"Well, I see you have made it, Tom?"
"Made what, Dr. Burr?"
"A brave record. I compliment you on it, my boy. You deserve all they
say about you."
"I don't understand what you are talking about, doctor."
"That will tell you, then," and with a friendly smile the Rockley Cove
physician pressed upon Tom a newspaper he had been carrying when he met
his young friend.
Tom was in a great hurry. He told the doctor so and hastened homewards.
It was the morning after the rescue of those aboard the _Olivia_. Tom
had remained on duty at Station Z all night, and Bill Barber had
insisted on keeping him company.
There had been little of real business to attend to, but Tom had
concluded it was the right time to look out for disasters, as witness
the lucky reception of the wireless from the ill-fated _Olivia_.
Bill had relieved Tom in watching and sleeping, and Tom had dozed enough
to keep him from feeling done out, despite the rigorous experience of
the early evening hours.
Just an hour previous Ben Dixon had put in a dejected and disconsolate
appearance at the tower. The minute Tom caught sight of his face he knew
that his chum had failed in his search for the missing Harry Ashley.
"No use, Tom," was Ben's blunt report. "Your father and I reached
Wadhams and visited the circus, but we were too late."
"How too late, Ben?" inquired Tom.
"Harry was gone."
"Then he had been there?"
"We found that out all right. Twelve hours earlier, and we would have
reached him. There were two kidnappers, all right, and one of them
answered the description of the fellow you noticed spying on Harry the
day he was in swimming with the boys."
"Were they holding Harry a prisoner?"
"A safe and sound one. The men had been circus peddlers once. They took
Harry to an open, roofless canvas where a lot of truck was stored. It
seems that an old friend of theirs had charge of it. From all your
father could get this man to say, Brady and Casey--those are the names
of Tom's kidnappers--made him believe he was a bad runaway boy they were
authorized and paid for to return to his friends. I don't believe that
myself. I think the three men were in cahoots, and that the circus
tender was in on the scheme, whatever it is. Anyhow, in the roofless
tent was a lion's cage. Its occupant had died a few days before Harry's
arrival. It was a safe place to shut the lad in, and they did it. They
sort of partitioned the cage off by itself, and kept close watch on
Harry, so he wouldn't raise a rumpus. Brady was away for two days, I
found out, so their plot was working."
"And what about the toy balloons?" inquired Tom.
"Why, the way I got it was that one of the circus peddlers who had a lot
of them for sale, kept his surplus stock in the storage tent. In some
way Harry must have been struck with the idea of using them as
messengers to tell of his captivity. Anyhow, he managed to reach them
with a stick or string, or in some ingenious way, and had all night to
equip them with the cards. Brady and Casey let Harry out of the cage,
and took him away in an automobile night before last."
"You couldn't find out their destination?"
"The circus keeper declared that he didn't know. Your father inquired
around of others, though, and from what he heard he thinks they were
headed for Springville. We weren't sure. We decided that Harry would be
kept in closer hiding than ever, and we sort of got discouraged and gave
it up."
"I won't give it up!" cried Tom, his eyes snapping; and preparing to
leave the tower at once. "I'll find the man I saw at the river if I have
to chase him all over the state."
"Well, you see, you'd know him by sight, and we wouldn't," submitted
Ben.
"I feel it my duty to do all I can to find Harry," proceeded Tom. "At
any rate, I am going to try. You stay on duty at the station, Ben. It
simply isn't in me to remain quiet where we don't know what fate may
threaten that poor boy."
Now, after leaving the tower, Tom had met Dr. Burr, and hurried
homewards. He took a look at the newspaper the physician had given him.
Its heading told that it was a daily print from a nearby city, received
at Rockley Cove by a few residents early in the morning.
Tom, as has been said, was in urgent haste, but one glance at the
printed sheet halted him as suddenly as if it had been a warrant
presented unexpectedly by an officer of the law.
In glaring headlines the feature of the news of the day, the rescue of
the passengers of the _Olivia_, was indicated. In bold, broad type his
name stood out as the hero of a grand occasion. Tom's eye lit up as in
the same glaring type he read also the name of his loyal adherent, Bill
Barber. It was "William Barber," the dignified way the paper put it, and
Tom was unutterably glad.
He merely skimmed the three columns of details that followed. Then he
crumpled up the paper and started on a run for home with the breathless
exclamation:
"It's wonderful!"
Tom did not mean that the chronicled rescue was wonderful. He was too
modest for that. What stirred and startled him were the remarkable
evidences of journalistic ability displayed by the newspaper. He decided
that after he and Bill had left Brookville the captain of the Olivia
must have got in immediate connection with New York and other places by
telegraph.
"He must have had a busy time of it, giving all those details,"
ruminated Tom. "They have made a big thing of it, sure enough. Well, it
will please father and mother, and as for myself--I hope I deserve all
they say about me."
Tom reached the house to find that the news of his part in the rescue of
the _Olivia_ had preceded him. When the newspaper was discovered, every
member of the family, even the hired men, crowded about to stare in
wonder at the printed page over the shoulder of Ted Barnes, who began to
read in a tragic, breathless tone.
Mr. Barnes looked considerably stirred up, and there was a new respect
for the "new-fangled" wireless in his mind, Tom felt certain. His mother
tremulously clung close to him as she asked solicitous questions, to be
sure that he had not suffered in limb or health from his hard battle
with the waves.
As soon as things had quieted down somewhat, Tom took his father aside.
He told his parents of his resolve to go in search of Harry Ashley, and
his father encouraged him.
A hired man was to drive our hero over to Wadhams in the farm gig. Tom
reached that town about noon. He went at once to the circus, to find it
in confusion. They were dismantling the show to exhibit in another town,
and the man who knew Brady and Casey had gone forward with the first
contingent.
About to follow, Tom paused. A sudden thought came to his mind. The two
kidnappers had left Wadhams with Harry in an automobile. It was scarcely
probable that the machine was their own.
"They must have borrowed or hired it," reflected Tom, "most likely the
latter. It's worth while trying to find out."
Tom made due inquiries in regard to the location of public livery
garages in the town. There were three, he ascertained, and he started in
to visit them in turn.
At the first garage he received no encouragement; at the second one the
result was more satisfactory. The call book of the garage showed that a
machine had been sent to the circus two nights before, and had made a
run to Springville.
"That's the one," decided Harry; and questioning the garage owner, he
was soon in touch with the chauffeur who had made the run.
"I'm the man, and that's the bunch," declared the chauffeur, as soon as
Tom had told the object of his mission.
"Where did you take them?" inquired Tom--"I mean where in Springville?"
"To the edge of a little city park," replied the chauffeur. "They made
me stop there to hide all later trace, I surmised; but it was none of my
business as long as I got my pay."
"Didn't you notice the boy they had with them?"
"I did," answered the chauffeur. "He was quite stupid like, as if he'd
been doped. I suspected things weren't all straight and regular, but the
man I heard called Brady kept telling me he was a runaway lad who had
made all kinds of trouble and disgrace for his people."
Tom thanked the man for the information he had imparted, and at once
took the trolley for Springville, which was about twenty miles distant.
When he arrived he had no definite plan of action outside of going
straight to the local police in an effort to interest them in his story.
"I'll look around a bit first, though," Tom decided. "I may accidentally
run across some hint or clew that may help me."
Tom strolled about the place, his eye on the alert. He had a faithful
mental picture of the ill-favored fellow he had caught spying on Harry
Ashley at Rockley Cove, and was sure he would recognize the rascal on
sight.
He put in two hours in a stroll into such parts of the city which he
fancied a man like Brady would choose in seeking a refuge. He chased
down two or three persons a view of whose backs suggested the man for
whom he was looking. He had paused at a street corner as a great
jangling of bells and the shouts and hurryings of the crowds suggested
some pending excitement.
"It's a fire," someone shouted, and pointed at dense volumes of smoke a
few blocks away.
Tom started to cross the street in that direction.
Just ahead of him he casually noticed the hurrying figure of a bulky
clumsy-limbed man carrying a big, old-fashioned carpet bag.
"Hi! Out of the way, there!" shouted a sharp warning voice, as a fire
engine turned the corner suddenly, bearing directly down upon the
awkward pedestrian.
The man got flustered and made a forward spring. The satchel he carried
slipped from his grasp. He ran back to rescue it.
The ponderous rushing fire vehicle was fairly upon him. Tom instantly
saw his peril. There was only one thing to do, and our hero did it
promptly and effectively.
Making a forward dash at top speed, Tom fairly bunted into the stooping
man. With all his force he struck him, sending him sliding head over
heels into the gutter.
The feet of one of the horses attached to the fire engine just grazed
Tom's heel, and, striking the carpet bag, lifted it ten feet in the air.
It landed at the curb broken open, its contents scattering far and wide.
Tom slid against the prostrate owner of the satchel, picked himself up,
and turned to ascertain the possible injuries of the man whose life he
had certainly saved.
There was, however, no gratified expression in the face of the man. In
utter concern and disgust he stared at his scattered possessions, wildly
threw up his hands in a frantic despairing gesture, and bolted out the
echoing word:
"Donner! Donner!"