A CLEW FROM RUSSIA
"Nothing much up here," remarked Tom, when he and Ned had gone all over
the second floor twice. "That scrap of paper, which put me on to the
fact that some one from the Russian government had been here, is about
all. They must have taken all the documents Mr. Petrofsky had."
"Maybe he didn't have any," suggested Ned.
"If he was wise he'd get rid of them when he knew he was being
shadowed, as he told us. Perhaps that was why they broke up the
furniture, searching for hidden papers, or they may have done it out of
spite because they didn't find anything. But we might as well go
downstairs and look there."
But the first floor was equally unproductive of clews, save those
already noted, which showed, at least so Tom believed, that Mr.
Petrofsky had been surprised and overpowered while at breakfast.
"Now for outside!" cried the young inventor. "We'll see if we can
figure out how they got him away."
There were plenty of marks in the soft ground and turf, which was still
damp from the night's rain, though it was now afternoon. Unfortunately,
however, in approaching the house after leaving the aeroplane, Ned and
Tom had not thought to exercise caution, and, not suspecting anything
wrong, they had stepped on a number of footprints left by the
kidnappers.
But for all that, they saw enough to convince them that several men had
been at the lonely house, for there were many marks of shoes. It was
out of the question, however, to tell which were those of Mr. Petrofsky
and which those of his captors.
"They might have carried him out to a carriage they had in waiting,"
suggested Ned. "Let's go out to the front gate and look in the road.
They hardly would bring the carriage up to the door."
"Good idea," commented Tom, and they hurried to the main thoroughfare
that passed the Russian's house.
"Here they are!" cried Ned, who was in the lead. "There's been a
carriage here as sure as you're a foot high and it's a rubber-tired one
too."
"GOOD!" cried Tom admiringly. "You're coming right along in your
detective training. How do you make that out?"
"See here, where a piece of rubber has been broken or cut out of the
tire. It makes a peculiar mark in the dirt every time the wheel goes
around."
"That's right, and it will be a good thing to trace the carriage by.
Come on, we'll keep right after it."
"Hold on a bit," suggested Ned, who, though not so quick as Tom Swift,
frequently produced good results by his very slowness. "Are you going
off and leave the airship here for some one to walk off with?"
"Guess they wouldn't take it far," replied the young inventor, "but I'd
better make it safe. I'll disconnect it so they can't start it, though
if Andy Foger happens to come along he might slash the planes just out
of spite. But I guess he won't show up."
Tom took a connecting pin out of the electrical apparatus, making it
impossible to start the aeroplane, and then, wheeling it out of sight
behind a small barn, he and Ned went back to the carriage marks in the
road.
"Hurry!" urged Tom, as he started off in the direction of the village
of Hurdtown, near where the cottage stood. "We will ask people living
along the highway if they've seen a carriage pass."
"But what makes you think they went off that way?" asked Ned. "I should
think they'd head away from the village, so as not to be seen."
"No, I don't agree with you. But wait, we'll look at the marks. Maybe
that will help us."
Peering carefully at the marks of horses' hoofs and the wheel
impressions, Tom uttered a cry of discovery.
"I have it!" he declared. "The carriage came from the village, and kept
right on the other way. You're right, Ned. They didn't go back to town.
"Are you sure?"
"Of course. You can see for yourself; if the carriage had turned around
the track would show, but it doesn't and, even if they turned on the
grass, there'd be two lines of marks--one coming out here and one
returning. As it is there is only a single set--just as if the carriage
drove up here, took on its load, and continued on. This way, Ned."
They hurried down the road, and soon came to a cluster of farm houses.
Inquiries there, however, failed to bring anything to light, for either
the occupants of the house had failed to notice passing vehicles, or
there had been so many that any particular carriage was not recalled.
And there were now so many impressions in the soft dirt of the
highway--so many wheel tracks and hoof imprints--that it was impossible
to pick out those of the carriage with the cut rubber tire. "Well, I
guess it isn't of much use to go on any farther," spoke Ned, when they
had traveled several miles and had learned nothing.
"We'll try one more house, and then go back," agreed Tom. "We'll tell
dad about what's happened, and see what he says."
"Carriage?" repeated an old farmer to whom they next put the question.
"Wa'al, now, come t' think of it, I did see one drivin' along here
early this morning. It had rubber tires on too, for I recollect
remarkin' t' myself that it didn't make much noise. Had t' talk t'
myself," he added in explanation, "'cause nobody else in the family was
up, 'ceptin' th' dog."
"Did the carriage have some Russians in it?" asked Tom eagerly, "and
was one a big bearded man?"
"Wa'al, now you've got me," admitted the farmer frankly. "It was quite
early you see, and I didn't take no particular notice. I got up early
t' do my milkin' 'cause I have t' take it t' th' cheese factory. That's
th' reason nobody was up but me. But I see this carriage comin' down
th' road, and thinks I t' myself it was pretty middlin' early fer
anybody t' be takin' a pleasure ride. I 'lowed it were a pleasure ride,
'cause it were one of them hacks that folks don't usually use 'ceptin'
fer a weddin', or a funeral, an' it wa'n't no funeral."
"Then you can't tell us anything more except that it passed?" asked Ned.
"No, I couldn't see inside, 'cause it was rather dark at that hour, and
then, too, I noticed that they had th' window shades down."
"That's suspicious!" exclaimed Tom. "I believe they are the fellows we're
after," and, without giving any particulars he said that they were
looking for a friend who might have been taken away against his will.
"Could you tell where they were going?" asked Tom, scarcely hoping to
get an affirmative answer.
"Wa'al, th' man on th' seat pulled up when he see me," spoke the farmer
with exasperating slowness, "an' asked me how far it was t' th'
Waterville station, an' I told him."
"Why didn't you say so at first?" asked Tom quickly. "Why didn't you
tell us they were heading for the railroad?"
"You didn't ask me," replied the farmer. "What difference does it make."
"Every minute counts!" exclaimed the young inventor. "We want to keep
right after those fellows. Maybe the agent can tell us where they
bought tickets to, and we can trace them that way.
"Shouldn't wonder," commented the farmer. "There ain't many trains out
from Waterville at that time of day, an' mighty few passengers.
Shouldn't wonder but Jake Applesauer could put ye on th' trail."
"Much obliged," called Tom. "Come on, Ned," and he started back in the
direction of the house where the kidnapping had taken place.
"That ain't th' way t' 'vaterville!" the farmer shouted after them.
"I know it, we're going to get our airship," answered Tom, and then he
heard the farmer mutter.
"Plumb crazy! That's what they be! Plumb crazy! Going after their
airship! Shouldn't wonder but they was escaped lunatics, and the other
fellers was keepers after 'em. Hu! Wa'al, I've got my work to do.
'Tain't none of my affair."
"Let him think what he likes," commented Ned as he and his chum hurried
on. "We're on the trail all right."
If Jake Applesauer, the agent at the Waterville station, was surprised
at seeing two youths drop down out of an aeroplane, and begin
questioning him about some suspicious strangers that had taken the
morning train, he did not show it. Jake prided himself on not being
surprised at anything, except once when he took a counterfeit dollar in
return for a ticket, and had to make it good to the company.
But, to the despair of Tom and Ned, he could not help them much. He had
seen the party, of course. They had driven up in the hack, and one of
the men seemed to be sick, or hurt, for his head was done up in
bandages, and the others had to half carry him on the train.
"That was Mr. Petrofsky all right," declared Ned.
"Sure," assented Tom. "They must have hurt and drugged him. But you
can't tell us for what station they bought tickets, Mr. Applesauer?"
"No, for they didn't buy any. They must have had 'em, or else they paid
on the train. One man drove off in the coach, and that's all I know."
As Tom and Ned started back to Shopton in the aeroplane they discussed
what could be done next. A hard task lay before them, and they realized
that.
"They could have gotten off at any station between here and New York,
or even changed to another railroad at the junction," spoke Tom. "It's
going to be a hard job."
"Guess we'll have to get some regular detectives on it," suggested Ned.
"And that's what I'll do," declared the young inventor. "They may be
able to locate Mr. Petrofsky before those spies take him out of this
country. If they don't--it will be too late. I'm going to talk to dad
about it, and if he agrees I'll hire the best private detectives."
Mr. Swift gave his consent when Tom had told the story, and, a day
later, one of the best detectives of a well known agency called on Tom
in Shopton and assumed charge of the case.
The early reports from the detective were quite reassuring. He got on
the trail of the men who had taken Mr. Petrofsky away, and confirmed
the suspicion that they were agents of the Russian police. He trailed
them as far as New York, and there the clews came to an end.
"Whether they are in the big city, which might easily be, or in some of
the nearby towns, will take some time to learn," the detective wrote,
and Tom wired back telling him to keep on searching.
But, as several weeks went by, and no word came, even Tom began to give
up hope, though he did not stop work on the air glider, which was
nearing completion. And then, most unexpectedly a clew came--a clew
from far-off Russia.
Tom got a letter one day--a letter in a strange hand, the stamp and
postmark showing that it had come from the land of the Czar.
"What do you suppose it contains?" asked Ned, who was with his chum
when the communication was received.
"Haven't the least idea; but I'll soon find out."
"Maybe it's from the Russian police, telling you to keep away from
Siberia."
"Maybe," answered Tom absently, for he was reading the missive. "I
say!" he suddenly cried. "This is great! A clew at last, and from St.
Petersburg! Listen to this, Ned!
"This letter is from the head of one of the secret societies over
there, a society that works against the government. It says that Mr.
Petrofsky is being detained a prisoner in a lonely hut on the Atlantic
sea coast, not far from New York--Sandy Hook the letter says--and here
are the very directions how to get there!"
"No!" cried Ned, in disbelief. "How in the world could anybody in
Russia know that."
"It tells here," said Tom. "It's all explained. As soon as the secret
police got Mr. Petrofsky they communicated with the head officials in
St. Petersburg. You know nearly everyone is a spy over there, and the
letter says that Mr. Petrofsky's friends there soon heard the news, and
even about the exact place where he is being held."
"What are they holding him for?" asked Ned.
"That's explained, too. It seems they can't legally take him back until
certain papers are received from his former prison in Siberia, and
those are now on the way. His friends write to me to hasten and rescue
him."
"But how did they ever get your address?"
"That's easy, though you wouldn't think so. It seems, so the letter
explains, that as soon as Mr. Petrofsky got acquainted with us he wrote
to friends in St. Petersburg, giving my address, and telling them, in
case anything ever happened to him, to notify us. You see he suspected
that something might, after he found he was being shadowed that way.
"And it all worked out. As soon as his friends heard that he was
caught, and learned where he was being held, they wrote to me. Hurrah,
Ned! A clew at last! Now to wire the detective--no, hold on, we'll go
there and rescue him ourselves! We'll go in the airship, and pick up
Detective Trivett in New York."
"That's the stuff! I'm with you!"
"Bless my suspender buttons! So am I, whatever it is!" cried Mr. Damon,
entering the room at that moment.