A QUEER STRANGER
What Tom Swift held in his hand looked like a small cannon ball, but it
could not have been solid or the young aviator would not so easily have
held it out at arm's length for his friend Ned Newton to look at.
"This puts a different face on it, Ned," Tom went on, as he turned the
object over.
"Is that likely to go off?" the bank clerk asked, as he came to a halt
a little distance from his friend.
"Go off? No, it's done all the damage it could, I guess."
"Damage? It looks to me as though it had suffered the most damage
itself. What is it, one of your models? Looks like a bomb to me."
"And that's what it is, Ned."
"Not one of those you're going to use on your aerial warship, is it,
Tom?"
"Not exactly. I never saw this before, but it's what started the fire
in the red shed all right; I'm sure of that."
"Do you really mean it?" cried Ned.
"I sure do."
"Well, if that's the case, I wouldn't leave such dangerous things
around where there are explosives, Tom."
"I didn't, Ned. I wouldn't have had this within a hundred miles of my
shed, if I could have had my way. It's a fire bomb, and it was set to
go off at a certain time. Only I think something went wrong, and the
bomb started a fire ahead of time.
"If it had worked at night, when we were all asleep, we might not have
put the fire out so easily. This sure is suspicious! I'm glad you found
this, Koku."
Tom was carefully examining the bomb, as Ned had correctly named it.
The bank clerk, now that he was assured by his chum that the object had
done all the harm it could, approached closer.
What he saw was merely a hollow shell of iron, with a small opening in
it, as though intended for a place through which to put a charge of
explosives and a fuse.
"But there was no explosion, Tom," explained Ned.
"I know it," said Tom quietly. "It wasn't an explosive bomb. Smell
that!"
He held the object under Ned's nose so suddenly that the young bank
clerk jumped back.
"Oh, don't get nervous," laughed Tom. "It can't hurt you now. But what
does that smell like?"
Ned sniffed, sniffed again, thought for a moment, and then sniffed a
third time.
"Why," he said slowly, "I don't just know the name of it, but it's that
funny stuff you mix up sometimes to put in the oxygen tanks when we go
up in the rarefied atmosphere in the balloon or airship."
"Manganese and potash," spoke Tom. "That and two or three other things
that form a chemical combination which goes off by itself of
spontaneous combustion after a certain time. Only the person who put
this bomb together didn't get the chemical mixture just right, and it
went off ahead of time; for which we have to be duly thankful."
"Do you really think that, Tom?" cried Ned.
"I'm positive of it," was the quiet answer.
"Why--why--that would mean some one tried to set fire to the red shed,
Tom!"
"They not only tried it, but did it," responded Tom, more coolly than
seemed natural under the circumstances. "Only for the fact that the
mixture went off before it was intended to, and found us all alert and
ready--well, I don't like to think what might have happened," and Tom
cast a look about at his group of buildings with their valuable
contents.
"You mean some one purposely put that bomb in the red shed, Tom?"
"That's exactly what I mean. Some enemy, who wanted to do me an injury,
planned this thing deliberately. He filled this steel shell with
chemicals which, of themselves, after a certain time, would send out a
hot tongue of flame through this hole," and Tom pointed to the opening
in the round steel shell.
"He knew the fire would be practically unquenchable by ordinary means,
and he counted on its soon eating its way into the carbide and other
explosives. Only it didn't."
"Why, Tom!" cried Ned. "It was just like one of those alarm-clock
dynamite bombs--set to go off at a certain time."
"Exactly," Tom said, "only this was more delicate, and, if it had
worked properly, there wouldn't have been a vestige left to give us a
clue. But the fire, thanks to the ballast sand in the dirigible, was
put out in time. The fuse burned itself out, but I can tell by the
smell that chemicals were in it. That's all, Koku," he went on to the
giant who had stood waiting, not understanding all the talk between Tom
and Ned. "I'll take care of this now."
"Bad man put it there?" asked the giant, who at least comprehended that
something was wrong.
"Well, yes, I guess you could say it was a bad man," replied Tom.
"Ha! If Koku find bad man--bad for that man!" muttered the giant, as he
clasped his two enormous hands together, as though they were already on
the fellow who had tried to do Tom Swift such an injury.
"I wouldn't like to be that man, if Koku catches him," observed Ned.
"Have you any idea who it could be, Tom?"
"Not the least. Of course I know I have enemies, Ned. Every successful
inventor has persons who imagine he has stolen their ideas, whether he
has ever seen them or not. It may have been one of those persons, or
some half-mad crank, who was jealous. It would be impossible to say,
Ned."
"It wouldn't be Andy Foger, would it?"
"No; I don't believe Andy has been in this neighborhood for some time.
The last lesson we gave him sickened him, I guess."
"How about those diamond-makers, whose secret you discovered? They
wouldn't be trying to get back at you, would they?"
"Well, it's possible, Ned. But I don't imagine so. They seem to have
been pretty well broken up. No, I don't believe it was the
diamond-makers who put this fire bomb in the red shed. Their line of
activities didn't include this branch. It takes a chemist to know just
how to blend the things contained in the bomb, and even a good chemist
is likely to fail--as this one did, as far as time went."
"What are you going to do about it?" Ned asked.
"I don't know," and Tom spoke slowly, "I hoped I was done with all that
sort of thing," he went on; "fighting enemies whom I have never
knowingly injured. But it seems they are still after me. Well, Ned,
this gives us something to do, at all events."
"You mean trying to find out who these fellows are?"
"Yes; that is, if you are willing to help."
"Well, I guess I am!" cried the bank clerk with sparkling eyes. "I
wouldn't ask anything better. We've been in things like this before,
Tom, and we'll go in again--and win! I'll help you all I can. Now,
let's see if we can pick up any other clues. This is like old times!"
and Ned laughed, for he, like Tom, enjoyed a good "fight," and one in
which the odds were against them.
"We sure will have our hands full," declared the young inventor.
"Trying to solve the problem of carrying guns on an aerial warship, and
finding out who set this fire."
"Then you're not going to give up your aerial warship idea?"
"No, indeed!" Tom cried. "What made you think that?"
"Well, the way your father spoke--"
"Oh, dear old dad!" exclaimed Tom affectionately. "I don't want to
argue with him, but he's dead wrong!"
"Then you are going to make a go of it?"
"I sure am, Ned! All I have to solve is the recoil proposition, and, as
soon as we get straightened out from this fire, we'll tackle that
problem again--you and I. But I sure would like to know who put this in
my red shed," and Tom looked in a puzzled manner at the empty fire bomb
he still held.
Tom paused, on his way to the house, to put the bomb in one of his
offices.
"No use letting dad know about this," he went on. "It would only be
something else for him to worry about."
"That's right," agreed Ned.
By this time nearly all evidences of the fire, except for the blackened
ruins of the shed, had been cleared away. High in the air hung a cloud
of black smoke, caused by some chemicals that had burned harmlessly
save for that pall. Tom Swift had indeed had a lucky escape.
The young inventor, finding his father quieted down and conversing
easily with Mr. Damon, who was blessing everything he could think of,
motioned to Ned to follow him out of the house again.
"We'll leave dad here," said Tom, "and do a little investigating on our
own account. We'll look for clues while they're fresh."
But, it must be confessed, after Tom and Ned had spent the rest of that
day in and about the burned shed, they were little wiser than when they
started. They found the place where the fire bomb had evidently been
placed, right inside the main entrance to the shed. Tom knew it had
been there because there were peculiar marks on the charred wood, and a
certain queer smell of chemicals that confirmed his belief.
"They put the bomb there to prevent anyone going in at the first alarm
and saving anything," Tom said. "They didn't count on the roof burning
through first, giving me a chance to use the sand. I made the roof of
the red shed flimsy just on that account, so the force of the explosion
if one ever came, would be mostly upward. You know the expanding gases,
caused by an explosion or by rapid combustion, always do just as
electricity does, seek the shortest and easiest route. In this case I
made the roof the easiest route."
"A lucky provision," observed Ned.
That night Tom had to confess himself beaten, as far as finding clues
was concerned. The empty fire bomb was the only one, and that seemed
valueless.
Close questioning of the workmen failed to disclose anything. Tom was
particularly anxious to discover if any mysterious strangers had been
seen about the works. There was a strict rule about admitting them to
the plant, however, and it could not be learned that this had been
violated.
"Well, we'll just have to lay that aside for a while," Tom said the
next day, when Ned again came to pay a visit. "Now, what do you say to
tackling, with me, that recoil problem on the aerial warship?"
"I'm ready, if you are," Ned agreed, "though I know about as much of
those things as a snake does about dancing. But I'm game."
The two friends walked out toward the shed where Tom's new craft was
housed. As yet Ned had not seen it. On the way they saw Eradicate
walking along, talking to himself, as he often did.
"I wonder what he has on his mind," remarked Ned musingly.
"Something does seem to be worrying him," agreed Tom.
As they neared the colored man, they could hear him saying:
"He suah did hab nerve, dat's what he did! De idea ob askin' me all dem
questions, an' den wantin' t' know if I'd sell him!"
"What's that, Eradicate?" asked Tom.
"Oh, it's a man I met when I were comin' back from de ash dump,"
Eradicate explained. One of the colored man's duties was to cart ashes
away from Tom's various shops, and dump them in a certain swampy lot.
With an old ramshackle cart, and his mule, Boomerang, Eradicate did
this task to perfection.
"A man--what sort of a man?" asked Tom, always ready to be suspicious
of anything unusual.
"He were a queer man," went on the aged colored helper. "First he
stopped me an' asted me fo' a ride. He was a dressed-up gen'man, too,
an' I were suah s'prised at him wantin' t' set in mah ole ash cart,"
said Eradicate. "But I done was polite t' him, an' fixed a blanket so's
he wouldn't git too dirty. Den he asted me ef I didn't wuk fo' yo',
Massa Tom, an' of course I says as how I did. Den he asted me about de
fire, an' how much damage it done, an' how we put it out. An' he end up
by sayin' he'd laik t' buy mah mule, Boomerang, an' he wants t' come
heah dis arternoon an' talk t' me about it."
"He does, eh?" cried Tom. "What sort of a man was he, Rad?"
"Well, a gen'man sort ob man, Massa Tom. Stranger t' me. I nebber seed
him afo'. He suah was monstrous polite t' ole black Eradicate, an' he
gib me a half-dollar, too, jest fo' a little ride. But I aint' gwine t'
sell Boomerang, no indeedy, I ain't!" and Eradicate shook his gray,
kinky head decidedly.
"Ned, there may be something in this!" said Tom, in an excited whisper
to his chum. "I don't like the idea of a mysterious stranger
questioning Eradicate!"