! I’m going to hand you over to the police.”

  “Did he get anything, Mr. Track?” asked one of the men who had joined the jeweler in the chase.

  “No, I can’t say that he did. He didn’t get a chance. Tom Swift was in here at the time. But this fellow was only waiting for a chance to steal, or else to aid his confederates.”

  “But, if he didn’t take anything, I don’t see how you can have him arrested,” went on the man.

  “On suspicion; that’s how!” asserted Mr. Track. “Will some one get me a constable?”

  “I wouldn’t call a constable,” said Tom, quietly.

  “Why not?”

  “Because that isn’t the person who looked in your window.”

  “How do you know, Tom?”

  “Because that person came back while you were out. I saw him.”

  “You saw him? Did he try to steal any of my diamonds, Tom?”

  “No, I guess he doesn’t need any.”

  “Why not?” There was wonder in the jeweler’s tone.

  “Why, he claims he can make all he wants.”

  “Make diamonds?”

  “So he says.”

  “Why, he must be crazy!” and Mr. Track laughed.

  “Perhaps he is,” admitted Tom, “I’m only telling you what he says. He’s the person who acted so suspiciously. He came back here, I’m telling you, while you were running down the street, and spoke to me.”

  “Oh, then you know him?” The jeweler’s voice was suspicious.

  “I didn’t at first,” admitted Tom. “But when he said he was Mr. Barcoe Jenks, I remembered that I had met him when I was cast away on Earthquake Island.”

  “And he says he can make diamonds?” asked Mr. Track.

  “What did he want of you?” and the jeweler looked at Tom, quizzically.

  “He wanted to have a talk with me,” replied the lad, “and when he saw me in your store, he tried to attract my attention by knocking on the glass.”

  “That’s a queer way to do,” declared Mr. Track. “What did he want?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” answered Tom, not caring to go into details just then. “But I’m sure, Mr. Track, that you’ve got the wrong person there. That lad never looked in the window, nor knocked on the glass.”

  “That’s right—I didn’t,” asserted the captive.

  The jeweler looked doubtful.

  “Why did you run?” he asked.

  “I told you, I thought there was a fire.”

  “That’s right, I don’t believe he’s the fellow you want,” put in another man. “I was standing on the corner, near White’s grocery store, and I noticed this lad. That was before I heard you yelling, and saw you coming, and then I joined in the chase. I guess the man you were after got away, Track.”

  “He did,” asserted Tom. “He came back here, a little while ago, and he ran away just now, as he heard you coming.”

  “Where did he go?” asked the jeweler, eagerly.

  “I don’t know,” answered Tom. “Only you’ve got the wrong lad here.”

  “Well, perhaps I have,” admitted the diamond merchant. “You can go, youngster, but next time, don’t run if you’re not guilty.”

  “I thought there was a fire,” repeated the lad, as he hurriedly slipped through the crowd in the store, and disappeared down the dark street.

  “Well, I guess the excitement’s all over, and, anyhow, you weren’t robbed, Track,” said a stout man, as he left the store. The others soon followed, and Tom and the jeweler were once more alone in the shop.

  “Can you tell me something about this man, Tom?” asked Mr. Track, eagerly. “So he really makes diamonds. Who is he?”

  “I’d rather not tell—just now,” replied the young inventor. “I don’t take much stock in him, myself. I think he’s visionary. He may think he has made diamonds, and he may have made some stones that look like them. I’m very skeptical.”

  “If you could bring me some, Tom, I could soon tell whether they were real or not. Can you?”

  The lad shook his head.

  “I don’t expect to see Mr. Jenks again,” he said. “He talked rather wildly about waiting to meet me, but that man is odd—crazy, perhaps—and I don’t imagine I’ll see him. He’s harmless, but he’s eccentric. Well, there was quite some excitement for a time.”

  “I should say there was. I thought it was a plan to rob me,” and the jeweler began putting away the diamond pins. In fact, the excitement so filled the minds of himself and Tom that neither of them thought any more of the object of the lad’s visit, and the young inventor departed without purchasing the pin he had come after.

  It was not until he was out on the street, walking toward his home, that the matter came back to his mind.

  “I declare!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t get that pin for Mary, after all! Well, never mind, I have a week until her birthday, and I can get it tomorrow.”

  He walked rapidly toward home, for the weather looked threatening, and Tom had no umbrella. He was musing on the happenings of the evening when he reached his house. His father was out, as was Garret Jackson, the engineer; and Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper, was entertaining a lady in the sitting-room, so, as Tom was rather tired, he went directly to his own room, and, a little later got into bed.

  It was shortly after midnight when he was awakened by hearing a rattling on the window of his room. The reason he was able to fix the time so accurately was because as soon as he awakened he pressed a little electric button, and it illuminated the face of a small clock on his bureau. The hands pointed to five minutes past twelve.

  “Humph! That sounds like hail!” exclaimed Tom, as he arose, and looked out of the casement. “I wonder if any of the skylights of the airship shed are open? There might be some damage. Guess I’d better go out and take a look.”

  He had mentally reasoned this far before he had looked out, and when he saw that the moon was brightly shining in a clear sky, he was a bit surprised.

  “Why—that wasn’t hail,” he murmured. “It isn’t even raining. I wonder what it was?”

  He was answered a moment later, for a shower of fine gravel from the walk flew up and clattered against the glass. With a start, Tom looked down, and saw a dark figure standing under an apple tree.

  “Hello! Who’s there?” called the lad, after he had raised the sash.

  “It’s I—Mr. Jenks,” was the surprising answer.

  “Mr. Jenks?” repeated Tom.

  “Yes—Barcoe Jenks, of Earthquake Island.”

  “You here? What do you want?”

  “Can you come down?”

  “What for?”

  “Tom Swift, I’ve something very important to tell you,” was the answer in a low voice, yet which carried to Tom’s ears perfectly. “Do you want to make a fortune for yourself—and for me?”

  “How?” Tom was beginning to think more and more that Mr. Jenks was crazy.

  “How? By helping me to discover the secret of Phantom Mountain, where the diamonds are made! Will you?”

  “Wait a minute—I’ll come down,” answered Tom, and he began to grope for his clothes in the dim light of the little electric lamp.

  What was the secret of Phantom Mountain? What did Mr. Jenks really want? Could he make diamonds? Tom asked himself these questions as he hastily dressed to go down to his midnight visitor.

  CHAPTER III

  A STRANGE STORY

  “Well, Mr. Jenks,
” began Tom, when he had descended to the garden, and greeted the man who had acted so strangely on Earthquake Island, “this is rather an odd time for a visit.”

  “I realize that, Tom Swift,” was the answer, and the lad noticed that the man spoke much more calmly than he had that evening at the jewelry shop. “I realize that, but I have to be cautious in my movements.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there are enemies on my track. If they thought I was seeking aid to discover the secret of Phantom Mountain, my life might pay the forfeit.”

  “Are you in earnest, Mr. Jenks?”

  “I certainly am, and, while I must apologize for awakening you at this unseemly hour, and for the mysterious nature of my visit, if you will let me tell my story, you will see the need of secrecy.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind being awakened,” answered Tom, good-naturedly, “but I will be frank with you, Mr. Jenks. I hardly can believe what you have stated to me several times—that you know how diamonds can be made.”

  “I can prove it to you,” was the quiet answer.

  “Yes, I know. For centuries men have tried to discover the secret of transmuting base metals into gold, and how to make diamonds by chemical means. But they have all been failures.”

  “All except this process—the process used at Phantom Mountain,” insisted the queer man. “Do you want to hear my story?”

  “I have no objections.”

  “Then let me warn you,” went on Mr. Jenks, “that if you do hear it, you will be so fascinated by it that I am sure you will want to cast your lot in with mine, and aid me to get my rights, and solve the mystery. And I also want to warn you that if you do, there is a certain amount of danger connected with it.”

  “I’m used to danger,” answered Tom, quietly. “Let me hear your story. But first explain how you came to come here, and why you acted so strangely at the jewelry store.”

  “Willingly. I tried to attract your attention at the store, because I saw that you were going to buy a diamond, and I didn’t want you to.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I want to present you with a beautiful stone, that will answer your purpose as well or better, than any one you could buy. That will prove my story better than any amount of words or argument. But I could not attract your attention without also attracting that of the jeweler. He became suspicious, gave chase, and I thought it best to vanish. I hope no one was made to suffer for what may have been my imprudence.”

  “No, the lad whom Mr. Track caught was let go. But how did you happen to come to Shopton?”

  “To see you. I got your address from the owner of the yacht Resolute. I knew that if there was one person who could aid me to recover my rights, it would be you, Tom Swift. Will you help me? Will you come with me to discover the secret of Phantom Mountain? If we go, it will have to be in an airship, for in no other way, I think, can we come upon the place, as it is closely guarded. Will you come? I will pay you well.”

  “Perhaps I had better hear your story,” said the young inventor. “But first let me suggest that we move farther away from the house. My father, or Mr. Jackson, or the housekeeper, may hear us talking, and it may disturb them. Come with me to my private shop,” and Tom led the way to a small building where he did experimental work. He unlocked the door with a key he carried, turned on the lights, which were run by a storage battery, and motioned Mr. Jenks to a seat.

  “Now I’ll hear your story,” said Tom.

  “I’ll make it as short as possible,” went on the queer man. “To begin with, it is now several years ago since a poorly dressed stranger applied to me one night for money enough to get a meal and a bed to sleep in. I was living in New York City at the time, and this was midnight, as I was returning home from my club.

  “I was touched by the man’s appearance, and gave him some money. He asked for my card, saying he would repay me some day. I gave it to him, little thinking I would hear from the man again. But I did. He called at my apartments about a week later, saying he had secured work as an expert setter of diamonds, and wanted to repay me. I did not want to take his money, but the fact that such a sorry looking specimen of manhood as he had been when I aided him, was an expert handler of gems interested me. I talked with the man, and he made a curious statement.

  “This man, who gave his name as Enos Folwell, said he knew a place where diamonds could be made, partly in a scientific manner, and partly by the forces of nature. I laughed at him, but he told me so many details that I began to believe him. He said he and some other friends of his, who were diamond cutters, had a plant in the midst of the Rocky Mountains, where they had succeeded in making several small, but very perfect diamonds. They had come to the end of their rope, though, so to speak, because they could not afford to buy the materials needed. Folwell said that he and his companions had temporarily separated, had left the mountain where they made diamonds, and agreed to meet there later when they had more money with which to purchase materials. They had all agreed to go out into civilization, and work for enough funds to enable them to go on with their diamond making.

  “I hardly knew whether to believe the man or not, but he offered proof. He had several small, but very perfect diamonds with him, and he gave them to me, to have tested in any way I desired.

  “I promised to look into the matter, and, as I was quite wealthy, as, in fact I am now, and if I found that the stones he gave me were real, I said I might invest some money in the plant.”

  “Were the diamonds good?” asked Tom, who was beginning to be interested.

  “They were—stones of the first water, though small. An expert gem merchant, to whom I took them, said he had never seen any diamonds like them, and he wanted to know where I got them. Of course I did not tell him.

  “To make a long story short, I saw Folwell again, told him to communicate with his companions, and to tell them that I would agree to supply the cash needed, if I could share in the diamond making. To this they agreed, and, after some weeks spent in preparation, a party of us set out for Phantom Mountain.”

  “Phantom Mountain?” interrupted Tom. “Where is it?”

  “I don’t know, exactly—it’s somewhere in the Rockies, but the exact location is a mystery. That is why I need your help. You will soon understand the reason. Well, as I said, myself, Folwell and the others, who were not exactly prepossessing sort of men, started west. When we got to a small town, called Indian Ridge, near Leadville, Colorado, the men insisted that I must now proceed in secret, and consent to be blindfolded, as they were not yet ready to reveal the secret of the place where they made the diamonds.

  “I did not want to agree to this, but they insisted, and I gave in, foolishly perhaps. At any rate I was blindfolded one night, placed in a wagon, and we drove off into the mountains. After traveling for some distance I was led, still blindfolded, up a steep trail.

  “When the bandage was taken off my eyes I saw that I was in a large cave. The men were with me, and they apologized for the necessity that caused them to blindfold me. They said they were ready to proceed with the making of diamonds, but I must promise not to seek to discover the secret until they gave me permission, nor was I to attempt to leave the cave. I had to agree.

  “Next they demanded that I give them a large sum, which I had promised when they showed me, conclusively, that they could make diamonds. I refused to do this until I had seen some of the precious stones, and they agreed that this was fair, but said I would have to wait a few days.

  “Well, I waited, and, all that while, I was virtually a prisoner in the cave. All I could learn was that it was in the midst of a great range, near the top, and that one of the peaks was called Phantom Mountain. Why, I did not learn until later.

  “At last one night, during a terrific thunder storm, the leader of the diamond makers—Folwell—announced that I could now see the stones made. The men had been preparing their chemicals for some days previous. I was taken into a small chamber of the cave, and there saw quite a com
plicated apparatus. Part of it was a great steel box, with a lever on it.

  “We will let you make some diamonds for yourself,” Folwell said to me, and he directed me to pull the lever of the box, at a certain signal. The signal came, just as a terrific crash of thunder shook the very mountain inside of which we were. The box of steel got red-hot, and when it cooled off it was opened, and was given a handful of white stones.

  “Were they diamonds?” asked Tom, eagerly.

  Mr. Jenks held out one hand. In the palm glittered a large stone—ostensibly a diamond. In the rays of the moon it showed all the colors of the rainbow—a beautiful gem. “That is one of the stones I made—or rather that I supposed I had made,” went on Mr. Jenks. “It is one of several I have, but they have not all been cut and polished as has this one.

  “Naturally I was much impressed by what I saw, and, after I had made certain tests which convinced me that the stones in the steel box were diamonds, I paid over the money as I had promised. That was my undoing.”

  “How?”

  “As soon as the men got the cash, they had no further use for me. The next I remember is eating a rude meal, while we discussed the future of making diamonds. I knew nothing more until I found myself back in the small hotel at Indian Ridge, whence I had gone some time previous, with the men, to the cave in the mountain.”

  “What happened?” asked Tom, much surprised by the unexpected outcome of the affair. “I had been tricked, that was all! As soon as the men had my money they had no further use for me. They did not want me to learn the secret of their diamond making, and they drugged me, carried me away from the cave, and left me in the hotel.”

  “Didn’t you try to find the cave again?”

  “I did, but without avail. I spent some time in the Rockies, but no one could tell where Phantom Mountain was; in fact, few had heard of it, and I was nearly lost searching for it.

  “I came back East, determined to get even. I had given the men a very large sum of money, and, in exchange, they had given me several diamonds. Probably the stones are worth nearly as much as the money I invested, but I was cheated, for I was promised an equal share in the profits. These were denied me, and I was tricked. I determined to be revenged, or at least to discover the secret of making diamonds. It is my right.”