THE PLOT
Closing in on Tom, the four men soon had him securely bound with ropes.
He felt there was little use in struggling against such overwhelming
odds. He must conserve his strength until he could use it to better
advantage. For the young inventor did not intend to remain any longer
than he could help a prisoner of these four men on this lonely island.
For it was a lonely island.
Though nearer that end of the lake where Shopton was located, still this
little irregular circle of land, rocks, and shrubbery known as Loon
Island was a lonesome place. Its name might indicate that, for in times
past many loons made their nesting place on the island, and the loon is
a very shy bird—it loves not human company.
“There isn’t much chance of any one visiting here to rescue me,” mused
Tom to himself as he submitted tamely to being bound. That is, he
submitted with seeming tameness, making no struggle. But, truth to tell,
he was boiling within at the indignity put upon him and he was wild with
righteous rage against the men for their threats to steal his idea of
the great airline express.
However, there was nothing to do now but to let the four scoundrels work
their will upon him. They were not unduly rough, but they took great
care in the tying of the ropes. Then one of them noticed the ring of
iron and the few dangling links on Tom’s leg.
“He filed off the chain!” exclaimed one of the masked man. Like his
companion he kept his face covered. As for Kenny and Schlump, they did
not appear to mind being recognized. Perhaps they felt that Tom would
know them even with masks on, so they did not go to the trouble to
disguise themselves.
“I guess I have never seen the other two, and that’s why they want to
hide their faces from me,” mused Tom. “They don’t want me to recognize
them again if I should happen to see them with their masks off. But I
may, for all of that.”
Tom had keen and observing eyes, and now, foiled in an attempt to see
the faces of the two masked men, he began studying their peculiarities
so he might know them again. He studied their walk, their actions, the
way in which they used their hands and the tones of their voices. Often
a person may be recognized by his voice alone. And Tom remembered how he
had recognized Renwick Fawn by that man’s elbow peculiarity. But he
could not place these two.
“Yes, he filed the chain off all right,” admitted Kenny. “We might have
known he’d do something like that. We should have bound his hands.”
“They’re bound now,” grimly remarked Schlump, as he tightened the knots
on the rope around Tom’s wrists. It was so closely drawn as to be
painful, but Tom did not murmur. He was not going to let these men know
that they were hurting him.
“We’d better take that leg bracelet off,” went on one of the masked men,
the larger of the two.
“Why so?” asked Schlump.
“Because the links on it might rattle just at the wrong minute,” was the
answer, and the man made a peculiar motion, pointing off to the mainland
which Tom could see in the distance as he stood on Loon Island.
In a few moments the young inventor was freed from the leg-iron. It was
not heavy, and gave him no particular discomfort, but, all the same, he
was glad to be rid of it.
“Made me feel too much like an old slave on the chain gang,” he told
himself. What the man had said about the necessity of keeping quiet on
Loon Island came to Tom with force now. He had a wild idea of setting up
a yelling that might attract some passing oarsman or motor boat man. But
he gave this idea up very soon.
“I might get help, and then, again, I might not,” Tom thought. “If I
didn’t get it, these fellows would be angry at me and they might beat me
up. I want to keep a whole skin as long as I can. I can do better work
if I’m not injured. I wonder what their game is, anyhow? It’s a bold
one—I’ll say that. And to think I made it easier for them!”
For that is exactly what Tom had done. Thinking it over as best he could
amid the whirl of ideas in his brain, he came to the conclusion that he
had fallen into his present plight purely by accident. The men could not
have known that he would follow that mysterious, disappearing stranger.
They could not have known he would go down the flight of secret steps.
But he had, through a chain of circumstances, and when the scoundrels
found him in their power they proceeded with their plans. Tom had
actually played into their hands.
Of course he might have escaped had the motor boat contained but another
quart of gasoline, but this was one of the times when Fate played
against the young inventor.
Having made their prisoner secure, leaving one of their number to watch
him, three of the men went down to the two boats. Tom could hear them
laughing as they discovered the plight of the craft he had jumped into.
“Good thing you were short on gas, Kenny!” some one said. “Otherwise he
might be on the mainland now.”
“Yes,” was the answer. “Well, he’ll be on mainland, anyhow, by night.”
Tom wondered what this meant. But Schlump, who was guarding him, gave no
sign.
All the remainder of that day Tom remained a prisoner on Loon Island
with the four men watching him. They seemed to have some human feelings,
for they gave Tom water to drink and loosed his hands so that he could
eat some of the food they brought to him from the boat in which they had
pursued him.
The prisoner was grateful for the food, and more so for the hot coffee,
which Kenny made over a fire he kindled. This coffee put heart into Tom,
and he felt much better after drinking it.
He was worried, not so much over his own plight, as over what his father
and his friends might think about his sudden and mysterious
disappearance. That his father would worry, Tom well knew.
But Tom would not give his enemies the satisfaction of asking them their
intentions. He preferred to wait and see what would happen.
“They must be going to take me to the mainland,” thought Tom, as he
recalled what had been said. “It’s hard to tell whether I’ll have a
better chance to escape there or here. I’ll just have to bide my time.”
It seemed that the day would never pass, but at length the shadows grew
longer and Tom, who had been thrust into a rocky cranny behind a clump
of bushes, realized that night was settling down. It would be the second
night of his absence from home and he could imagine the anxiety among
his friends.
“They won’t know what to think,” reasoned Tom.
Just before dark another meal was served to the prisoner, and then one
of the masked men approached the young inventor with a gag in his hands.
“You’ll have to wear this,” he said roughly. “I wouldn’t trust your
promise not to yell when we’re crossing the lake. I’m going to fix it so
you can’t shout for help!”
And this he did, binding Tom’s mouth securely. It was impossible for him
to make himself heard five feet away. Then, when the ropes on his legs
and ankles were looked to and made more secure, the prisoner was lifted
by two of the men and carried to the larger boat—the one in which the
scoundrels had pursued the youth.
He was laid down, with no great gentleness, on one of the side seats,
and a little later, under cover of darkness, the trip from Loon Island
to the main shore was begun.
Where he was landed Tom did not know—he could not see any familiar
landmarks. Nor was he given much time to look about, for no sooner had
he been carried out of the boat than he was bundled into a waiting auto
and the machine was driven off over a rough road.
By the unevenness of the highway and by the damp smell all about him,
Tom concluded that he was being taken through the woods. For an hour or
more the journey lasted and then he saw that the machine had stopped in
front of a lonely house set in the midst of the trees.
At the sound of the screeching brakes of the auto a door of this house
opened, letting out a flood of light, and a voice asked:
“Have you got him?”
“We sure have!” answered Kenny. “Anybody been here?”
“Not a soul. It’s as quiet as the grave. Take him right upstairs.”
Before Tom quite realized what was happening he felt himself being
carried up a flight of steps. He knew he was being taken into a small
room, which, from the closeness of the air, seemed not to have been
opened for a long time. He was placed on a pile of bags, or something
soft on the floor, and a moment later his captors hurriedly left,
locking the door behind them.
“Well, this is worse and more of it!” mused Tom, as he lay still a
moment. He was on his back. His position was most uncomfortable and he
began to roll over cautiously. He did not know but what there might be
holes or trap-doors in the floor. He did not want to fall through.
He got over on his side and then, to his delight, he felt the gag
loosening in his mouth. By rubbing it on his shoulder he managed to get
free of it, and this was a great relief. He could breathe more freely
now.
Moving cautiously around, his eyes saw a little sliver of light coming
through a crack in the floor. Getting as near this as he could, Tom
looked down. He saw below him, gathered about the table, five men. Two
were Kenny and Schlump. The other two he saw were his other captors, the
masked men. The fifth man seemed to be the keeper of the lonely cabin.
They were talking in cautious tones, but the crack in the floor acted as
a sort of speaking tube, and Tom thus heard mention of the plot against
him.
“If we can’t do anything else,” muttered one of the men, “we’ll blow up
the Swift plant and those airline express models, too. Then there will
be no question about us getting the patent. That’s what we’ll do—we’ll
blow up the plant!”
“When?” some one asked.
“To-morrow!” came the quick answer.
Tom felt a sinking at his heart. Here he was, bound and helpless, in the
hands of his enemies who were hatching a vile plot against him and his
father. Blow up the Swift plant! It was terrible to contemplate!
Tom began to struggle fiercely to release himself.