THE BLUE MACHINE
BARTON SWIFT was the true father of his energetic son, and Tom inherited
his qualities from his father. Which is to say that in his youth Barton
Swift had been fully as active and quick as was now the young inventor.
Though age and illness had to some extent dimmed and enfeebled the
powers of the man, still it needed but this spark—that strange
telephone message—to galvanize him into action. After the first shock
of hearing so unexpectedly about the stolen chest of secrets, Mr. Swift
was ready to take active measures to trace the voice coming out of the
machine.
“What’s that you say?” he asked, nerving himself to carry on an ordinary
conversation about a most extraordinary topic. “Who are you and where
are you?”
“Don’t you wish you knew?” came back the challenging inquiry. “Are you
ready to talk business?”
“Of course I am,” answered Mr. Swift. “We want that chest back, and
we’ll pay any reasonable amount.”
“I’m not saying the amount will be reasonable,” was the reply, and
emphasis was laid on the last word. “But you’ll pay our price or you
don’t get the chest. And I warn you that if you try to communicate with
the police or set the detectives on our trail we’ll immediately break
off negotiations.”
Trying to get in touch with the police was just what Mr. Swift was then
doing. Ned Newton’s father had entered the office, and, seeing him, Mr.
Swift at once took pencil and paper from his desk and while he talked in
a rather general way with his unseen listener, he jotted down a few
words, explaining matters and suggesting that Mr. Newton go to another
telephone to learn from the central operator where the mysterious call
was coming from.
There were several trunk telephone lines running into the Swift office,
so it was a comparatively easy matter for Mr. Newton to go to another
instrument to get the information needed.
Meanwhile Mr. Swift was holding the other man in conversation. Having
started Mr. Newton to ferreting out some information, the aged inventor
asked:
“How much do you want to return the chest and how can I get in touch
with you?”
“If you will take fifty thousand dollars in unmarked bills, make a
bundle of them and bring them——”
But at that moment the criminal either heard something—perhaps the
movements of Mr. Newton—or he suspected something, for he sharply broke
off what he was saying and cried:
“It’s all off! You’re trying to double cross me! Now you’ll never get
your chest back!”
There was a click which told that the distant receiver was hung up, and
then the line went dead.
“Wait a minute! Wait just a moment! I want to talk business with you!”
cried Mr. Swift, rapidly moving the hook of the receiver up and down.
But it was too late. Only silence ensued until finally the operator,
attracted by the flashing light which resulted when Mr. Swift moved the
hook, asked:
“Number, please?”
“I was talking to some one, but I was cut off,” said the inventor. “Can
you get them back for me? It’s important.”
“What number were you talking to?” the girl asked.
“That’s just what I want to know,” said Tom’s father.
“I’m sorry, but if you don’t know the number I can’t ring it for you.”
Mr. Swift knew only too well that this was the case. It was not the
girl’s fault—it was the fault of the system, and not so much the fault
as the limitation.
“If I had only had Tom’s photo-telephone attachment hitched on here I
could have seen who it was I was talking with,” lamented Mr. Swift. “How
about it, Mr. Newton, did you succeed in getting any information?” he
asked, as the latter came away from the second instrument.
“The manager said he would try to trace the call for you,” was the
reply. “But I didn’t have much time. Whoever it was got suspicious too
quickly.”
“Yes,” agreed the inventor. “He must have heard me giving you the paper
and he jumped to the conclusion that there was a second person in the
room. Well, we’ll have to wait and see what they can do for us in the
central telephone office. I wish Tom were here!”
“I suppose he and Ned are on the trail of the robbers,” remarked Mr.
Newton.
“Yes, but this would be a good clew for them. However, it’s too late
now. It shows, though, that our chest is still safe. They probably
realize that they cannot make as much use of our plans, designs and
patents as they thought at first.”
“It’s as if they stole a lot of non-negotiable securities,” commented
Mr. Newton. “They’ll have trouble in disposing of your stuff, and they
probably think that they will get more out of it by giving it back to
you for a consideration than by peddling the plans about the country. In
fact, no reputable manufacturer would deal with the scoundrels.”
“That’s true, Mr. Newton! They are scoundrels. I hope Tom catches them.
As soon as he calls up, as he will sooner or later, we must tell him
what has happened.”
But Tom, with Ned and Koku, taking off about that same time for a
further search after the mysterious blue machine, had no present
intention of calling up his home, though he realized that it would be
wise to get in communication with his father before very long.
“I want to have something to tell him first,” said Tom to Ned. “I want
to give him news that we have at least sighted the robbers.”
Up and onward soared the _Blackbird_. After the night of rest, though
the machine was not the most comfortable bedroom in the world, the
travelers were refreshed and ready for what the day might bring forth.
They kept on the western trail, ascending at times to great heights, far
above the clouds, where they had an unobstructed view of a vast expanse.
This they scanned for a sight of the blue machine. But up to noon they
had not sighted her.
“I think I’ll circle a bit,” decided Tom, as they ate a hasty lunch on
board, Ned steering while Tom munched sandwiches and drank milk they had
in a thermos bottle, for they had put food in the machine at the last
stopping place. Then Tom managed the machine while Ned ate. As Koku was
not capable of operating the _Blackbird_ he could devote his whole
attention to food—and it may be said that he did so.
About the middle of the afternoon, following his circling movements
which resulted in nothing, Tom asked Ned to take the helm for a while.
“I want to get a bit of rest,” the young inventor explained.
“Sure, give me a chance to distinguish myself,” suggested Ned, who liked
to handle the craft.
Tom made himself as comfortable as possible in his cockpit, and for an
hour Ned guided the _Blackbird_, giving Koku the glasses with which to
make observations. The giant had remarkable sight. But even this did not
succeed in bringing into view the blue machine.
Ned presently saw trouble ahead of him in the shape of ominous black
clouds, and, recognizing them as a storm and not caring to trust to his
abilities in this emergency, he awakened Tom.
“It’s only a thunder shower,” said the young inventor. “Run through it,
Ned.”
They had often done this, sometimes shooting up above the edge of the
storm and getting into clear air higher up, and sometimes skirting the
edge of the disturbance.
This time Tom Swift miscalculated the size of the storm, or else it
suddenly developed larger proportions after they entered it. No sooner
had the _Blackbird_ pushed her beak into the bank of black clouds than
Tom awoke to the realization that they were in considerable danger. Not
only had they rashly entered the area of a thunderstorm, but a hail
storm as well.
In another instant the _Blackbird_ was all but overwhelmed by a fierce
wind while big hailstones fell on the wings with such force that one or
two of them ripped through the stout fabric.
The thunder was like the sound of big guns in the ears of the travelers,
while the lightning hissed about them in blinding sheets and jagged
forks until it seemed a miracle that they were not struck.
“This is awful!” cried Ned. “You’d better take the wheel, Tom!”
Tom thought this himself. He bent his head to the blast and endeavored
to ascertain the direction of the storm that he might steer out of it.
Koku did not seem at all afraid. In fact, he always liked a storm, for
it seemed to give him a chance to pit his strength against the elements.
He laughed and shouted and caught up handfuls of hailstones from his
cockpit, throwing them over the side.
“Stop it!” commanded Tom. “We’ve got trouble enough without that. Sit
still!” For the giant was moving about so that he endangered the craft,
tossed as it was in the furious wind.
However, Tom Swift had not managed aeroplanes several years without
learning how to handle them in fair weather and foul, and in a short
time he took the _Blackbird_ out of the storm and up above the burst of
almost tropical fury.
“Whew!” whistled Tom, when he could relax for a moment. “That was a
humdinger!”
“You said it!” echoed Ned. “Do you think we’re damaged any?”
“Can’t tell. It will be best, I think, to make a landing and look
ourselves over. It will soon be time to tie up for the night, anyhow,
and we might as well go down now.”
“Let’s take a last look for the blue machine,” suggested Ned. Carefully
he scanned the heavens above them and the earth below them for a sight
of the robbers, but saw nothing. Then, having passed far beyond the
thunderstorm, they made a descent in a lonely field where they passed
the night.
It was about ten o’clock the following morning and they had been under
way for about an hour when Tom, using the glasses while Ned ran the
_Blackbird_, suddenly uttered an exclamation.
“What is it?” asked his chum eagerly.
“The blue machine, I think!” cried Tom. “I think I see her hidden down
there under some trees. Circle a bit to the left, Ned.”
When this had been done, Tom meanwhile looking down, the young inventor
cried:
“There she is! We’ve spotted them. The blue machine is down there! Now
for a trick!”