THE TRIAL
Ned Newton took dinner at the Swift house that evening, and in the
course of the meal he asked Tom:
“Did you chance to see a man in a frock coat, a gardenia in his
buttonhole, and wearing a top hat at the lake to-day? Little peaked
black mustache and a whisp of goatee? Rather Frenchy looking.”
“He is just the chap I have been worrying about!” exclaimed the young
inventor.
“Why worry about him?” demanded Ned, while even Mr. Swift looked at
his son in some surprise.
“Because it worries me to know that I’ve seen a man but am unable to
place him. Do you have any idea, Ned, who he is?”
“That is what I was asking you—or attempting to,” returned Ned.
“He knows seaplanes, at least,” observed Tom. “I must have seen
him—or his picture, perhaps.”
“He was a complete stranger to me,” declared Ned.
“His face is familiar to me. And I am a bit scary of him,” confessed
Tom. “He looked the new boat over as though he understood everything
about her. Humph! There are some unpatented parts that I would not
care to have stolen.”
“The man could scarcely steal them _in his eye_,” remarked Mr. Swift.
“I am not so sure of that. But it may be that because of trouble we
have had in the past, I am suspicious with little cause.”
“You have caught that from Koku,” laughed Ned Newton.
“Maybe the boy is more than half right,” rejoined Tom, referring to
the giant. “Carney, in the shops, has said he ‘had a feeling in his
bones’ that there was a ‘jinx’ on the boat. Humph! I have to say I
don’t believe in such things—”
“Whether you do believe in evil spirits or not?” interposed Ned.
“Well, that may be so. After all, admitting the existence of bad luck
is to encourage it, they say. But that has nothing much to do with
the dapper little man with the spike mustache and goatee and the
flower in his buttonhole. He was spick and span——”
“Like most Frenchmen? That is one reason why I almost always like
the French,” declared Ned.
“I’d just like to know who he is,” repeated Tom. “Anyway, I am going
to ask you, Ned, to increase the special guards about the cove over
there where the plane rests. I am not yet ready to give other people
the benefit of my discoveries.”
“So Koku is not guard enough?” chuckled Ned Newton.
“He has to sleep once in a while. Besides, a well dressed man awes
Koku a whole lot,” and Tom smiled. “And this chap you speak of could
put it all over the innocent savage.”
They decided to have a special number of guards who should remain
at the cove where the launching had taken place, at least, until
the time of the try-out. And Tom and his men strained every effort
to complete the flying boat and send it into the air as quickly as
possible.
Tom kept three shifts a day at work. But only the most skilled of his
men could be trusted on the job, so the crews were small. However,
there was not an hour of the twenty-four save from Saturday evening
until Monday morning when the hammers did not ring or the steam
drills puff or the riveters clatter on the _Winged Arrow_.
That shore of Lake Carlopa became a very popular resort for
sightseers during the ensuing fortnight. The newspapers had got hold
of the idea that Tom Swift was about to reveal to the world another
marvel, and the reporters would have annoyed the young inventor a
good deal had it not been for Ned Newton.
Ned believed in a certain amount of publicity, and the stories he
furnished the newspaper reporters, if not particularly scientific,
were at least interesting. Tom Swift’s new flying boat was a first
page leader for several days before the test day.
Tom was watchful for the reappearance of the man whose presence at
the launching had disturbed him; but the French looking person did
not again come to the cove. At least, Tom did not see the stranger.
And as the hour approached when the _Winged Arrow_ would be ready
for her trial flight the young inventor gradually forgot all outside
matters. He did not even go to the Nestor house to learn if the
invalid and Mr. Damon had been heard from again. He began to sleep
aboard the flying boat, as the cabin was practically finished.
This central portion of the pontoon, or boat, was arranged so as to
utilize every inch of space. There were folding berths for eight. The
cabin could be divided by a curtain if passengers of opposite sexes
were included in any party. Meals for officers and passengers would
be served here, too, the galley being directly aft.
In contradistinction to the ordinary sailing craft, the quarters of
the crew of the _Winged Arrow_ were in her tail, or after-part. These
machinists would be furnished hammocks to sleep in. The prow of the
boat, where the mechanism of the powerful searchlights was housed,
was built of well-leaded glass so that an unobstructed view ahead and
above, as well as below and on either side, could be obtained.
As the huge machine floated on the water of the lake cove, it seemed
very awkward and as though it would be unmanageable. The opinions
of sightseers who came to stare were as amusing as they were often
silly. It seemed to be the consensus of these opinions that Tom
Swift never intended to try to fly the huge boat, but that it was
merely a “stock jobbing” scheme. It was told that stock in the
Swift Construction Company was being sold at fabulous prices on the
strength of this flying boat that was doomed to failure.
“Gee!” ejaculated Ned Newton, hearing this, “I wish it was as easy to
sell shares in a bona fide invention as these people seem to think it
is in a fake. Money would be easy enough to raise.”
It was true that a fortune—and not a small fortune—had been expended
upon the building of the _Winged Arrow_. The treasurer of the Swift
Construction Company might well be anxious.
“If she’s a fizzle, Tom, my boy,” he said mournfully, “we’ll all have
to go into bankruptcy.”
“She may not be an unqualified success right at the start,” rejoined
the young inventor, with confidence. “But I mean to make her fly and
sail and make a proper landing on the earth and water before I am
through.”
The morning of the day on which the test flight of the new plane was
to occur, Tom Swift was awakened at eight o’clock, a late hour for
him, by the ringing of his private radio-telephone. He rolled over
in bed and grabbed the instrument, removed the receiver and sleepily
shouted:
“Hullo!”
“Tom Swift?” came the voice over the wire—a voice that was quite
unfamiliar to the inventor.
“Speaking,” replied Tom, yawning. “Excuse me. Who is it?”
“That does not matter—just now,” said the voice clearly. “I want you
to do me a favor.”
“What is that?”
“I understand you mean to try out your new seaplane to-day?”
“That is a private matter,” returned Tom, awakened now to full
caution.
“Agreed. But I would like the chance of going with you on the
try-out.”
“What’s that?” demanded Tom, in amazement “You want to join my
mechanics and myself on what may be a dangerous voyage?”
“Exactly. I am interested in your invention. I may be more interested
when I see personally how it works. And if that is so——”
“Well, sir?” shot in Tom, not at all pleased.
“If the plane acts as you seem to think it will, I may be able to
finance your building several of the machines and under circumstances
that will make it well worth your while to sign a contract.”
Tom got a grip on himself almost at once. He replied in a most casual
way:
“I am not at all sure that you could interest me in any such
proposition, even if I knew who you were and was assured of your good
intent. In the first place, this is an entirely private venture, and
I have no thought of selling the plane, or any like it. It may be
some time before I consider the machine perfect. In any case, I do
not know you——”
“Tell me that I am to be one of your sailing party and I will present
my credentials,” interrupted the strange voice quickly.
Naturally Tom Swift had thought, as soon as he was fully awakened, of
the dapper man whose presence at the launching of the _Winged Arrow_
had puzzled both Ned Newton and himself. Although the man had the
appearance of a foreigner, this voice betrayed not the least accent.
The English used seemed meticulously correct, which is, however, a
mark sometimes of the speech of well educated foreigners.
“I can make no arrangements over the telephone,” Tom said bluntly.
“Especially with people of whose identity I know nothing. In
addition, in the present case, and regarding your request, I must
refuse absolutely. Nobody goes with me on the test trip save chosen
workmen and Mr. Newton. I must distinctly say No!” concluded Tom.
“If ready cash would be an object?” began the voice again, but Tom
said once more: “No, sir!” and closed the receiver.
But all the time he was bathing and dressing, and even while he was
eating Rad Sampson’s cakes and chops, the young inventor puzzled his
brain over the incident and the possible identity of the person who
had awakened him.
“He is keeping mighty close tabs on me, whoever he is,” thought Tom.
“Even knew I had this radio-telephone installed on the boat. And he
must represent somebody with plenty of money. Humph, I wonder what
the game really is!
“Business rivals, I presume. And yet, that’s queer, too. I know no
one who’s in desperate need of my ideas and plans just now. Humph!
queer’s no word for it.”
As he said, he had already selected his crew for the first flight of
the _Winged Arrow_. The men were volunteers, of course, and they had
signed off their personal indemnity before he accepted them.
It was true, Ned Newton was to accompany him. Ned was almost as able
to pilot the boat as Tom himself. Mr. Swift merely came down to the
lake to bid them good-bye and watch the flight of the craft. He
helped and advised Tom, but he left the active work wholly in his
son’s capable hands now.
The crowd that gathered numbered several hundred Shopton folk and
probably some strangers. But as the preparations for the test were
concluded Tom scrutinized the groups of spectators sharply for a
sight of the man who had previously interested him.
Whether it was that individual who had got in communication with Tom
early that morning or not, the young inventor did not see him in the
crowd.
“Did you see him?” he asked Ned Newton, as the treasurer of the
company came aboard at the last moment.
“See who?” demanded Ned, in some surprise.
“The Frenchman, as you called him.”
“No, I had forgotten all about him.”
“I have an idea that he has not forgotten about us—or about the
_Winged Arrow_,” Tom said reflectively.