The Tom Swift Megapack

by Victor Appleton

  “Oh. we’ll look, all right,” assented Tom, “but I doubt if we find anything.”

  And he was right. They walked in and about the little grove, flashing the light at intervals, but beyond marks of auto wheels in the dust of the road, which was near the clump of maples, there was nothing to indicate what had happened.

  “Though there was some sort of fracas,” declared Tom. “Look where the dust is trampled down. There were several men here, perhaps skylarking, or perhaps it was a fight.”

  “Some one must have been hurt, or they wouldn’t have cried for help,” said Mr. Damon.

  “Well, that’s so. But perhaps it was some one not used to riding in autos, and he may have imagined the accident was worse than it was, and called for help involuntarily. There is no evidence of any serious accident having happened—no spots of blood, at any rate,” and Tom laughed at his own grimness. “It was a new car, too, or at least one with new tires on.”

  “How do you know?” asked Mr. Damon.

  “Tell by the plain marks of the rubber tread in the dust,” was the answer. “Look,” and Tom pointed to the wheel marks in the focus of his electric lamp. “It’s a new tire, too, with square protuberances on the tread instead of the usual diamond or round ones. A new kind of tire, all right.”

  He and Mr. Damon remained for a few minutes looking about the place whence had come the calls for help, and then the eccentric man remarked:

  “Well, as long as we can’t do anything here, Tom, we might as well travel on; what do you say?”

  “I agree with you. There isn’t any use in staying. We’ll get the Air Scout fixed up and travel back home. But this was something queer,” mused Tom. “I hope it doesn’t turn out later that a crime has been committed, and we didn’t show enough gumption to prevent it.”

  “We couldn’t prevent it. We heard the cries as soon as we landed.”

  “Yes, but if we had rushed over at once we might have caught the fellows. But I guess it was only a slight accident, and some one was more frightened than hurt. We’ll have to let it go at that.”

  But the more he thought about it the more Tom Swift thought there was something queer in that weird cry for help on the lonely meadow in the darkness of the night.

  CHAPTER XIV

  THE TELEPHONE CALL

  The defect in the motor which had caused Tom Swift to shut off the power and drift down to earth was soon remedied, once the young inventor began an examination of the craft. One of the oil feeds had become choked and this automatically cut down the gasoline supply, causing one or more cylinders to miss. It was a safety device Tom had installed to prevent the motor running dry, and so being damaged.

  Once the clogged oil feed was cleared the motor ran as before, and just as silently, though, as Tom had said, he was not entirely satisfied with the quietness, but intended to do further work toward perfecting it.

  “I’ll start the propellers now, Mr. Damon,” said Tom, when the trouble had been remedied. “You know how to throw the switch, don’t you?”

  “I guess so,” was the answer. Mr. Damon and Tom had traveled so often together in gasoline craft that the young inventor had taught his friend certain fundamentals about them, and in an emergency the eccentric man could help start an aeroplane. This he now did, taking charge of the controls which could be operated from his seat as well as from Tom’s. Tom whirled the propellers, and soon the motor was in motion.

  Mr. Damon, once the big wooden blades were revolving, slowed down the apparatus until Tom could jump aboard, after which the latter took charge and soon speeded up the machine, sending it aloft.

  As the green meadow, dimly seen in the light of the moon, seemed to drop away below them, and the clump of trees vanished from sight, both Tom and Mr. Damon wondered who it was that had called for help, and if the matter were at all serious. They were inclined to think it was not, but Tom could not rid himself of a faint suspicion that there might have been trouble.

  However, thoughts of his new silent Air Scout soon drove everything else from his mind, and as he guided the comparatively silent machine on its quiet way toward his own home he was thinking how he could best improve the muffler.

  “Well, here we are again, safe and sound,” remarked Tom, as he brought the craft to a stop in front of the hangar, and Jackson and his helpers, who were awaiting the return, hurried out to take charge.

  “Yes, everything seems to point to success, Tom,” agreed Mr. Damon. “That is, unless the slight accident we had means trouble.”

  “Oh, no, that had nothing to do with the operation of the silencer. But I’m going to do better yet. Some day I’ll take you for a ride in a silent machine which will make so little noise that you can hear a pin drop.”

  “Well,” remarked Mr. Damon’ with a laugh, “I don’t know that listening to falling pins will give me any great amount of pleasure, Tom, but I appreciate your meaning.”

  “Everything all right?” asked Mr. Swift, as he came out to hear the details from his son. “Do you think you have solved the problem?”

  “Not completely, but I’ll soon be able to write Q. E. D. after it. Some refinements are all that are needed, Dad.”

  “Glad to hear it. I was a bit anxious.”

  Mr. Swift questioned his son about the technical details of the trip, asking how the motor had acted under the pressure caused by so completely muffling the exhaust, and for some minutes the two inventors, young and old, indulged in talk which was not at all interesting to Mr. Damon. They went into the house, and Tom asked to have a little lunch, which Mrs. Baggert set out for him.

  “It’s rather late to eat,” said the young inventor, “but I always feel hungry after I test a new machine and find that it works pretty well. Will you join me in a sandwich or two, Mr. Damon?”

  “Why, bless my ketchup bottle, I believe I will.”

  And so they ate and talked. Tom was on the point of telling his father something of the queer cry for help they had heard on the lonely meadow when Mrs. Baggert produced a letter which she said had come for Tom that afternoon, but had been mislaid by a new maid who had been engaged to help with the housework.

  “She took it to the shop after you had left, and only now told me about it,” explained Mrs. Baggert. “So I sent Eradicate for it.”

  “How long ago was that?” asked Tom, as he took the missive.

  “Oh, an hour ago,” answered Mrs. Baggert, with a smile. “But don’t blame poor Rad for that. He wanted to deliver the letter to you personally, and so did Koku. The result was your giant kept after Rad, trying to get the letter from him, and Rad kept hiding and slinking about for a chance to see you himself until I saw what was going on, a little while ago, and took the letter myself. Else you might never have gotten it, so jealous are those two,” and Mrs. Baggert laughed.

  “Guess it isn’t of much importance,” Tom said, as he tore open the envelope. “It’s from the Universal Flying Machine Company, of New York, and I imagine they’re trying to get me to reconsider my refusal to link up with them.”

  “Yes,” he went on, as he read the missive, “that’s it. They’ve raised the amount to thirty thousand a year now, Dad, and they say they feel sure I shall regret it if I do not accept.

  “This is a bit queer, though,” went on the young inventor. “This letter was written three days ago, but it reached Shopton only today. And it says that unless they hear from me at once they will have to take steps that will cause me great inconvenience. They have nerve, at any rate, and impudence, too! I won’t even bother to answer. But I wonder what they mean, and why this letter was delayed?”

  “The mails are all late on account of the transportation congestion caused by moving troops to the camps,” said Mr. Damon. “Some of my letters are delayed a week. But, as you say, Tom, these fellows are very impudent to threaten that way.”

  “It’s all bluff,” declared Tom. “I’m not worrying. And now, Dad, since I’ve almost reached the top of the hill with my Air Scout, I may
be able to help you on that new electric motor you’re puzzling over.”

  “I wish you would, Tom. I am trying to invent a new system of interchangeable brush contacts, but so far I’ve been unable to make them work. However, there is no great hurry about that. If you are going to offer your silent machine to the government finish that first. We need all the aircraft we can get. The battles on the other side seem to be all in favor of the Germans, so far.”

  “We haven’t got into our stride yet,” declared Mr. Damon. “Once Uncle Sam gets the boys over there in force, there’ll be a different story to tell. I only wish—”

  At that moment the telephone set up an insistent ringing, breaking in on Mr. Damon’s remarks.

  “I’ll answer,” said Tom, as Mrs. Baggert moved toward the instrument, which was an extension from the main one.

  “Hello!” called the young inventor into the transmitter, and as he received an answer a look of pleasure came over his face.

  “Yes, Mary, this is Tom,” he said. He remained silent a moment, while it was evident he was listening to the voice at the other end of the wire. Then he suddenly exclaimed:

  “What’s that? Tell him to come home? Why, he isn’t here. I just came in and—what—wait a minute!”

  With a rather strange look on his face Tom covered the mouth-piece of the instrument with his hand, and, turning to his father, asked:

  “Is Mr. Nestor here?”

  “No,” replied Mr. Swift slowly, “He was here, though. He came a little while after you and Mr. Damon started off in the Air Scout. But he didn’t stay. Said he wanted to see you about something and would call again.”

  “Oh,” remarked the young man. “I didn’t know he had been there.”

  “I meant to tell you,” said Mrs. Baggert; “but getting the lunch made me forget it, I guess.”

  Tom uncovered the transmitter of the telephone again, and spoke to Mary Nestor.

  “Hello,” he said. “I was wrong, Mary. Your father was here, but he left when he found I wasn’t at home. How long ago? Wait a minute and I’ll inquire.

  “How long ago did Mr. Nestor leave?” asked the young inventor of the housekeeper. “Nearly an hour,” he said into the instrument, after he had received the answer. Then, after listening a moment, he added: “Yes, I guess he’ll be home soon now. Probably stopped down town to see some of his friends. Yes, Mr. Damon and I tried out the Air Scout. Yes, she worked pretty well, for a starter, but there is something yet to be done. Oh, yes, now I’ll have time to come over to see you, and take you for a ride too. We won’t have to talk through a speaking tube, either. Tell your father I am sorry I was out when he called. I’ll come to see him tomorrow, if he wants me to. Yes—yes. I guess so!” and Tom laughed, it being evident that his remarks at the end of the conversation had to do with personal matters.

  “A telegram has come for Mr. Nestor and they were anxious that he should get it,” Tom explained to his little audience as he hung up the receiver and put aside the telephone. “I wonder what he wanted to see me about?”

  “He didn’t say,” replied Mrs. Baggert.

  Mr. Damon, Tom, and his father remained in conversation a little while longer, and the eccentric man was thinking that it was about time for him to return home, when the telephone rang again.

  “Hello,” answered Tom, as he was nearest the instrument. “Oh, yes, Mary, this is he. What’s that? Your father hasn’t reached home yet? And your mother is worried? Oh tell her there is no cause for alarm. As I said, he probably stopped on his way to see some friends.”

  Tom listened for perhaps half a minute to a talk that was inaudible to the others in the room, and they noticed a grave look come over his face. Then he said:

  “I’ll be right over, Mary. Yes, I’ll come at once. And tell your mother not to worry. I’m sure nothing could have happened. I’ll be with you in a jiffy!”

  As Tom Swift hung up the receiver he said:

  “Mr. Nestor hasn’t reached home yet, and as he promised to return at once in case he didn’t find me, his wife is much worried. I’ll go over and see what I can do.”

  “I’ll come along!” volunteered Mr. Damon. “It isn’t late yet.”

  “Yes, do come,” urged Tom. “But I suppose when we get there we’ll find our friend has arrived safely. We’ll go over in the electric runabout.”

  CHAPTER XV

  A VAIN SEARCH

  Tom Swift’s speedy little electric car was soon at the door in readiness to take him and Mr. Damon to the Nestor home. The electric runabout was a machine Tom had evolved in his early inventive days, and though he had other automobiles, none was quite so fast or so simple to run as this, which well merited the name of the most rapid machine on the road. In it Tom had once won a great race, as has been related in the book bearing the title, “Tom Swift and His Electric Runabout.”

  “Mary didn’t telephone again, did she?” Tom asked his father, as he stopped at the house to get Mr. Damon, having gone out to see about getting the electric runabout in readiness.

  “No,” was the answer. “The telephone hasn’t rung since.”

  “Then, I guess, Mr. Nestor can’t have arrived home,” said Tom. “It’s a bit queer, his delay, but I’m sure it will be explained naturally. Only Mary and her mother are alone and, very likely, they’re nervous. I’ll telephone to let you know everything is all right as soon as I get there,” Tom promised his father and Mrs. Baggert as he drove off down the road, partly illuminated by the new moon.

  Rapidly and almost as silently as his Air Scout Tom Swift drove the speedy car down the highway. It was about three miles from his home to that of Mary Nestor, and though the distance was quickly covered, to Tom, at least, the space seemed interminable. But at length he drove up to the door. There were lights in most of the rooms, which was unusual at this time of night.

  The sound of the wheels had not ceased echoing on the gravel of the drive before Mary was out on the porch, which she illuminated by an overhead light.

  “Oh, Tom,” she cried, “he hasn’t come yet, and we are so worried! Did you see anything of father as you came along?”

  “No,” was Tom’s answer. “But we didn’t look for him along the road, as we came by the turnpike, and he wouldn’t travel that way. But he will be along at any moment now. You must remember it’s quite a walk from my house, and—”

  “But he was on his bicycle,” said Mary. “We wanted him to go in the auto, but he said he wanted some exercise after supper, and he went over on his wheel. He said he’d be right back, but he hasn’t come yet.”

  “Oh, he will!” said Tom reassuringly. “He may have had a puncture, or something like that. Bicyclists are just as liable to them as autoists,” he added with a laugh.

  “Well, I’m sure I hope it will be all right,” sighed Mary. “I wish you could convince mother to that effect. She’s as nervous as a cat. Come in and tell us what to do.”

  “Oh, he’ll be all right,” declared Mr. Damon, adding his assurances to Tom’s.

  They found Mrs. Nestor verging on an attack of hysteria. Though Mr. Nestor often went out during the evening, he seldom stayed late.

  “And he said he’d be right back if he found you weren’t at home, Tom,” said Mrs. Nestor. “I’m sure I don’t know what can be keeping him!”

  “It’s too soon to get worried yet,” replied the young inventor cheerfully. “I’ll wait a little while, and then, if he doesn’t come, Mr. Damon and I will go back over the road and look carefully. He may have had a slight fall—sprained his ankle or something like that—and not be able to ride. We came by the turnpike, a road he probably wouldn’t take on his wheel. He’s all right, you may be sure of that.”

  Tom tried to speak reassuringly, but somehow, he did not believe himself. He was beginning to think more and more how strange it was that Mr. Nestor did not return home.

  “We’ll wait just a bit longer before setting out on a search,” he told Mary and her mother. “But I’m sure he will
be along any minute now.”

  They went into the library, Mary and her mother, Tom and Mr. Damon. And there they sat waiting. Tom tried to entertain Mary and Mrs. Nestor with an account of his trial trip in the Air Scout, but the two women scarcely heard what he said.

  All sat watching the clock, and looking from that to the telephone, which they tried to hope would ring momentarily and transmit to them good news. Then they would listen for the sound of footsteps or bicycle wheels on the gravel walk. But they heard nothing, and as the seconds were ticked off on the clock the nervousness of Mrs. Nestor increased, until she exclaimed:

  “I can stand it no longer! We must notify the police—or do something!”

  “I wouldn’t notify the police just yet,” counseled Tom. “Mr. Damon and I will start out and look along the road. If it should happen, as will probably turn out to be the case, that Mr. Nestor has met with only a simple accident, he would not like the notoriety, or publicity, of having the police notified.”

  “No, I am sure he would not,” agreed Mary. “Tom’s way is best, Mother.”

  “All right, just as you say, only find my husband,” and Mrs. Nestor sighed, and turned her head away.

  “Even if Mr. Nestor had had a fall,” reasoned Tom, “he could call for help, and get some one to telephone, unless—”

  And as he reasoned thus Tom Swift gave a mental start at his own use of the word “help.”

  That weird cry on the lonely meadow came back to him with startling distinctness.

  “Come on, Mr. Damon!” cried Tom, in a voice he tried to make cheerful. “We’ll find that Mr. Nestor is probably walking along, carrying his disabled bicycle instead of having it carry him. We’ll soon have him safe back to you,” he called to the two women.

  “I wish I could go with you, and help search,” observed Mary.

  “Oh, I couldn’t bear to be left alone!” exclaimed her mother.

  “We’ll telephone as soon as we find him,” called Tom to Mrs. Nestor, as he and Mr. Damon again got into the runabout and started away from the place.

  “What do you think of it, Tom?” asked the eccentric man, when they were once more on the road.