PLOTS AND PLANS
More than anything else on Tom Swift's part, it had been a bluff to
name Cunningham and say he wanted to see him. Still, since the mention
of the Englishman's name and that of Floyd Barton, both Tom and his
chum had felt certain that the two were in some way mixed up in the
queer doings on Dismal Mountain. But Tom had no notion that the mere
mention of the Englishman's name would so startle the guard.
"Did you see that, Ned?" asked Tom, nodding toward the man who had left
so hurriedly.
"I sure did. What does it mean?"
"To my mind it means that Cunningham is a worse rascal than I thought
him, that he is one of the ringleaders of this gang, but that they are
surprised we have guessed it."
"Looks so. But what are you going to do next?"
"Eat," was Tom's laconic answer, and he moved toward the breakfast
tray which, to do their captors justice, was bountifully laden and
included a pot of steaming coffee.
Tom and Ned felt distinctly better after the meal, and they almost
laughed at each other, for they presented a queer appearance in their
borrowed clothes.
"But we'll have to wear them for some time," Ned remarked. "Our own
were so thoroughly soaked it will take a couple of days to dry them
out."
"Guess so," commented Tom. "Well, I've been worse off. Did you save
your flashlight?"
"Yes," and Ned produced it, having slipped it, with some other
possessions, from the pockets of his wet garments when the change was
made the night before. "They got my gun, though."
"And mine," added Tom. "We'll have to sing small for a time, even if we
manage to escape."
"Are you going to try that?"
"I surely am! But not right away. First I want to see what's going on
around this castle."
They had ample time that day, though not much opportunity, for
observation, since they were not released from the stone room. They
had some relaxation, however, for there was a bathroom connected with
it and they could wash and be comfortable. The man who came to remove
the breakfast tray was not the same one who had brought it in, but Tom
determined to experiment on him. Accordingly the young inventor snapped
out:
"When is Mr. Basil Cunningham coming to see me?"
The guard showed no alarm or even interest, merely grunting and
remarking:
"You'll have to ask somebody else. That isn't in my department."
"Gosh!" commented Ned, when the fellow had gone. "You'd think this was
a regular business!"
"I'm beginning to believe it is," was Tom's comment.
"What, a business place?" asked Ned, in surprise.
"Yes. Cunningham is a business man, you know, though I don't like his
style. He's clever and I think he has surrounded himself with a bunch
of crooks like himself and is carrying on a regular business in this
old castle."
"What sort of business?"
"Come here and take a look," was Tom's reply.
They could look out of the barred window into a courtyard. In it,
coming and going, were a number of men and auto trucks. The trucks
brought in rather large and heavy boxes. Some of these boxes were taken
on hand trucks into various rooms of the old castle.
"That's been going on all morning," said Tom. "Once, when you were in
the bathroom washing, I looked out of the grating in the door and I saw
some men passing along the corridor carrying things that must have come
out of the boxes."
"What sort of things?" Ned wanted to know.
As if to save Tom the need of answering, one of the boxes being
unloaded from a truck suddenly slipped, fell, and broke open. Out of
it tumbled what Ned recognized as high class scientific instruments,
optical goods, binoculars, telescopes and the like.
"That's the stuff they're bringing into this castle," said Tom.
"My word! What for?" asked Ned.
"To doctor it up and dispose of it, I believe," Tom replied.
"But where do they get it? They don't manufacture those things here, do
they?"
"Not yet. But I think they plan to," said the young inventor. "It was
machinery for turning out such goods that Cunningham wanted me to make
for him. But I saw his object--he wants to infringe on foreign patents.
This stuff costs money, with the duty and royalty that has to be paid,
and if Cunningham could bootleg it, so to speak, he'd get rich."
"But he seems to be making it," and Ned pointed to where men were
hurriedly gathering up the scattered telescopes and other instruments.
"No, he didn't make that! He stole it!" exclaimed Tom.
"Stole it?"
"Either he or some of his gang," was Tom's answer. "You know some of
those clippings you gave me about Dismal Mountain said that freight and
through express trains were held up and several cases of high grade
electrical, scientific and optical goods were taken."
"I remember," assented Ned. "I thought at the time that it was pretty
queer stuff for train bandits to take."
"Well, that's some of the stuff, I believe," went on Tom. "Cunningham
is evidently an expert in this line of goods and he knows how to
handle and dispose of them better than any other stuff that might be
stolen. I think he wanted me to make machinery to turn out tools like
these so he could say, if he were caught, that this old castle was his
manufacturing plant. But his greatest source of goods would be from
robbing trains."
"It doesn't seem possible!" murmured Ned.
"I know it. But there are the facts," said Tom, and his chum could but
agree with him.
For two days Tom and Ned were kept close prisoners in the old stone
room. During this time they discussed many plans and plots for
escaping. None seemed to fit in, however, or else the time was not yet
ripe, so they remained in captivity.
Meanwhile, the activity on the part of men bringing in cases of goods
and carrying them along the corridor and past the room where Tom and
Ned were locked kept up night and day. Except for small quantities of
what seemed to be bolts of silk, all the things were optical goods or
machines used by scientists--stuff worth a great deal of money. There
was a hum and buzz of work all through the old castle, but except for
men who came to bring them food, Tom and Ned had no contact with any of
their captors.
Then, one night, the same guard who had shown perturbation when Tom
first mentioned Cunningham, again brought in the tray of food. It
needed but a glance to show that he had been drinking, and Tom, with a
whisper to Ned, decided the man's befuddled state would afford them a
good opportunity to do some more bluffing.
So, having inspected the tray, as if to look and see that it contained
all he wanted, Tom stepped toward the man and in stern tones exclaimed:
"Did you give my message to Basil Cunningham?"
Instead of being alarmed as he had been before, the man leered in his
drunken manner and thickly said:
"Sure I did!"
"Oh, did you?" Tom was rather taken aback by this reply.
"I sure did, and he's coming to see you soon."
This was more and different news, and Tom and his chum did not know how
to take it. But Tom had another card he wanted to play.
Stepping toward the fellow the young inventor took him by one shoulder
and, giving him a shake, exclaimed sternly:
"Never mind about Cunningham! Send Floyd Barton to me!"
Tom had determined to try the effect of this name.
To his surprise, it did not upset the man in the least. He leered at
Tom and Ned with drunken gravity and mumbled:
"Barton's lucky--thash wha' he is! Lucky--hic--dog!"
"Lucky! What do you mean?" snapped out Tom.
"Mean he's goin' to marry a fine girl--thash wha' he ish! Lucky dog,
Barton--Lucky--hic--dog!"
"Who's the girl?" asked Ned, more for the sake of giving his chum a
chance to think up his next verbal attack than for any desire for
information. "Do you know her?"
"No, I don't know her. But I know her name. Name's Mary--thash wha' it
is. Mary--Mary--hic!"
Even yet the two were not suspicious, and Ned still joked.
"Mary Hick! That's a queer name," he chuckled.
"Not Mary Hick--no!" mumbled the half-drunken guard. "Not Mary
Hick--Mary Nestor. Thash who Barton's goin' marry--Mary Nestor--fine
girl--Mary--hic!"
"What's that?" cried Tom Swift, hardly able to believe his ears. "You
dirty scoundrel, don't you mention her name again! What do you mean
bringing her into this conversation? What has she to do with that sap,
Floyd Barton?"
"He's sap aw right--sure!" agreed the drunken fellow. "But he's got
money. Goin' to marry fine girl--Mary--hic--no, not Mary Hick--thash
wrong--Mary Nestor!"
Tom could restrain himself no longer. He stepped back, raised his fist
and was going to let it drive full into the face of the guard when a
sudden interruption came.
A man with a black handkerchief over the lower part of his face had
entered the stone room, and, as Tom was about to fell the insulting
guard, stepped between the two.
"You rotten beast!" Tom hissed.
He was suddenly pulled back by the masked man and swung to one side.
But Tom's blood was up. Nothing could stop him now.
"Out of my way, you!" he yelled at the man who had hold of him. "Who
are you, anyhow? None of your masked tricks with me! Off with that!"
Before the man who had stepped between Tom and the guard could put up
his hands to prevent it, Tom had torn off the black handkerchief.
There, with a startled frown on his beefy red face, stood--Basil
Cunningham!