MR. DAMON’S NEWS
“Bless my gasoline tank, I’m afraid I’ve done some damage!” cried
Wakefield Damon.
“If you haven’t damaged yourself you’re lucky,” grimly commented Ned.
“No, I guess I’m all right,” said the eccentric man as he climbed out of
his plane. He had managed to bring it to a level landing on the ground,
though it was more by good luck than by good management.
He had flown over from Waterfield in the early morning, and either had
not seen, or else had forgotten about, Tom’s new mooring mast on the
edge of the landing field. Straight for the big steel pole Mr. Damon had
steered his craft, to swerve it at the last moment so that only one edge
of a wing scraped it.
However, that impact was sufficiently forceful to snap off the top of
the mast and crumple the airship’s wing.
“You got out of that pretty well,” commented Ned, as he made sure, half
by feeling and half by an inspection of the odd man, that he was not
injured. A casual inspection proved, too, that the plane was not as
badly damaged as at first feared.
“I’m sorry about that mooring mast,” said Mr. Damon. “You must tell Tom
to send me the bill for repairing it, Mr. Swift. By the way, where is
Tom? I have some news for him.”
He looked about the assembled group formed by Ned, Mr. Swift, Koku, and
Eradicate. Something of their anxiety must have showed on their faces,
for Mr. Damon asked:
“Has anything happened to Tom?”
“We don’t know,” answered Ned.
“We can’t find him,” went on Mr. Swift gravely. “Do you know where he
is, Mr. Damon?”
“Me? No, I haven’t seen him,” was the answer. “But I have some news,
just the same.”
“News!” cried Ned. “What kind of news?”
“Not very good, I’m afraid. I’ll tell you about it.”
“How did you come to be flying so early in the morning?” Ned wanted to
know.
“I came over specially to tell Tom the news,” was the answer. “I thought
flying would be the quickest way. I tried to telephone, but I couldn’t
raise you on the wire, Mr. Swift.”
“We have been using the wires to communicate with different parts of the
plant,” said the old inventor. “That is probably why you could not get
us. But I am anxious to hear anything about Tom.”
“I wish I could give you direct news of him,” went on Mr. Damon. “Bless
my rubber boots! I’m so excited I hardly know which end I’m standing
on—what with colliding with the mooring mast and all that! I wonder if
I have damaged my new plane much?”
“Not much,” Ned reassured him. “We can soon put it in shape for you. But
you can hardly fly back in it, and you might as well come into the
private office and tell what you know.”
A little later, Koku and Eradicate having been sent to the house to tell
Mrs. Baggert to telephone out to the works in case Tom arrived home, Mr.
Swift, Ned, and Mr. Damon faced each other in the private office of the
missing young inventor.
“What’s all this about Tom not being found?” Mr. Damon wanted to know.
Quickly Ned told what had happened—that he had seen Tom outside the big
fence, that the young inventor was expected to call on Mary, and that he
had not appeared at the young lady’s house.
“And since then we can’t find a trace of him,” concluded Ned.
“Well, what I heard a little while ago may serve as a clew,” stated Mr.
Damon. “Let me see now, where shall I begin?”
Ned was so impatient that he felt like telling the odd man to put on
plenty of steam and begin anywhere that would give news of Tom.
But the “blessing man,” as the old colored servant called Mr. Damon,
must do a thing in his own way or not at all, and he was not to be
hurried. So, having marshaled in his own mind what he wanted to say, he
began:
“I have been away on a business trip and I only arrived home at two
o’clock this morning. I got off the sleeper at the station, and, feeling
hungry, I went into one of those lunch wagons across the street to get a
bite to eat before going home and to bed.
“Well, while I was eating in this lunch wagon, and I must say the cook
has a very clever way of frying eggs—while I was there two men came
in—no, it was three men—wait a moment now, I can’t quite be sure of
that,” and to Ned’s exasperation Mr. Damon began examining his own
recollection to make sure whether it was three or two men.
“Now I remember!” he exclaimed triumphantly, to Ned’s great relief.
“First two men came in, and then, later, a third. The first two were
queer individuals—I thought they might be criminals, ‘stick-up men,’
you know, and I guess the fellow who ran the lunch wagon did, also, for
I saw him slip his revolver out from a drawer and put it near the gas
stove where he could get it in a hurry.
“But there was no need. The men were quiet enough. They ordered
hamburger steak and onions—a vile combination, I’ll say—and coffee.
While they were eating the third man came in—now I have it right—and
as soon as the two who had previously entered saw him one of them asked:
“What about our quick friend?”
“‘The speedy one is chained up where he can’t do any harm,’ is what the
third man said. Then they laughed and the third man also ordered
hamburger steak and onions and they began to eat as if they were
half-starved.
“I didn’t pay much attention to them at the time, for I was in a hurry
to get home—I had told my wife I would arrive at midnight, but the
train was late and I knew I’d have to explain why I was out at that
hour. So I hurried up with my meal and was coming out when one of the
men happened to say:
“‘Well, this will put the airline express matter right in our hands!’ It
wasn’t until then, as I was coming out and heard this remark, that I
began to suspect something.”
“The airline express!” exclaimed Mr. Swift. “Why, that’s Tom’s latest
idea!”
“I know it is,” said Mr. Damon. “That’s what made me suspicious. Then I
put two and two together—they had spoken about ‘our quick friend,’ and
the ‘speedy one,’ and now I know by those words that they meant Tom.”
“It begins to look like that!” cried Ned. “But what was it they said
about him—that he was tied up?”
“‘Chained up,’ was the expression they used,” Mr. Damon said. “I at once
made up my mind that some of Tom’s enemies were plotting against him and
I decided to come right over and let him know. I waited a moment after
coming out of the lunch wagon, and saw the three plotters disappear down
a street that led to a wharf on Lake Carlopa. Then I caught a
night-cruising taxi and made for my hangar. I decided to try to call you
first by telephone, and, if I couldn’t raise you to warn you to look
out, I would aeroplane over and give the alarm.
“Well, I couldn’t get you on the wire, so I roused my mechanic and we
wheeled the plane out to my landing field. I didn’t even bother to call
up my wife, for I knew she wouldn’t let me go, and I started off
and—here I am.”
“Lucky to be here, too, after hitting that mast,” murmured Ned. “But
what do you think this all means?”
“It means trouble for Tom, I’m sure of that,” said Mr. Swift. “His
enemies have captured him, I’m afraid. That’s what that talk about being
chained up means.”
“It does look suspicious,” agreed Ned. “We’d better start at the
beginning again and make another search. We can do it better now that we
have daylight. Tom has certainly disappeared in a very mysterious
manner.”
“You can count on me to help!” cried Mr. Damon. “Bless my police
whistle, but I wish I had grabbed those three scoundrels when I had the
chance! They have Tom a prisoner, I’m sure!”
“Hark!” suddenly exclaimed Ned, holding up a warning hand. “Some one is
coming!”