“No, but there are a whole lot of Custom House detectives in town, looking for clues to the smugglers.”
“Still at it, eh? Shopton can’t seem to keep out of the limelight. Has anything new turned up?”
“Yes. I just met Mr. Whitford. He’s back on the case and he has several men with him. They received word that some smuggled goods came to Shopton, and were shipped out of here again.”
“How, by airship?”
“No, by horse and wagon. A lot of cases of valuable silks imported from England to Canada, where the duty is light, were slipped over the border somehow, in airships, it is thought. Then they came here by freight, labeled as calico, and when they reached this town they were taken away in a wagon.”
“But how did they get here?”
“On the railroad, of course, but the freight people had no reason to suspect them.”
“And where were they taken from the freight station?”
“That’s what the customs authorities want to find out. They think there’s some secret place here, where the goods are stored and reshipped. That’s why so many detectives are here. They are after the smugglers hot-footed.”
CHAPTER V
THE RAID
Tom Swift dropped the tool he was using, and came over to where Ned stood, his chum having vaulted in through the open window.
“Ned,” said the young inventor, “there’s something queer about this business.”
“I’m beginning to think so myself, Tom. But just what do you mean?”
“I mean it’s queer that the smugglers should pick out a place like Shopton—a small town—for their operations, or part of them, when there are so many better places. We’re quite a distance from the Canadian border. Say, Ned, where was it that Mr. Foger moved to? Hogan’s alley, or some such name as that; wasn’t it?”
“Logansville, this state, was the place. I once saw Tom Snedecker mail Andy a letter addressed to there. But what has that to do with it?”
Tom’s answer was to turn to a large map on the wall of his shop. With a long stick he pointed out the city of Logansville.
“That isn’t very far from the Canadian border; is it, Ned?” he asked.
“Say, what are you driving at, Tom? It’s right on the border between New York and Canada, according to that map.”
“Well, that’s a good map, and you can be sure it is nearly right. And, look here. There’s the town of Montford, in Canada, almost opposite Logansville.”
“Well?”
“Oh, nothing, only I’m going to see Mr. Whitford.”
“What do you mean, Tom?”
“I mean that the something queer part about this business may be explained. They have traces of the smugglers sending their goods to Shopton to be re-shipped here, to avoid suspicion, probably. They have a suspicion that airships are used to get the goods over the Canadian border at night.”
“But,” broke in Ned, “the government agent said that it was across the St. Lawrence River they brought them. Montford is quite a distance from the river. I suppose the smugglers take the goods from the river steamers, land them, pack them in airships, and fly across with them. But if you’re trying to connect the Fogers, and Logansville, and Montford with the smugglers, I don’t see where it comes in with the St. Lawrence, and the airships, Tom.”
“Forget that part of it for a while, Ned. Maybe they are all off on airships, anyhow. I don’t take much stock in that theory, though it may be true.”
“Just think of the Fogers,” went on Tom. “Mr. Foger has lost all his money, he lives in a town near the Canadian border, it is almost certain that smuggled goods have been shipped here. Mr. Foger has a deserted house here, and—see the connection?”
“By Jove, Tom, I believe you’re right!” cried his chum. “Maybe the airships aren’t in it after all, and Andy is only making a bluff at having his repaired, to cover up some other operations in the house.”
“I believe so.”
“But that would mean that Mr. Dillon, the carpenter is not telling the truth, and I can’t believe that of him.”
“Oh, I believe he’s honest, but I think Andy is fooling him. Mr. Dillon doesn’t know much about airships, and Andy may have had him doing something in the house, telling him it was repair work on an airship, when, as a matter of fact, the carpenter might be making boxes to ship the goods in, or constructing secret places in which to hide them.”
“I don’t believe it, Tom. But I agree with you that there is something queer going on in Shopton. The Fogers may, or may not, be connected with it. What are you going to do?”
“I’m first going to have a talk with Mr. Whitford. Then I’m going to see if I can’t prove, or disprove, that the Fogers are concerned in the matter. If they’re not, then some one else in Shopton must be guilty. But I’m interested, because I have been brought into this thing in a way, and I want it sifted to the bottom.”
“Then you’re going to see Mr. Whitford?”
“I am, and I’m going to tell him what I think. Come on, we’ll look him up now.”
“But your noiseless airship?”
“Oh, that’s all right. It’s nearly finished anyhow, I’ve just got a little more work on the carburetor. That will keep. Come on, we’ll find the government agent.”
But Mr. Whitford was not at the hotel where he and the other custom inspectors had put up. They made no secret of their presence in Shopton, and all sorts of rumors were flying about regarding them. Mr. Whitford, the hotel clerk said, had gone out of town for the day, and, as Ned and Tom did not feel like telling their suspicions to any of the other agents, they started back home.
“I understand they’re going to search every house in Shopton, before they go away,” said the clerk to the boys. “They are going to look for smuggled goods.”
“They are; eh?” exclaimed Colonel Henry Denterby, who had fought in the Civil War. “Search my house; eh? Well I guess not! A man’s house is his castle, sir! That’s what it is. No one shall enter mine, no matter if he is a government official, unless I give him permission, sir! And I won’t do that, sir! I’ll be revolutionized if I do! No, sir!”
“Why, you haven’t any smuggled goods concealed, have you, Colonel?” slyly asked a hotel lounger.
“Smuggled goods? What do you mean, sir?” cried the veteran, who was something of a fire-eater. “No, sir! Of course not, sir! I pay my taxes, sir; and all my debts. But no government spy is going to come into my house, and upset everything, sir, looking for smuggled goods, sir. No, sir!”
Some were of one opinion, and some another, and there was quite a discussion underway concerning the rights of the custom officers, as the boys came out of the hotel.
Likewise there was talk about who might be the guilty ones, but no names were mentioned, at least openly.
“Let’s go past the Foger house on our way back,” proposed Ned, and as he and Tom came in front of it, they heard a pounding going on within, but saw no signs of Andy or the carpenter.
“They’re keeping mighty close,” commented Tom.
The two boys worked that afternoon on the new airship, and in the evening, when Ned came over, Tom proposed that they make another attempt to see Mr. Whitford.
“I want to get this thing off my mind,” spoke the young inventor, and he and his chum started for the hotel. Once more they passed the Foger house. It was in darkness, but, as the two lads stood watching, they saw a flash of a light, as if it came through a crack in a shutter or a shade.
“Some one is in there,” declared Tom.
“Yes, probably Andy is getting his own supper. It’s queer he wants to lead that sort of a life. Well, everyone to their notion, as the old lady said when she kissed the cow.”
They stood for a few minutes watching the old mansion, and then went on. As they passed down a lane, to take a short cut, they approached a small house, that, in times past, had been occupied by the gardener of the Foger estate. Now, that too, was closed. But, in front of it stood a wagon with a big ca
nvass cover over it, and, as the lads came nearer, the wagon drove off quickly, and in silence. At the same time a door in the gardener’s house was heard to shut softly.
“Did you see that?” cried Ned.
“Yes, and did you hear that?” asked Tom.
“They’re carting stuff away from the old gardener’s house,” went on Ned. “Maybe it’s there that the smugglers are working from! Let’s hurry to see Mr. Whitford.”
“Hold on!” exclaimed Tom in a whisper. “I’ve got one suggestion. Ned. Let’s tell all we know, and what we think may be the case, but don’t make any rash statements. We might be held responsible. Tell what we have seen, and let the government men do the rest.”
“All right. I’m willing.”
They watched the wagon as it passed on out of sight in the darkness, and then hurried on to see Mr. Whitford. To say that the custom officer was astonished at what the boys related to him, is putting it mildly. He was much excited.
“I think we’re on the right trail!” he exclaimed. “You may have done a big service for Uncle Sam. Come on!”
“Where?” the boys asked him.
“We’ll make a raid on the old Foger home, and on the gardener’s house at once. We may catch the rascals red-handed. You can have the honor of representing Uncle Sam. I’ll make you assistant deputies for the night. Here are some extra badges I always carry,” and he pinned one each on the two young men.
Mr. Whitford quietly summoned several of his men to his hotel room, and imparted to them what he had learned. They were eager for the raid, and it was decided to go to the Foger home, and the other house at once, first seeking to gain an entrance to the mansion.
Accompanied by Tom and Ned, Mr. Whitford left the hotel. There were few persons about, and no attention was attracted. The other agents left the hotel one by one, and in the darkness gathered about the seemingly deserted mansion.
“Stand ready now, men,” whispered Mr. Whitford. “Tom, Ned and I will go up the steps first, and knock. If they don’t let us in I’m going to smash the door. Then you follow.”
Rather excited by what was about to take place, the two chums accompanied the chief custom agent. He rapped loudly on the door of the house, where only darkness showed.
There was a moment of silence, and then a voice which Tom and Ned recognized as that of Andy Foger, asked:
“What do you want?”
“We want to come in,” replied Mr. Whitford.
“But who are you?”
“Uncle Sam’s officers, from the custom house.”
Tom distinctly heard a gasp of surprise on the other side of the portal, and then a bolt was drawn. The door was thrown back, and there, confronting the two lads and Mr. Whitford, were Andy Foger and his father.
CHAPTER VI
THE APPEAL TO TOM
“Well, what does this mean?” asked Mr. Foger in indignant tones, as he faced the custom officer and Tom and Ned. “What do you mean by coming to my house at this hour, and disturbing me? I demand an answer!”
“And you shall have it,” replied Mr. Whitford calmly. He was used to dealing with “indignant” persons, who got very much on their dignity when accused of smuggling. “We are here, Mr. Foger, because of certain information we have received, and we must ask you to submit to some questions, and allow your house to be searched.”
“What! You question me? Search this house? That is an indignity to which I will not submit!”
“You will have to, Mr. Foger. I have ample authority for what I am doing, and I am backed by the most powerful government in the world. I also have plenty of help with me.”
Mr. Whitford blew his whistle, and at once his several deputies came running up.
“You see I am well prepared to meet force with force, Mr. Foger,” said the chief agent, calmly.
“Force! What do you mean, sir?”
“I mean that I have certain information against you. There has been smuggling going on from Canada into the United States.”
“Canada? What have I to do with Canada?”
“You don’t live far from there,” said Mr. Whitford significantly. “Airships have been used. Your son has one, but I don’t believe that figured in the game. But two friends of mine saw something tonight that made me decide on this raid. Tom and Ned, tell Mr. Foger what you saw.”
The agent stepped back, so that the two lads could be seen. There was another gasp of surprise, this time from Andy Foger, who had remained in the background.
“Tom Swift!” gasped the bully.
“Tell them what you saw. Tom,” went on the agent, and Tom and Ned by turns, relayed the incident of the wagon load of goods driving away from the gardener’s house.
“This, with what has gone before, made us suspicious,” said Mr. Whitford. “So we decided on a raid. If you are not willing to let us in peaceably, we will come by force.”
“By all means come in!” was the unexpected reply of Mr. Foger, as he stepped back, and opened wider the door. “Andy, these are some friends of yours, are they not?”
“Friends? I guess not!” exclaimed Andy with a sneer. “I won’t even speak to them.”
“Not much lost,” commented Tom with a laugh.
“Search the house!” ordered Mr. Whitford sharply.
“I’ll show you around,” offered Mr. Foger.
“We can find our way,” was the curt rejoinder of the chief agent.
“The place is deserted,” went on Mr. Foger. “My son and I are just living here until certain repairs are made, when I am going to make another effort to sell it.”
“Yes, we knew it was being repaired, and that your son was staying here,” said Mr. Whitford, “But we did not expect to see you.”
“I—er—that is—I came on unexpectedly,” said Mr. Foger. “You may look about all you wish. You will find nothing wrong here.”
And they did not, strange to say. There was considerable litter in many of the rooms, and in one was Andy’s airship in parts. Clearly work was being done on that, and Mr. Dillon’s story was confirmed, for tools, with his initials burned in the handles, were lying about.
The custom men, with Tom and Ned, went all over the house. Andy scowled blackly at our hero, but said nothing. Mr. Foger seemed anxious to show everything, and let the men go where they would. Finally a tour of the house had been completed, and nothing of a suspicious nature was found.
“I guess we’ll just take a look at the roof, and see that airship platform your son is going to use,” said Mr. Whitford, in rather disappointed tones, when he had found nothing.
“It isn’t started yet,” said Andy.
But they all went up through a scuttle, nevertheless, and saw where some posts had been made fast to the roof, to provide a platform foundation.
“I’ll beat you all to pieces when I get flying,” said the bully to Tom, as they went down the scuttle again.
“I’m not in the racing game any more,” replied Tom coldly. “Besides I only race with my friends.”
“Huh! Afraid of getting beat!” sneered Andy.
“Well. I guess there’s nothing here,” said Mr. Whitford to Mr. Foger, as they stood together in the front room.
“No, I knew you’d find nothing, and you have had your trouble for your pains.”
“Oh, Uncle Sam doesn’t mind trouble.”
“And you have caused me much annoyance!” said Mr. Foger sharply.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to cause you more,” was the agent’s comment. “I want to have a look in the gardener’s house, from where Tom Swift saw the load going away.”
“There is nothing there!” declared Mr. Foger quickly. “That is, nothing but some old furniture. I sold a lot of it, and I suppose the man who bought it came for it tonight.”
“We’ll take a look,” repeated the agent, “I am very fond of old furniture.”
“Very well,” responded the bully’s father, as he eyed Tom and Ned blackly.
He led the way out of the house,
and soon they stood before the small cottage. It was dark, and when Mr. Foger unlocked the door he turned on the gas, and lighted it.
“I left the gas on until all the furniture should be taken out,” he explained. “But you will find nothing here.”
It needed but a glance about the place to show that only some odds and ends of furniture was all that it contained.
“Where does this door lead to,” asked Mr. Whitford, when he had made a tour of the place.
“Nowhere. Oh, that is only down into the cellar.” was the reply. “There is nothing there.”
“We can’t take anything for granted,” went on the agent with a smile. “I’ll take a look down there.”
He descended with some of his men. Tom and Ned remained in the kitchen of the cottage, while Andy and his father conversed in low tones, occasionally casting glances at our heroes. Once Tom thought Mr. Foger looked apprehensively toward the door, through which the custom men had descended. He also appeared to be anxiously listening.
But when Mr. Whitford came back, with a disappointed look on his face, and said there was nothing to be found, Mr. Foger smiled:
“What did I tell you?” he asked triumphantly.
“Never mind,” was the retort of Uncle Sam’s man. “We are not through with Shopton yet.”
“I’m sorry we gave you so much trouble on a false clue,” said Tom, as he and Ned left the Foger premises with Mr. Whitford, the other deputies following.
“That’s all right, Tom. We have to follow many false clues. I’m much obliged to you. Either we were on the wrong track, or the Fogers are more clever than I gave them credit for. But I am not done yet. I have something to propose to you. It has come to me in the last few minutes. I saw you in your airship once, and I know you know how to manage such craft. Now there is no question in my mind but what the smugglers are using airships. Tom, will you undertake a mission for Uncle Sam?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean will you go to the border, in your airship, and try to catch the smugglers? I can promise you a big reward, and much fame if we catch them. An airship is just what is needed. You are the one to do it. Will you?”
CHAPTER VII
A SEARCHLIGHT IS NEEDED
The Tom Swift Megapack Page 181