The Tom Swift Megapack

by Victor Appleton

  “And we’re with you!” cried Tom, offering the Russian his hand. “We’ll turn the trick yet. Now don’t forget to come and see us. Come along, Ned. If I’m going to build an air glider I’ve got to get busy.” And waving farewells to their new friend, the lads took their places in the aeroplane and were soon on their way to Shopton.

  “Well, what do you think of it?” asked Ned of his chum, as they sped along at a good elevation, the engine going at half speed to be less noisy and make talking easier.

  “Lots. I think we’re in for a good time, an exciting one, anyhow, if what he says is true. But what in the world is an air glider, Tom?”

  “It’s the last word in aeroplanes. You don’t need a motor to make it go.”

  “Don’t need a motor?”

  “No, the wind does it all. It’s a sort of aeroplane, but the motion comes from the wind, acting on different planes, and this is accomplished by shifting weights. In it you can stand still in a fierce gale, if you like.”

  “How, by tying her fast on the ground?”

  “No, hovering in the air. It’s all done by getting the proper balance. The harder the wind blows the better the air glider works, and that’s why I think it will be just the thing for Siberia. I’m going to get right at work on it, and you’ll help me; won’t you?”

  “I sure will. Say, is platinum worth much?”

  “Worth much? I should say it was! It’s got gold beat now, and the available supply is very small, and it’s getting more scarce. Russia has several mines, and the metal is of good quality. I’ve used some Russian platinum, but the kind Mr. Petrofsky gave me today was better than the best I ever had. If we can only find that lost mine we’ll be millionaires all right.”

  “That’s what we thought when we found the city of gold, but the gold wasn’t of as fine a grade as we hoped.”

  “Well, nothing like that can happen in this platinum deal. It sure is rich ore that Mr. Petrofsky and his brother found. Poor fellow! To think of being an exile in that awful country, not knowing where you may be sent next. No wonder Mr. Petrofsky wants to rescue him.”

  “That’s right. Well, here we are. I wonder what your father will say when he hears you’re thinking of another expedition, Tom?”

  “Oh, he’ll want me to go when he hears about the exile.”

  “And I’m sure my folks will let me go. How about Mr. Damon?”

  “I don’t believe we can hold him back. It will make a nice party, just you and I, and Mr. Damon and Mr. Petrofsky. That will leave room for the other Russian—if we can rescue him,” and with that Tom shut off the engine and glided to earth.

  It may well be imagined that Mr. Swift was surprised when his son told him the latest news, but he did not offer any serious objection to the young inventor going to Siberia.

  “Only you must be careful,” he said. “Those Russian officers are ugly when it comes to trying to take away any of their prisoners. And this air glider—I don’t exactly know about that. It’s a new machine, and you want to be sure it works before you trust yourself to it.”

  “I will,” promised Tom. “Say, I’ve got plenty of work ahead of me,—to get my big airship in shape, and build the glider. You’ll have to help me, dad.”

  “I will, son. Now tell me more about this Mr. Petrofsky.” Which Tom did.

  The days that followed were indeed busy ones for Tom. The young inventor made a model air glider that sailed fairly well, but he knew it would have to work better to be successful, and he bent all his energies in that direction. Meanwhile Mr. Damon had been told of the prospective trip.

  “Bless my bank book! Of course I’ll go,” he said. “But don’t say anything about it to my wife—that is, just yet. I’ll bring her around to it gradually. She has always wanted a diamond ring set in platinum, and now I can get it for her. I know she’ll let me go if I break it to her gently.”

  It may be mentioned here that many valuable diamonds are now set in platinum instead of gold.

  “I want to keep busy,” said Mr. Damon, so Tom set him, Ned and Eradicate at the task of getting the big airship in shape for the trip. This air craft has not figured in any of my previous stories, but as it is so nearly like the one that was crushed in the caves of ice, I will not give a description of it here. Those who care to may refer to the book telling of Tom’s trip to the caves of ice for a detailed account of the craft.

  Sufficient to say that this latest airship, named the Falcon, was the largest Tom had ever built. It contained much room, many comforts, and could sail for several thousand miles without descending, except in case of accident. It was a combined dirigible balloon and aeroplane, and could be used as either, the necessary gas being made on board. It was large enough to enable the air glider to be taken on it in sections.

  It was about a week after their first meeting with him, that Ivan Petrofsky paid a visit to the Swift home. He was warmly welcomed by the aged inventor and Mr. Damon, and, closeted in the library of the house, he proceeded to go more into details of his own and his brother’s exile to Siberia, and to tell about the supposed location of the lost platinum mine.

  “I don’t believe we can start for several weeks yet,” said Tom, after some discussion. “It will take me that long to make the glider.”

  “And I, too, need a little time,” said the Russian. “I will write to some friends in St. Petersburg and perhaps they can get some information for us, as to where my brother is.

  “That will be good,” declared Mr. Damon. “Bless my icicle! But the more I think of this trip the better I like it!”

  It was arranged that the Russian should call again soon, when the plans would be nearer in shape, and in the meanwhile he must learn all he could from revolutionary friends in Siberia.

  It was a week after this, during which Tom, Ned and the others had been very busy, that Tom decided to take a trip to see their Russian friend. They had not heard from him since his visit, and Tom wanted to learn something about the strength of the Siberian winds.

  He and Ned went in one of the small airships and soon they were hovering over the grounds surrounding the lonely house where Ivan Petrofsky lived.

  “He doesn’t seem to be at home,” remarked Ned, as they descended and approached the dwelling.

  “No, and it looks quite deserted,” agreed the young inventor. “Say, all the doors are open, too! He shouldn’t go away and leave his house open like that—with the valuable platinum there.”

  “Maybe he’s asleep,” suggested Ned.

  They knocked on the opened door, but there was no answer. Then they went inside. To their surprise the house was in confusion. Furniture was overturned, tables and chairs were broken, and papers were scattered about the room.

  “There’s been a fight here!” cried Tom.

  “That’s right,” agreed Ned. “Maybe he’s been hurt—maybe burglars came for the platinum!”

  “Come on!” cried Tom, making a dash for the stairs. “We’ll see if he’s here.”

  The house was small, and it took but a moment to show that Mr. Petrofsky was not there. Upstairs, as below, was the same confusion—the overturned furniture and the papers scattered about.

  Tom stooped and picked up a scrap that looked like a piece torn from a letter. On top was a seal—the black seal of Russia—the imperial arms of the Czar!

  “Look!” cried Tom, holding out the paper.

  “What is it?” asked Ned.

  “The hand of the Czar!” answered his chum. “It has reached out from Russia, and taken Mr. Petrofsky away!”

  CHAPTER IV

  THE SEARCH

  For a moment Ned could scarcely understand what Tom meant. It scarcely seemed possible that such a thing could happen. That some one in far-off Russia—be it the Czar or one of the secret police—could operate from such a distance, seeking out a man in an obscure house in a little American village, and snatching him away.

  “It isn’t possible!” declared Ned breathlessly.

  “Wh
at difference does that make?” asked Tom. “The thing has happened, and you can’t get out of it. Look at all the evidence—there’s been a fight, that’s sure, and Mr. Petrofsky is gone.”

  “But maybe he went away of his own accord,” insisted Ned, who was sometimes hard to convince.

  “Nonsense! If a man went away of his own accord would he smash up his furniture, leave his papers scattered all about and go off leaving the doors and windows open for any one to walk in? I guess not.”

  “Well, maybe you’re right. But think of it! This isn’t Russia!”

  “No, but he’s a Russian subject, and, by his own confession an escaped exile. If he was arrested in the usual way he could be taken back, and our government couldn’t interfere. He’s been taken back all right. Poor man! Think of being doomed to those sulphur mines again, and as he escaped they’ll probably make it all the harder for him!”

  “But I thought our government wouldn’t help other nations to get back prisoners convicted of political crimes,” suggested Ned. “That’s all Mr. Petrofsky was guilty of—politics, trying to help the poor in his own country. It’s a shame if our government stands for anything like that!”

  “That’s just the point!” exclaimed Tom. “Probably the spies, secret police, or whoever the Russian agents were, didn’t ask any help from our government. If they did there might be a chance for him. But likely they worked in secret. They came here, sneaked in on him, and took him away before he could get help. Jove! If he could only have gotten word to me I’d have come in the airship, and then there’d be a different ending to this.”

  “I guess you’re right, Tom. Well, that ends it I suppose.”

  “Ends what?”

  “Our trip to the platinum mine.”

  “Not a bit of it. I’m going to have a hunt for it.”

  “But how can you when Mr. Petrofsky can’t go along to show us the way? Besides, we wanted to help rescue his brother, and now we can’t.”

  “Well, I’m going to make a big try,” declared the young inventor firmly. “And the first thing I’m going to do is to get our friend out of the clutches of the Russian police.”

  “You are? How?”

  “I’m going to make a search for him. Look here, Ned, he must have been taken away some time today—perhaps only a few hours ago—and they can’t have gone far with him.”

  “How do you make that out?” Ned wanted to know.

  “Well, I guess I’m detective enough for that,” and Tom smiled. “Look here, the doors and windows are open. Now it rained last night, and there was quite a wind. If the windows had been open in the storm there’d be some traces of moisture in the rooms. But there isn’t a drop. Consequently the windows have been opened since last night.”

  “Say, that’s so!” cried Ned admiringly.

  “But that’s not all,” went on Tom. “Here’s a bottle of milk on the table, and it’s fresh,” which he proved by tasting it. “Now that was left by the milkman either late last night or early this morning. I don’t believe it’s over twelve hours old.”

  “Well, what does this mean?” asked Ned, who couldn’t quite follow Tom’s line of reasoning.

  “To my mind it means that the spies were here no later than this morning. Look at the table upset, the dishes on the floor. Here’s one with oatmeal in it, and you know how hard and firm cooked oatmeal gets after it stands a bit. This is quite fresh, and soft, and—”

  “And that means—” interrupted Ned, who was in turn interrupted by Tom, who exclaimed:

  “It means that Mr. Petrofsky was at breakfast when they burst in on him, and took him away. They had hard work overpowering him, I’ll wager, for he could put up a pretty good fight. And the broken furniture is evidence of that. Then the spies, after tying him up, or putting him in a carriage, searched the house for incriminating papers. That’s as plain as the nose on your face. Then the police agents, or whoever they were, skipped out in a hurry, not taking the trouble to close the windows and doors.”

  “I believe it did happen that way,” agreed Ned, who clearly saw what Tom meant. “But what can we do? How can we find him?”

  “By getting on the trail,” answered his chum quickly. “There may be more clues in the house, and I’m sure there’ll be some out of doors, for they must have left footprints or the marks of carriage wheels. We’ll take a look, and then we’ll get right on the search. I’m not going to let them take Mr. Petrofsky to Russia if I can help it. I want to get after that platinum, and he’s the only one who can pilot us anywhere near the place; and besides, there’s his brother we’ve got to rescue. We’ll make a search for the exile.”

  “I’m with you!” cried Ned. “Jove! Wouldn’t it be great if we could rescue him? They can’t have gotten very far with him.”

  “I’m afraid they have quite a start on us,” admitted Tom with a dubious shake of his head, “but as long as they’re in the United States we have a chance. If ever they get him on Russian soil it’s all up with him.”

  “Come on then!” cried Ned. “Let’s get busy. What’s the first thing to do?”

  “Look for clues,” replied Tom. “We’ll begin at the top of the house and work down. It’s lucky we came when we did, for every minute counts.”

  Then the two plucky lads began their search for the kidnapped Russian exile. Had those who took him away seen the mere youths who thus devoted themselves to the task, they might have laughed in contempt, but those who know Tom Swift and his sturdy chum, know that two more resourceful and brave lads would be hard to find.

  CHAPTER V

  A CLUE FROM RUSSIA

  “Nothing much up here,” remarked Tom, when he and Ned had gone all over the second floor twice. “That scrap of paper, which put me on to the fact that some one from the Russian government had been here, is about all. They must have taken all the documents Mr. Petrofsky had.”

  “Maybe he didn’t have any,” suggested Ned.

  “If he was wise he’d get rid of them when he knew he was being shadowed, as he told us. Perhaps that was why they broke up the furniture, searching for hidden papers, or they may have done it out of spite because they didn’t find anything. But we might as well go downstairs and look there.”

  But the first floor was equally unproductive of clues, save those already noted, which showed, at least so Tom believed, that Mr. Petrofsky had been surprised and overpowered while at breakfast.

  “Now for outside!” cried the young inventor. “We’ll see if we can figure out how they got him away.”

  There were plenty of marks in the soft ground and turf, which was still damp from the night’s rain, though it was now afternoon. Unfortunately, however, in approaching the house after leaving the aeroplane, Ned and Tom had not thought to exercise caution, and, not suspecting anything wrong, they had stepped on a number of footprints left by the kidnappers.

  But for all that, they saw enough to convince them that several men had been at the lonely house, for there were many marks of shoes. It was out of the question, however, to tell which were those of Mr. Petrofsky and which those of his captors.

  “They might have carried him out to a carriage they had in waiting,” suggested Ned. “Let’s go out to the front gate and look in the road. They hardly would bring the carriage up to the door.”

  “Good idea,” commented Tom, and they hurried to the main thoroughfare that passed the Russian’s house.

  “Here they are!” cried Ned, Who was in the lead. “There’s been a carriage here as sure as you’re a foot high and it’s a rubber-tired one too.”

  “GOOD!” cried Tom admiringly. “You’re coming right along in your detective training. How do you make that out?”

  “See here, where a piece of rubber has been broken or cut out of the tire. It makes a peculiar mark in the dirt every time the wheel goes around.”

  “That’s right, and it will be a good thing to trace the carriage by. Come on, we’ll keep right after it.”

  “Hold on a bit,” su
ggested Ned, who, though not so quick as Tom Swift, frequently produced good results by his very slowness. “Are you going off and leave the airship here for some one to walk off with?”

  “Guess they wouldn’t take it far,” replied the young inventor, “but I’d better make it safe. I’ll disconnect it so they can’t start it, though if Andy Foger happens to come along he might slash the planes just out of spite. But I guess he won’t show up.”

  Tom took a connecting pin out of the electrical apparatus, making it impossible to start the aeroplane, and then, wheeling it out of sight behind a small barn, he and Ned went back to the carriage marks in the road.

  “Hurry!” urged Tom, as he started off in the direction of the village of Hurdtown, near where the cottage stood. “We will ask people living along the highway if they’ve seen a carriage pass.”

  “But what makes you think they went off that way?” asked Ned. “I should think they’d head away from the village, so as not to be seen.”

  “No, I don’t agree with you. But wait, we’ll look at the marks. Maybe that will help us.”

  Peering carefully at the marks of horses’ hoofs and the wheel impressions, Tom uttered a cry of discovery.

  “I have it!” he declared. “The carriage came from the village, and kept right on the other way. You’re right, Ned. They didn’t go back to town.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. You can see for yourself; if the carriage had turned around the track would show, but it doesn’t and, even if they turned on the grass, there’d be two lines of marks—one coming out here and one returning. As it is there is only a single set—just as if the carriage drove up here, took on its load, and continued on. This way, Ned.”

  They hurried down the road, and soon came to a cluster of farm houses. Inquiries there, however, failed to bring anything to light, for either the occupants of the house had failed to notice passing vehicles, or there had been so many that any particular carriage was not recalled. And there were now so many impressions in the soft dirt of the highway—so many wheel tracks and hoof imprints—that it was impossible to pick out those of the carriage with the cut rubber tire. “Well, I guess it isn’t of much use to go on any farther,” spoke Ned, when they had traveled several miles and had learned nothing.