THE TRAP
THE young inventor, followed by his manager and chum, hurried into the
house.
Tom found Dr. Clayton putting the finishing touches to the dressing on a
scalp wound Eradicate had sustained in the encounter. In one corner of
the room Mrs. Baggert, a bandage around one hand, was endeavoring to get
Mr. Swift to drink something from a cup.
“I tell you I’m all right,” insisted the old inventor. “I don’t need any
catnip tea, my dear Mrs. Baggert!”
“But it will be good for your nerves. Won’t it, doctor?” asked the
solicitous housekeeper.
“I guess it won’t do him any harm,” was the noncommittal answer. “There,
Rad, now you’ll be all right,” he added. “You aren’t as badly hurt as
you thought.”
“Say, this looks like a first-line dressing station!” exclaimed Tom, for
a glance showed him that the situation was not as desperate as it had at
first seemed. No one was seriously hurt.
“Three casualties, but they can all get back on the firing line soon,”
announced Dr. Clayton, with a smile.
“Are you able to talk to me about it, Dad?” asked Tom.
“He should be in bed and taking hot catnip tea!” insisted Mrs. Baggert.
“You ought to be in bed yourself, Mrs. Baggert!” returned Mr. Swift in
kindly tones. “That wound in your hand——”
“Pshaw! A mere scratch. I’ve done worse to myself lots of times with a
darning needle!” she replied. “And I do wish you’d take this catnip
tea!”
“I’m not a baby!” laughed Mr. Swift. “But, give it here!”
He had decided that this was the best way of getting rid of the
insistent and troubled housekeeper. He drank the concoction, making
rather a wry face over it, and then Mrs. Baggert, satisfied, went out of
the room.
“Now let’s have the story,” suggested Tom. “Start at the beginning. Is
Rad able to tell his part in it?” he inquired, as he placed a chair for
the aged colored man.
“I shore is!” was the emphatic answer. “An’ ef dat red-haired rascal
comes in yeah now I’ll lambaste him a good one—dat’s whut I will!”
“Better go easy, Rad,” advised the doctor, who was putting away the
materials he had been using.
“It was this way, Tom—” said his father, and then, noticing the rather
disheveled condition of his son, he exclaimed: “Were you attacked also?”
“No. I had a little trouble with the plane and had to sprint with a
forest fire,” was the easy answer. “I’m all right. Go on.”
Thereupon Mr. Swift related that he had been at work in a room opening
out of Tom’s main office on some figures Tom had asked him to verify
when a man suddenly entered and without warning reached over the desk as
if to grab the papers on which Mr. Swift was working.
“I gave a yell and leaped at him,” said the aged inventor, “but he
struck me with something in his hand. I got dizzy and sank back in my
chair. Just then Eradicate, who was out in the hall, rushed in and the
man turned on him, giving poor Rad a blow that knocked him down.
“What happened after that I don’t know, except that I saw, in a daze,
Mrs. Baggert enter the room and the man spring at her. Then I must have
fainted. When I came to myself I was being looked after by Dr. Clayton.
But I’m all right now. We must get after this rascal, Tom.”
“Certainly we will, Dad. But who was he? What does he look like? A
red-haired man has been mentioned.”
“Yes, Tom, this fellow had closely-cropped red hair. I have never seen
him before that I know of.”
“Had you, Rad?” asked the youth.
“No, Massa Tom. I was sweepin’ out in de hall an’ I had my back to de
do’. I didn’t see de fellah go in. But I heard yo’ pa yell, den I bust
in.”
“What happened then?” Tom wanted to know, while Ned made notes in
shorthand of the answers, so he and Tom could go over it later.
“Well, de mostest whut happen is dat me an’ dat fellah come togetha,”
explained Rad. “I went fo’ to hit him, but he done hit me fust! Golly,
ef dey was ebber a time when I done wish fo’ dat giant, it was den!”
“Do all the descriptions of this man tally?” asked Tom. “I mean does
Mrs. Baggert also say he was a stranger with red hair?”
“Yes,” answered Mr. Swift. “I questioned her about that before you got
here. The fellow surely had red hair cut close to his head.”
“Did he get away with anything?” asked Tom quickly. “I mean any of our
plans? What papers did you have out on the desk when he burst in on you.
Dad?”
“They were the plans of both the tidal engine and the mill machinery
that I was glancing over, you asked me to verify your figures, you
know,” was the answer. “But he didn’t get any.”
The excitement was extreme while it lasted, but it was over now.
Inquiries developed the fact that none of the employees in the office
had seen the mysterious red-haired stranger enter or leave.
He had been evolved out of thin air, it seemed, and had vanished into
the same element. That he had had his trouble for his pains was evident,
for a careful check-up showed that none of the tidal engine papers was
missing, nor had any of the mill machinery plans been taken from Mr.
Swift.
“How about my chest of stuff?” asked Tom anxiously.
“It’s all right,” his father informed him. “I looked at that as soon as
I felt able. It’s locked and still in place.”
“Good!” cried Tom. “And now we must get busy and solve this mystery.”
Making sure that his father, Rad and Mrs. Baggert were really in no
danger, Tom took a bath to remove some of the grime of his recent
experiences and then sent a couple of his men over to the pine tree in
which the _Hummer_ had lodged.
“I’m afraid the plane’s a goner,” Tom said. “But maybe you can save part
of her. The engine ought to be good, anyhow.”
This having been done, and as it was now late in the day, Tom closed the
office, first, however, arranging to have Koku take up his sleeping
quarters there to be on guard every night.
“If the red-haired chap returns, he’ll meet with a different reception
this time,” Tom said to Ned.
He and Ned made a careful check-up on all the incidents connected with
the attempted robbery and assault. They looked about the place for
clews, but found none of any moment. Nor could any one be found who had
seen the scoundrel make his way to Mr. Swift’s room.
The young inventor had not forgotten what Mary had told him about the
conversation in the restaurant, and he called up the proprietor on the
telephone. But that individual could give him no information concerning
the fellows who had had their meal there.
It was natural that Tom’s mind should jump to the latest acquisition to
his working force—the man Barsky. Somewhat suspicious of him from the
first, and these suspicions added to by his father’s ominous shake of
the head and his expressed doubts of the Russian, Tom decided to keep an
eye on the fellow.
It was almost closing time in the shops when Dr. Clayton had gone,
leaving all his patients in good shape, and when Tom and Ned had been
informed as to the main points in the matter. With his suspicions
fermenting, Tom hurried over to the pattern shop.
It was with mingled feelings that he saw Barsky hard at work on certain
important models. Tom passed the fellow and spoke to him, saying
casually:
“It will soon be quitting time.”
“Eet matters not to me—hours,” replied the man in his strong accent.
“When I work I think not of time. I am of much interest in my
profession.”
“Yes, it’s a good thing to be so interested,” returned Tom dryly.
He passed on, but took a position where he could watch the man without
himself being observed.
It was hot in the workshop. Beads of perspiration came out on Barsky’s
forehead, and as he mopped them away with a big, blue handkerchief, Tom,
from his hiding place, saw something that made him exclaim:
“The fellow’s wearing a wig!”
Wild ideas ran through Tom Swift’s mind.
“I’ll set a trap for him,” he decided.
The quitting whistle blew. True to his statement, the Russian worked on,
though other men laid aside their tools. Tom remained in his hiding
place, but it was now getting dark in the shop and he could see little.
It was not until shortly before noon the following day that Tom had a
chance to put into operation his plan of laying a trap for Barsky. In
the meanwhile nothing new had developed in the matter of discovering the
red-haired man.
Carrying out his plan, Tom went to a small room in the rear of his
office where he sometimes carried out delicate experiments. From there
he caused to be sent to the suspect a message that he was wanted.
The approach to this little room was along a narrow corridor where there
was not room for two to pass. When Tom heard Barsky approaching in
answer to the summons, the young inventor hurried out, timing himself to
meet the Russian in the corridor. To keep the matter secret, Tom had
arranged to be alone in this part of the building.
“Ah, you sent for me, Mr. Swift?” asked the man. “Eet is a plaisair for
to come to so distinguished an inventor.”
Thus the man exclaimed as he saw Tom coming toward him out of the little
room. But Tom gave the fellow no chance to do anything, had such been
his intention.
Brushing up against the suspect, as though to pass him in the narrow
corridor, Tom raised his hand and brushed the big mop of black hair on
Barsky’s head.
A moment later the wig of hair came off and with it the bushy black
beard that all but hid the fellow’s face.
“Ah, I thought so!” cried Tom, as he saw closely-cropped red hair,
heretofore hidden by the wig. “You’re a prison bird all right,
Barsky—or whatever your name is. I’ve found you out!”
For a moment the man was so taken by surprise that he could only stand
with open mouth, gasping.
Then, suddenly, rage seemed to take possession of the red-haired
rascal—the same sort of rage that must have actuated him in his attack
on Mr. Swift, Eradicate and Mrs. Baggert. Before he could speak,
however, Tom cried:
“You’re through here, you dirty scoundrel! Get your time and clear out!
And don’t think you’re going to have it end there. I’m going to have you
arrested!”
“Oh, you are, eh?” sneered the man, and, realizing that his disguise had
been effectually penetrated, all trace of his pretended Russian accent
disappeared. He spoke ordinary English. “So you think you’ve found me
out, do you? Well, you’ve got another guess coming, Tom Swift! I’m not
half through with you!”
“You mean I’m not through with you!” replied Tom. “You’re an imposter! I
have been suspecting you for some time, and my father has from the
first. Now we’ll have a settlement!”
“But first I’ll settle with you!” cried the fellow, whose rage was on
the increase. His lips closed tightly and he clenched his hands. These
should have been warning signs to Tom, but they were not.
A moment later, kicking aside the wig and false beard, the fellow made a
jump for the young inventor. Whether he held concealed in his hand some
object like a black-jack, was never found out. But the fellow gave Tom
such a blow on the head that the young inventor crumpled up and went
down in a heap. Blackness closed over him and in his ears a multitude of
bells seemed to ring.