“All right,” replied Ivan Petrofsky, and then there came another sickening roll of the airship, that threatened to turn her completely over.
“Lively!” yelled Tom, clinging to various supports as he made his way to the engine room. “Lively, all hands, or we’ll be awash in another minute!”
And indeed it seemed that this might be so, for with the wind forcing her down, and the hungry waves leaping up, as if to clutch her to themselves, the Falcon was having anything but an easy time of it.
It was the work of but an instant however, when Tom reached the engine room, to jerk the accelerator lever toward him, and the motor responded at once. With a low, humming whine the wheels and gears redoubled their speed, and the great propellers beat the air with fiercer strokes.
At the same time Tom heard the hiss of the gas as it rushed into the envelope from the generating machine, as Ned opened the release valve.
“Now we ought to go up,” the young inventor murmured, as he anxiously watched the barograph, and noted the position of the swinging pendulum which told of the roll and dip of the air craft.
For a moment she hung in the balance, neither the increased speed of the propellers, nor the force of the gas having any seeming effect. Mr. Damon and the Russian, clinging to the rudder levers, to avoid being dashed against the sides of the pilot house, held them as far back as they could, to gain the full power of the elevation planes. But even this seemed to do no good.
The power of the gale was such, that, even with the motor and gas machine working to their limit, the Falcon only held her own. She swept along, barely missing the crests of the giant waves.
“She’s got to go up! She’s got to go up!” cried Tom desperately, as if by very will power he could send her aloft. And then, when there came a lull in the fierce blowing of the wind, the elevation rudder took hold, and like a bird that sees the danger below, and flies toward the clouds, the airship shot up suddenly.
“That’s it!” cried Tom in relief, as he noted the needle of the barograph swinging over, indicating an ever-increasing height. “Now we’re safe.”
They were not quite yet, but at last the power of machinery had prevailed over that of the elements. Through the pelting rain, and amid the glare of the lightning, and the thunder of heaven’s artillery, the airship forced her way, up and up and up.
Setting the motor controller to give the maximum power until he released it, Tom hastened to the gas-generating apparatus. He found Ned attending to it, so that it was now working satisfactorily.
“How about it, Tom?” cried his chum anxiously.
“All right now, Ned, but it was a close shave! I thought we were done for, platinum mine, rescue of exiles, and all.”
“So did I. Shall I keep on with the gas?”
“Yes, until the indicator shows that the bag is full. I’m going to the pilot house.”
Running there, Tom found that Mr. Damon and the Russian had about all they could manage. The young inventor helped them and then, when the Falcon was well started on her upward course, Tom set the automatic steering machine, and they had a breathing spell.
To get above the sweep of the blast was no easy task, for the wind strata seemed to be several miles high, and Tom did not want to risk an accident by going to such an elevation. So, when having gone up about a mile, he found a comparatively calm area he held to that, and the Falcon sped along with the occupants feeling fairly comfortable, for there was no longer that rolling and tumbling motion.
The storm kept up all night, but the danger was practically over, unless something should happen to the machinery, and Tom and Ned kept careful watch to prevent this. In the morning they could look down on the storm-swept ocean below them, and there was a feeling of thankfulness in their hearts that they were not engulfed in it.
“This is a pretty hard initiation for an amateur,” remarked Mr. Petrofsky. “I never imagined I should be as brave as this in an airship in a storm.”
“Oh, you can get used to almost anything,” commented Mr. Damon.
It was three days before the storm blew itself out and then came pleasant weather, during which the Falcon flew rapidly along. Our friends busied themselves about many things, talked of what lay before them, and made such plans as they could.
It was the evening of the fifth day, and they expected to sight the coast of France in the morning. Tom was in the pilot house, setting the course for the night run, and Ned had gone to the engine room to look after the oiling of the motor.
Hardly had he reached the compartment than there was a loud report, a brilliant flash of fire, and the machinery stopped dead.
“What is it?” cried Tom, as he came in on the run, for the indicators in the pilot house had told him something was wrong.
“An accident!” cried Ned. “A breakdown, Tom! What shall we do?”
CHAPTER XIII
SEEKING A QUARREL
There was an ominous silence in the engine room, following the flash and the report. The young inventor took in every bit of machinery in a quick glance, and he saw at once that the main dynamo and magneto had short-circuited, and gone out of commission. Almost instantly the airship began to sink, for the propellers had ceased revolving.
“Bless my barograph!” cried Mr. Damon, appearing on the scene. “We’re sinking, Tom!”
“It’s all right,” answered our hero calmly. “It’s a bad accident, and may delay us, but there’s no danger. Ned, start up the gas machine,” for they were progressing as an aeroplane then. “Start that up, and we’ll drift along as a dirigible.”
“Of course! Why didn’t I think of that!” exclaimed Ned, somewhat provoked at his own want of thought. The airship was going down rapidly, but it was the work of but a moment to start the generator, and then the earthward motion was checked.
“We’ll have to take our chance of being blown to France,” remarked Tom, as he went over to look at the broken electrical machinery. “But we ought to fetch the coast by morning with this wind. Lucky it’s blowing our way.”
“Then you can’t use the propellers?” asked Mr. Petrofsky.
“No,” replied Tom, “but if we get to France I can easily repair this break. It’s the platinum bearings again. I do hope we’ll locate that lost mine, for I need a supply of good reliable metal.
“Then we’ll have to land in France?” asked the Russian, and he seemed a trifle uneasy.
“Yes,” answered Tom. “Don’t you want to?”
“Well, I was thinking of our safety.”
“Bless my silk hat!” cried Mr. Damon. “Where is the danger of landing there? I rather hoped we could spend some time in Paris.”
“There is no particular danger, unless it be comes known that I am an escaped exile, and that we are on our way to Siberia to rescue another one, and try to find the platinum mine. Then we would be in danger.”
“But how are they to know it?” asked Ned, who had come back from the gas machine.
“France, especially in Paris and the larger cities, is a hot-bed of political spies,” answered Mr. Petrofsky. “Russia has many there on the secret police, and while the objectors to the Czar’s government are also there, they could do little to help us.”
“I guess they won’t find out about us unless we give it away,” was Tom’s opinion.
“I’m afraid they will,” was the reply of the Russian. “Undoubtedly word has been cabled by the spies who annoyed us in Shopton, that we are on our way over here. Of course they can’t tell where we might land, but as soon as we do land the news will be flashed all over, and the word will come back that we are enemies of Russia. You can guess the rest.”
“Then let’s go somewhere else,” suggested Mr. Damon.
“It would be the same anywhere in Europe,” replied Ivan Petrofsky. “There are spies in all the large centres.”
“Well, I’ve got to go to Paris, or some large city to get the parts I need,” said Tom. “Unfortunately I didn’t bring any along for the dynamo and ma
gneto, as I should have done, and I can’t get the necessary pieces in a small town. I’ll have to depend on some big machine shop. But we might land in some little-frequented place, and I could go in to town alone.”
“That might answer,” spoke the Russian, and it was decided to try that.
Meanwhile it was somewhat doubtful whether they would reach France, for they were dependent on the wind. But it seemed to be blowing steadily in the desired direction, and Tom noted with satisfaction that their progress was comparatively fast. He tried to repair the broken machinery but found that he could not, though he spent much of the night over it.
“Hurrah!” cried Ned when morning came, and he had taken an observation. “There’s some kind of land over there.”
The wind freshened while they were at breakfast and using more gas so as to raise them higher Tom directed the course of his airship as best he could. He wanted to get high enough so that if they passed over a city they would not be observed.
At noon it could be seen through the glass that they were over the outskirts of some large place, and after the Russian had taken an observation he exclaimed:
“The environs of Paris! We must not land there!”
“We won’t, if the wind holds out,” remarked Tom and this good fortune came to them. They succeeded in landing in a field not far from a small village, and though several farmers wondered much as the sight of the big airship, it was thought by the platinum-seekers that they would be comparatively safe.
“Now to get the first train for Paris and get the things I need,” exclaimed Tom. He set to work taking off the broken pieces that they might be duplicated, and then, having inquired at an inn for the nearest railroad station, and having hired a rig, the young inventor set off.
“Can you speak French?” asked Mr. Petrofsky. “If not I might be of service, but if I go to Paris I might be----”
“Never mind,” interrupted Tom. “I guess I can parley enough to get along with.”
He had a small knowledge of the tongue, and with that, and knowing that English was spoken in many places, he felt that he could make out. And indeed he had no trouble. He easily found his way about the gay capital, and located a machine shop where a specialty was made of parts for automobile and airship motors. The proprietor, knowing the broken pieces belonged to an aeroplane, questioned Tom about his craft but the young inventor knew better than to give any clue that might make trouble, so he returned evasive answers.
It was nearly night when he got back to the place where he had left the Falcon, and he found a curious crowd of rustics grouped about it.
“Has anything happened?” he asked of his friends.
“No, everything is quiet, I’m glad to say,” replied Mr. Petrofsky. “I don’t think our presence will create stir enough so that the news of it will reach the spies in Paris. Still I will feel easier when we’re in the air again.”
“It will take a day to make the repairs,” said Tom, “and put in the new pieces of platinum. But I’ll work as fast as I can.”
He and Ned labored far into the night, and were at it again the next morning. Mr. Damon and the Russian were of no service for they did not understand the machinery well enough. It was while Tom was outside the craft, filing a piece of platinum in an improvised vise, that a poorly-clothed man sauntered up and watched him curiously. Tom glanced at him, and was at once struck by a difference between the man’s attire and his person.
For, though he was tattered and torn, the man’s face showed a certain refinement, and his hands were not those of a farmer or laborer in which character he obviously posed.
“Monsieur has a fine airship there,” he remarked to Tom.
“Oh, yes, it’ll do.” Tom did not want to encourage conversation.
“Doubtless from America it comes?”
The man spoke English but with an accent, and certain peculiarities.
“Maybe so,” replied the young inventor.
“Is it permit to inspect the interior?”
“No, it isn’t,” came from Tom shortly. He had hurt his finger with the file, and he was not in the best of humor.
“Ah, there are secrets then?” persisted the stranger.
“Yes!” said Tom shortly. “I wish you wouldn’t bother me. I’m busy, can’t you see.”
“Ah, does monsieur mean that I have poor eyesight?”
The question was snapped out so suddenly, and with such a menacing tone that Tom glanced up quickly. He was surprised at the look in the man’s eyes.
“Just as you choose to take it,” was the cool answer. “I don’t know anything about your eyes, but I know I’ve got work to do.”
“Monsieur is insulting!” rasped out the seeming farmer. “He is not polite. He is not a Frenchman.”
“Now that’ll do!” cried Tom, thoroughly aroused. “I don’t want to be too short with you, but I’ve really got to get this done. One side, if you please,” and having finished what he was doing, he started toward the airship.
Whether in his haste Tom did not notice where he was going, or whether the man deliberately got in his way I cannot say, but at any rate they collided and the seeming farmer went spinning to one side, falling down.
“Monsieur has struck me! I am insulted! You shall pay for this!” he cried, jumping to his feet, and making a rush for our hero.
“All right. It was your own fault for bothering me but if you want anything I’ll give it to you!” cried Tom, striking a position of defense.
The man was about to rush at him, and there would have been a fight in another minute, had not Mr. Petrofsky, stepping to the open window of the pilot house, called out:
“Tom! Tom! Come here, quick. Never mind him!”
Swinging away from the man, the young inventor rushed toward the airship. As he entered the pilot house he noticed that his late questioner was racing off in the direction of the village.
“What is it? What’s the matter?” he asked of the Russian. “Is something more wrong with the airship?”
“No, I just wanted to get you away from that man.
“Oh, I could take care of myself.”
“I know that, but don’t you see what his game was? I listened to him. He was seeking a quarrel with you.”
“A quarrel?”
“Yes. He is a police spy. He wanted to get you into a fight and then he and you would be arrested by the local authorities. They’d clap you into jail, and hold us all here. It’s a game! They suspect us, Tom! The Russian spies have had some word of our presence! We must get away as quickly as we can!”
CHAPTER XIV
HURRIED FLIGHT
The announcement of Ivan Petrofsky came to Tom with startling suddenness. He could say nothing for a moment, and then, as he realized what it meant, and as he recalled the strange appearance and actions of the man, he understood the danger.
“Was he a spy?” he asked.
“I’m almost sure he was,” came the answer. “He isn’t one of the villagers, that’s sure, and he isn’t a tourist. No one else would be in this little out-of-the-way place but a police official. He is in disguise, that is certain.”
“I believe so,” agreed Tom. “But what was his game?”
“We are suspected,” replied the Russian. “I was afraid a big airship couldn’t land anywhere, in France without it becoming known. Word must have been sent to Paris in the night, and this spy came out directly.”
“But what will happen now?”
“Didn’t you see where he headed for? The village. He has gone to send word that his trick failed. There will be more spies soon, and we may be detained or thrown into jail on some pretext or other. They may claim that we have no license, or some such flimsy thing as that. Anything to detain us. They are after me, of course, and I’m sorry that I made you run such danger. Perhaps I’d better leave you, and—”
“No, you don’t!” cried Tom heartily. “We’ll all hang together or we’ll hang separately’, as Benjamin Franklin or some of those
old chaps once remarked. I’m not the kind to desert a friend in the face of danger.”
“Bless my revolver! I should say not!” cried Mr. Damon. “What’s it all about? Where’s the danger?”
They told him as briefly as possible, and Ned, who had been working in the motor room, was also informed.
“Well, what’s to be done?” asked Tom. “Had we better get out our ammunition, or shall I take out a French license.”
“Neither would do any good,” answered the Russian. “I appreciate your sticking by me, and if you are resolved on that the only thing to do is to complete the repairs as soon as possible and get away from here.”
“That’s it!” cried Ned. “A quick flight. We can get more gasolene here, for lots of autos pass along the road through the village. I found that out. Then we needn’t stop until we hit the trail for the mine in Siberia!”
“Hush!” cautioned the Russian. “You can’t tell who may be sneaking around to listen. But we ought to leave as soon as we can.”
“And we will,” said Tom. “I’ve got the magneto almost fixed!”
“Let’s get a hustle on then!” urged Ned. “That fellow meant business from his looks. The nerve of him to try to pick a quarrel that way.”
“I might have told by his manner that something was wrong,” commented Tom, “but I thought he was a fresh tramp and I didn’t take any pains in answering him. But come on, Ned, get busy.”
They did, with such good effect that by noon the machinery was in running shape again, and so far there had been no evidence of the return of the spy. Doubtless he was waiting for instructions, and something might happen any minute.
“Now, Ned, if you’ll see to having some gasolene brought out here, and the tanks filled, I’ll tinker with the dynamo and get that in running shape,” said Tom. “It only needs a little adjustment of the brushes. Then we’ll be off.”
Ned started for the village where there was a gasolene depot. He fancied the villagers regarded him rather curiously, but he did not stop to ask what it meant. Another odd fact was that the usual crowd of curious rustics about the airship was missing. It was as though they suspected trouble might come, and they did not want to be mixed up in it.
The Tom Swift Megapack Page 146