NED DISAPPEARS
SCARCELY had the echoes of the explosion in Tom Swift’s laboratory died
away, being swallowed up in the blackness and silence of the night, than
members of the Swift household began stirring.
Mr. Swift, Tom’s aged and rather infirm father, sat up in bed and
called:
“What was that? Thunder?”
“No, Massa Swift,” answered Eradicate, the faithful colored servant,
who, now that Mr. Swift had declined so, was his personal attendant,
sleeping in the next room. “No, Massa Swift,” he repeated. “Dat wa’n’t
no thunder.”
By this time Eradicate was moving about and fumbling for a light. Mr.
Swift, however, had reached up and switched on the reading lamp attached
to the head of his bed.
“What was it then?” asked the aged inventor, for Mr. Swift had begun
invention work when Tom was a mere baby.
“I spects, Massa, dat it was somethin’ Tom been doin’ out in his
lab’tory,” the colored man answered. He had his own light on now and was
beginning to dress, preparatory to making an investigation.
“If Tom was in the midst of anything that made a noise like that he must
be hurt!” declared Mr. Swift. “That was a sharp explosion. Hurry, Rad,
and see what it was.”
“Yes, sah, Massa Swift, I’s a-hurryin’!” answered Eradicate.
From a room farther down the hall in the Swift home came a deep, heavy
voice exclaiming:
“Fire! Fire! Koku see much blaze!”
Koku was a gigantic specimen of a man whom Tom had brought back with him
from an airship trip to a distant, mysterious land. The giant was rather
simple, and never seemed to be able to master the English language. But
he was a faithful servant and, because of his enormous strength, Tom
frequently used Koku as a guard about the plant.
“Fire?” cried Mr. Swift, fumbling for his clothes. “Is there a fire,
Koku?”
“Much blaze in Master Tom’s workshop,” the giant replied. He could not
twist his tongue around “laboratory.”
“Dey suah is a fire!” cried Eradicate, running to his window. “By golly,
whole place looks like it was burnin’!”
By this time Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper, several other servants, and
Garret Jackson, the shop manager and superintendent, who was spending
the night at the Swift home, had been aroused. Several workmen in the
Swift plant, who lived not far from the experimental laboratory, had
also been aroused by the explosion and the glare of flames and were now
running to help, adding their voices to the others giving the alarm.
By this time Mr. Swift, with Eradicate and Koku, had descended to the
yard that was between the laboratory and the house, and by the glare of
the flames Tom’s inert body was seen stretched out on the grass.
Eradicate and Koku bent over the body of the young inventor. Koku felt
for the heart and found it beating.
“Master Tom no dead,” said the giant simply.
“Then carry him into the house, and send for a doctor at once,” directed
Mr. Swift. “Oh, what could have happened? The whole place will go up in
flames and Tom’s valuable new invention will be destroyed!”
“Dat fire’ll soon be out!” predicted Eradicate, and Koku, lifting Tom
like a child, started toward the house with him. “Fire not so bad, after
all, Massa Swift!”
While the injured inventor is being ministered to I shall take a brief
moment to acquaint new readers with, a few facts regarding Tom Swift.
He was a young man, well set up physically, and in spite of the fact
that he was young, had to his credit many important inventions, not a
few of which had been adopted by the United States Government.
Tom’s mother was dead, but he and his father, were well looked after by
Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper. As related in the first volume of this
series, entitled “Tom Swift and His Motorcycle,” the youth began his
inventive activities early. Wakefield Damon, who lived in the
neighboring town of Waterfield, had, some years before this present
story opens, bought a motorcycle. Not knowing much about such machines,
Mr. Damon soon found himself climbing a tree near Tom’s home.
Tom rescued the eccentric individual and, “blessing” many animate and
inanimate objects from his rubber boots to his collar button, Mr. Damon
declared he was through with motorcycles. Tom bought the damaged
machine, repaired and improved it and had several thrilling adventures
on it. From then on his inventions followed one another and they were
not yet ended. In the volume immediately preceding this and named “Tom
Swift Circling the Globe,” you may read of the further doings of the
young inventor.
Tom had many friends and not a few enemies, the latter chiefly
unscrupulous men who had tried to steal his inventions but who had been
worsted by Tom, with the aid of Mr. Damon, Ned Newton, Eradicate and
Koku.
Tom always insisted that Mary Nestor, a beautiful girl to whom the young
inventor was practically engaged, had a lot to do with his success, but
Mary always smiled tolerantly when her friend said this.
“What do I do, Tom?” she would ask.
“You give me inspiration,” he would answer, “and that, to an inventor,
is the one thing needed.”
Whether Mary Nestor was the inspiration for Tom’s latest talking-picture
invention does not matter, but the fact remains that Tom was in the
midst of perfecting that machine when the explosion occurred.
While the fire was being brought under control by several of the shop
men, under the direction of Mr. Jackson, the young inventor was
hurriedly carried into his home and laid on a bed. Mrs. Baggert, sensing
that medical aid might be needed, had, almost as soon as she got up
after the alarm, telephoned for the nearest doctor. So it was not long
after the explosion before Tom was in the care of the medical man.
“Is he badly hurt?” asked Mr. Swift, anxiously hovering around the room.
“I think not,” was the cheerful reply of Dr. Layton. “He has had a shock
and is suffering more from that than from actual injuries, though he is
cut and bruised and has some nasty burns. But we will soon make him
comfortable.”
“He is still unconscious, though, isn’t he?” asked Mr. Swift.
“Yes,” Dr. Layton admitted. “But that is nothing to worry about. Nature
will take care of that. It is better to let his senses come back
gradually rather than to give some strong stimulant that will shock him
into wakefulness and perhaps do more harm than good. I’ll make him as
comfortable as I can and we’ll just wait for him to rouse.”
The burns and cuts were dressed, Koku being of great service because he
could lift and move Tom as if the young man were a baby. Yet Tom was of
husky build, strong and muscular. The giant made an ideal nurse in a
case like this, though Eradicate, who had a deep love for Tom Swift,
fluttered eagerly about, anxious to do something to help. Mrs. Baggert
had him bring hot water and bandages, and this gave Eradicate as much
pleasure as Koku found in ministering more personally to his young
master.
After the first alarm over Tom’s condition was over and when it was
apparent that there was no immediate danger, Mr. Swift went out to see
what damage had been done and if there was any further danger from the
fire and explosion.
The flames, by this time, were subdued. There had been a second but
slight, explosion. This, however, did little damage, as the force of it
was directed toward the outer corridor, part of the wall of which was
blown away. The greatest force of the first explosion, likewise, had
been in the same direction, and though the door of Tom’s private
laboratory had been stove in and some of his valuable apparatus
scattered about and burned, fortunately no great damage was done to the
secret room.
Ascertaining this and knowing how jealously Tom guarded the new secret,
Mr. Swift had some of the men nail the laboratory up, an improvised door
being made and boards being fastened over the shattered windows.
Tom had been blown through a window in the corridor outside his
laboratory. But, luckily, the window was up at the bottom, and Tom had
shot through a wire mosquito screen instead of through the glass. In
spite of this, and the fact that he had landed in a clump of deep, thick
grass, the young inventor had not come off scatheless from the accident.
“Things aren’t as bad as they seemed at first, Mr. Swift,” reported Mr.
Jackson a few hours after the explosion. “The fire is all out now and
Tom’s things don’t seem to be much damaged. I’ve got several men on
guard. They’ll stay there the rest of the night.”
“It will soon be morning,” murmured the old gentleman. “Thank you,
Jackson.”
“I wonder how much longer Tom will remain unconscious?” Mr. Swift said,
entering the sickroom and glancing toward the bed on which his son lay.
“I think he is coming around now,” said the doctor softly, as he moved
to his patient’s side. “Yes, he is coming out of it,” he added. “How do
you feel?” he asked as Tom opened his eyes and stared about.
“Pretty—pretty—rocky,” was the husky answer. “What—what happened?” he
asked in a stronger voice. Then, as recollection came back to him, Tom
went on: “I remember now. There was an explosion just as I was coming
out of my laboratory. Is it gone? Is everything gone?” and he tried to
get up. Dr. Layton pushed him back.
“Now lie still,” said the doctor. “Things aren’t half as bad as you
think, and you’re not much hurt.”
“I don’t care about myself!” declared Tom fiercely. “But if that
new—that machine is blown up—” He looked anxiously at his father, the
only other person in the room who knew about the secret of the
talking-picture invention.
“It’s all right, Tom,” the aged inventor made haste to say. “The door
and windows of your laboratory were blown out and some of your apparatus
damaged by the fire and explosion. But your—the main object is all
right,” he finished, and Tom understood.
Before Tom could ask any more questions, Dr. Layton administered a
sedative to quiet his patient’s nerves, and, after a few more questions
had been answered to the satisfaction of the young inventor, he sank
back into a sleep.
Not before, however, he had told his father and the others that he had
no idea what had caused the explosion and fire.
“Was it an electrical blast?” Mr. Swift wanted to know. He was aware
that often a high tension current may act almost like a blast of
dynamite.
“I think not,” Tom had said. “I examined my wires the last thing, after
Greenbaum had left the building, and they were all right. The explosion
seemed to be coincident with my opening of the door.”
“It were a bomb! Dat’s whut it were—a bomb!” declared Eradicate. “An’
ef I kotches de feller whut done planted it I——”
“That will do now, Rad,” whispered Mrs. Baggert. “Tom must be kept
quiet.”
The injured young inventor was now sleeping quietly, and Dr. Layton said
he would remain until morning to see how Tom was when he awakened again.
Then, the fire being out and no more danger appearing, the house became
quiet.
But Mr. Swift had a worried, anxious air. He could not account for that
explosion. Some more of Tom’s enemies must be at work, was the
conclusion of the aged inventor.
The sun was rising and Tom was just awakening again when the telephone
rang. Mrs. Baggert, answering it, brought word that Mary Nestor was on
the wire and wanted to know how badly Tom was hurt.
“How’d she hear about it?” Tom demanded when he was prevented from
answering the call in person.
“Why, it seems,” reported the housekeeper, “that the town
fire-department responded to the alarm. However, they weren’t needed, as
your own men put out the blaze, Mr. Swift. However, it was rumored that
you were hurt and Mary heard of it. What shall I tell her?”
“Tell her I’m all right and that I’ll be over as soon as I can get
dressed,” Tom answered.
“No you won’t!” chuckled Dr. Layton. “You’re not badly hurt, but I’m
taking no chances with you and you’ll stay in bed all day. Miss Nestor
can call here if she likes,” he conceded, with a smile.
“Thanks for that favor,” and Tom smiled in answer. “Tell her, please,
Mrs. Baggert.”
“I will,” and the housekeeper hurried back to the telephone.
A further inspection of Tom’s injuries by daylight did not reveal them
as any worse than the first diagnosis indicated and Dr. Layton said that
his patient would be up and about in a few days.
“And when I am things are going to hum!” declared Tom.
He had finished a light breakfast and the medical man was preparing to
depart when the telephone rang again.
“If that’s Mary I’m going to speak to her!” exclaimed Tom.
“But it isn’t,” said Mrs. Baggert, with a smile, coming in from the hall
outside Tom’s room, the telephone being installed in a booth in the
corridor. “It’s Mr. Newton.”
“Ned?” exclaimed Tom Swift.
“No, not Ned—his father,” replied the housekeeper. “He wants to know
when Ned will be home.”
“When Ned will be home!” exclaimed Tom, in bewildered surprise. “Why, I
thought he was at home now. He left me before midnight to go home.”
“He isn’t there,” said Mrs. Baggert. “Mr. Newton says Ned hasn’t been
home all night and he thought he must be here, as he often stays all
night, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” admitted Tom, with a puzzled look on his face. “But he
didn’t stay last night. He started for home. He was dead tired from
helping me. Ask Mr. Newton if he is sure Ned isn’t sleeping soundly in
his own room.”
Mrs. Baggert went back to the telephone. In a few moments she came back.
“Ned seems to have disappeared,” she announced. “He didn’t come home or
send any word. Mr. Newton is quite worried. He wants to talk to you.”