TOM SWIFT AND HIS

CHEST OF SECRETS

OR

Tracing the Stolen Inventions

By

VICTOR APPLETON

Author of

“Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle”

“Tom Swift Among the Diamond Makers”

“Tom Swift and His Great Oil Gusher”

“The Don Sturdy Series”

Etc.

ILLUSTRATED

NEW YORK

GROSSET & DUNLAP

PUBLISHERS

Made in the United States of America

Copyright, 1925, by

GROSSET & DUNLAP

————

Tom Swift and His Chest of Secrets

CONTENTS

IN THE LIGHT OF LANTERNS TOM COUNTED FIVE FIGURES.

TOM SWIFT AND HIS

CHEST OF SECRETS

CHAPTER I
A CRASH ON THE ROOF

There was a puffing as of labored breath, a shuffling of feet in the hallway, a banging and clattering sound, and then a voice cried:

“Where you have ’um, Master?”

Ned Newton looked up from his desk and glanced across the room at Tom Swift who was poring over a mass of blue prints. The young inventor smiled at his equally youthful business manager as Ned remarked:

“There’s your cute little giant Koku up to some of his interesting tricks again! Sounds as if he’d caught Eradicate by the hair of his bald head and was bringing him in upside down!”

“Plague take those fellows!” muttered Tom, a look of annoyance passing over his face. “If they don’t stop this everlasting clashing to see who is going to do things around here, I’ll get rid of them both! That’s what I will!”

Ned Newton laughed—laughed so hard that a pencil he had been using flew out of his hand and fell to the floor, breaking the fine point the young manager had put on in order to work over the financial affairs of the Swift Construction Company. Then Ned’s face sobered as he noted his broken pencil and he exclaimed:

“Oh, soapsuds!”

“Why the giggles?” asked Tom a bit impatiently. He had been buried in such deep thought that he resented the interruptions—not only the interruption of the noise outside his private office, but Ned’s laughter.

“Oh, I was only laughing because you’ve threatened so many times to get rid of Koku and Eradicate. But you’ve never done it,” went on Ned, “and you never will.”

“No, I never will, I suppose,” agreed Tom slightly chuckling. “Though they are mighty annoying at times with their everlasting——”

He did not finish the sentence, for again there came from the hall those strange sounds and once more the voice asked:

“Where you want ’um, Master?”

“It all depends, I should say, on who ‘ ’um’ is,” laughed Ned.

“It can’t be Rad,” remarked Tom, rising from his chair to go to the door. “If it were he’d have let out a yell long ago. It’s got so lately that he makes a fuss if Koku looks at him.”

“Afraid he’ll turn him white, I reckon,” chuckled Ned.

By this time Tom Swift had opened the door, revealing that Koku, the jungle giant, alone stood there, waiting for orders. Contrary to what Ned Newton had suggested, the big man did not have in his grasp Eradicate Sampson, the old colored servant of the Swift household. Between Koku and Eradicate there was an everlasting feud, due to the fact that each one loved and wanted to serve Tom and resented the other’s efforts in the same field of endeavor.

But Koku held something else—something that, when Ned caught a glimpse of it, caused the young manager to exclaim:

“My word, Tom, what’s the idea of the treasure chest?”

For it was nothing less than that which the giant held up on his shoulder—a great, massive oak chest bound with heavy strips of brass. And, as if that were not enough to hold the chest together, there were in addition two strips of wrought iron around either end of it, the strips terminating in hasps which dropped over massive staples, there to be fastened with heavy brass padlocks which tinkled and clanged with a suggestive sound as Koku stood holding the big box.

“Oh, Koku, I didn’t know this had come,” remarked Tom, and all his annoyance at the interruption to his thoughts passed. “I have been waiting for it.”

“Jes’ comed,” remarked Koku, whose English left much to be desired, though he generally managed to make himself understood. “Two mans bring ’um off truck. Want to fetch ’um up here. I laff an’ say Koku brung. Them mans laff say no can do. I laff two times and I give mans push and bring ’um here. Here ’um am.”

“So I see,” remarked Tom with gentle sarcasm. “And I suppose in refusing the offers of the truckmen who delivered my chest you knocked them seven ways or more.

“Just cast your gaze out of that window, Ned, and see if you can observe two huskies with fire in their eyes who will make a demand on the Swift Construction Company for damages caused by personal injuries from this little follower of mine. And as for you, Koku, how many times must I tell you not to go about pushing! You aren’t playing football, you know!”

“Where you want ’um?” was all Koku answered, still holding the heavy chest as though it were but a pasteboard box. “I put ’um down then I go bring up mans an’ show ’um I can do!”

“You let those men alone!” and Tom laughed in spite of himself. “You’ve got me into trouble enough, as it is. But put the chest down there, and then go and ask my father if he feels well enough to come here.”

“Boss Swift no come, I carry him,” said Koku simply.

“None of that, unless he wants you to, Koku!” ordered Tom in so sharp a tone that the giant knew he must obey.

“Aw right,” he murmured. He put the massive brass-bound chest down in the middle of the room, the keys, which were tied to the padlocks, jingling and clanking as he did so. Then, as the giant left the room, Ned drew his head in from the window and remarked:

“There are two huskies down there, dusting off their clothes and looking indignant.”

“Just as I thought,” groaned Tom. “I’ll have another demand on me for monetary damages on account of Koku’s confounded zeal in my behalf. Here, Ned, run down with these cigars, like a good chap, and stave off the row, will you?”

“Sure, Tom!” The young manager grabbed a handful of cigars from a box some one had sent Tom, but which the young inventor never used, and hurried out.

Meanwhile Tom Swift, left to himself, walked over to the great new chest, and, cutting loose the keys, fitted them into the locks, there being two, and threw back the cover.

“This will hold the most valuable of my secrets until I can get the concrete storage vault made,” he remarked.

He was still looking at and admiring the chest when Ned came back. In his hand the young man still held the cigars.

“Wouldn’t they take them?” asked Tom quickly.

“I didn’t get a chance to give them the smokes,” was the answer. “Just as I got down there Koku came out the back door, and you should have seen those fellows make a dash for their truck. They’re breaking the speed laws yet, I reckon,” and Ned sat down in a chair and laughed heartily. “They seem to have had enough of Koku’s pushes, Tom.”

“Hang it all!” muttered Tom. “Well, I’ll have to square those fellows next time I see them. Maybe they won’t make any trouble.”

“Judging from the way they streaked it down the road, they won’t come back here unless they’re hauled. But what’s the idea of the treasure chest, Tom? Some new invention?”

“No, it’s just a plain, strong chest. I had it made to store away my secret inventions—the formulae, plans, blue prints and so on—until I can put them properly in a vault that I’m going to construct underground.” As Tom spoke he began putting into the chest a number of bundles of documents and drawings. “I had the chest made in Mansburg, and I was just wondering when they were going to deliver it when Koku brought it up,” he added.

“Those plans and blue prints must be worth a lot of money,” remarked Ned, with an appraising glance at them.

“Well, yes, you might say that,” admitted Tom, though not at all boastfully. “The tidal engine alone, when I get it perfected, ought to bring in a pretty penny—that is, if dad and I decided to sell it.”

“When you perfect it!” exclaimed Ned. “Why, it works like a charm now!”

“Yes, I know the model does,” admitted Tom. “But that doesn’t say it’s commercially practical yet.”

“To judge by some of the offers you got for even a small interest in it, I’d say it was a humdinger!” exclaimed Ned. “But then your name goes a long way, Tom. Once let it be known that your company has something new on the market, and you’re overwhelmed with offers. Take that gyroscope air flier your father helped work out——”

“Not so loud, Ned!” cautioned the young inventor. “I’m not ready to let the latest news of that get out yet. As you know, with the new stabilizer, it works on quite a different principle.”

“Right! But there’s no one around here now to catch your secrets, Tom.”

“You never know when some one is around,” was the cautious observation as the young inventor continued to pack blue prints into the chest. “It’s best to be on the safe side. We didn’t think any one was listening when you and I discussed plans for the new turbine, and yet we nearly got dished out of that.”

“That’s so—my error!” apologized Ned. “Are the plans for that going into the new chest?”

“Yes; and for my new idea that may result in automatically stopping railroad trains and preventing accidents,” went on Tom. “I have great hopes of that and also of my new mammoth telescope.”

“Telescope!” exclaimed Ned. “You haven’t said anything to me about that, Tom. What’s the idea?”

“Well, it’s pretty hazy as yet. But I have a notion that we haven’t begun to reach the limits of telescope work yet. If by means of present instruments we can bring the moon to within apparently forty thousand miles, why can’t we double the size, or at least the power of the telescopes, and make the moon seem only a few hundred miles away? Then, by taking moving pictures and enlarging them, we may be able to settle the disputed point as to whether or not the moon is inhabited. Yes, I’ve got a lot of work to do on my telescope, and also on the farm tractor. I’ve got a notion I can improve the tractor, though I guess Ford beat me to it, and holds all the tricks, for he can make them in such vast quantities that he could outsell me and underbid me, even though I could better the machine a little.”

“Yes, I wouldn’t advise, as your financial manager, bucking up against the Ford interests,” remarked Ned dryly. “We’re in pretty good shape, have a nice balance in the bank, and all that, but I want to see it stay there.”

“So do I!” laughed Tom, as he continued to pack into the chest thousands of dollars’ worth of valuable patent papers. “I’m not going into any wild schemes, Ned.”

“I wouldn’t advise it,” went on the young manager. “Especially in view of what may happen soon,” he added.

“What’s going to happen?” asked Tom quickly and a bit apprehensively.

“Why, I thought I might soon be requested to act as best man at a certain ceremony in which the talented Tom Swift was a party of the second part, and a certain Mary Nestor party of the first part aforesaid in manner following, to wit, that is to say, and all the rest of it!”

“Cut it out!” laughed Tom, blushing slightly under his tan. “But if I ever do need a best man you’ll be it, Ned.”

“Thanks. I hoped as much. Well, when you get all your documents in that chest of secrets it will be worth a pretty penny, Tom.”

“Chest of secrets!” laughed Tom. “That’s a good name for it, Ned. Yes, quite a little fortune,” he went on. “I had the chest made secure and heavy on purpose so it couldn’t easily be carried away. Maybe I had it made a bit too heavy. Let’s see if we can shift it out of the middle of the room, Ned.”

The chest, nearly filled with documents which Tom had taken from his desk and the office safe, was not locked. The two young men attempted to lift it, but it was beyond their strength.

“We’ll have to send for Koku,” remarked Tom. “Though I expect him back any moment. I sent him to call dad here. He may have some papers he wants to put in the chest.”

“Hark!” exclaimed Ned, raising a hand for silence.

Immediately thereafter a great crash sounded on the roof of the building—a thundering, vibrating and nerve-racking crash, and above the din a voice cried:

“Bless my steering wheel! I didn’t want to land here!”

CHAPTER II
BIG OFFERS

Tom Swift and Ned Newton glanced at each other. In spite of the apparent gravity of the situation the young men could not help smiling. For well they knew that voice, and they could judge what had happened.

“It’s Mr. Damon!” exclaimed Ned.

“And he must have made a forced landing from an aeroplane on the roof above us!” added Tom. “Lucky for us he didn’t come through.”

“Lucky for him, too, I should say!”

Ned made a dash for a stairway leading to the broad, flat roof of the building that housed Tom’s executive offices and also one of the shops of the Swift Construction Company. The young inventor followed his financial manager. Others of the plant—workmen, machinists, and apprentices—were also on their way to the roof.

Tom and Ned, going up a private stairway and through a scuttle, were the first to reach the scene. There a curious sight met their eyes. Seated in a small monoplane—a kind invented by Tom Swift himself—was Mr. Wakefield Damon, a friend of the family, a very eccentric but lovable character, forever “blessing” any and everything that took his fancy.

“Hello, boys!” he greeted Tom and Ned, blinking his eyes at them in a curious fashion.

“Well, for the love of spark plugs!” cried Ned. “What happened?”

“Are you hurt?” Tom asked more practically, though a quick glance assured him that the plane was whole, though one landing wheel was slightly out of true, and that the solitary passenger was still in the small cockpit.

“Bless my porous plaster, Tom, I don’t know whether I’m hurt or not!” answered Mr. Damon. “I came down so suddenly! I was aiming to land in your regular flying field, but something went wrong with the controls—it’s a new plane, I haven’t had it long—and I find myself here.”

“Mighty lucky you are to find yourself, I’ll say,” murmured Ned, as a crowd of Tom’s men gathered about the plane on the roof.

“This smash,” remarked Tom, as he and Ned were helping the odd man from his aeroplane, “reminds me of the first time I ever saw you, Mr. Damon. You were riding a motorcycle.”

“And it tried to climb a tree with me! Bless my rubber boots, well do I remember that!”

It was owing to Mr. Damon’s disgust over the accident to his motorcycle that Tom had been able to secure it for a small sum. As related in the first volume of this series, “Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle,” the young inventor was started on his sensational career by the possession of this battered machine, which he repaired and got in running order. On it he had some exciting rides.

Tom was in his early manhood. He, and his aged and somewhat invalid father, an inventor of note, lived in the Swift homestead in the town of Shopton on Lake Carlopa. Tom’s mother was dead, but he and his father were well looked after by Mrs. Baggert, an efficient housekeeper. Of late years Barton Swift had not taken much active part in the rapidly growing business, though Tom always consulted his father on matters of importance.

It was at the suggestion of Mary Nestor, for whom Tom had a very great admiration, that the young inventor engaged his friend and boyhood chum, Ned Newton, to look after the business matters of the Swift Construction Company. Tom never had reason to regret that decision. For with Ned to look after money matters, see to contracts, and the like, Tom and his father were left free to exercise their inventive ability.

The Swift Company had gone into many lines of activity, from building airships and aeroplanes to constructing submarines and giant cannon for the government. These brought Tom and his associates money and fame, and also hard work.

Just prior to the opening of this story Tom had developed a new drill and a system of sinking shafts for oil wells, and when, as related in “Tom Swift and His Great Oil Gusher,” he successfully demonstrated how quickly he could get down to the oil-containing sand, he made another big amount of money, not only for the Swift Company, but for the Goby family as well.

It was after this that he began to think of getting together in one central place all his drawings, patent rights, secret formulae and the like. To this end he had had constructed the strong chest, and he and Ned had barely finished putting into it most of the valuable documents when the crash on the roof came.

“He doesn’t seem to be hurt, Tom,” remarked Garret Jackson, Tom’s shop manager, as he laid Mr. Damon on a pile of coats and jackets which some workmen hastily spread on the roof.

“Hurt! Bless my doctor’s bill, I’m not hurt at all!” exclaimed the odd man. “I’m shaken up, but I’m more worried about the plane than about myself. Is it all right, Tom? I tried to avoid the chimney, but I’m afraid one wheel grazed it.”

“Yes, that’s what happened,” replied the young inventor, as soon as he had made sure his friend was not hurt and had had time to inspect the craft. “You damaged it a little. But I can easily put on another wheel. I have some spare ones for that model.”

“Have you, Tom? That’s fine! Put one on and I’ll fly off your roof. You may charge me storage if I stay here too long,” and Mr. Damon laughed in a way which showed, better than anything else, that he had suffered no ill effects from the sudden ending of his flight.

“Are you going to trust yourself again to that plane?” asked Mr. Jackson.

“Of course I’m going to fly again!” cried the odd man. “A little bump like this doesn’t disturb me. I’ve been in worse smash-ups; haven’t I, Tom?”

“Off hand, I should say you had,” was the smiling answer.

“Besides, I want to learn how to run this jigger!” cried Mr. Damon, sitting up on the pile of workmen’s garments while the men gathered smilingly about him, for they all knew him. “What did I do wrong, Tom? Or is the steering gear out of order?”

“It seems to be all right,” answered the young inventor, who had been looking at the mechanism. “Tell me just what happened.”

“Well, as I say, I was coming over to see you. Or, if I didn’t say that before, I tell you now. I have a big offer for you, Tom Swift, a most important offer. I’ll get to that in a moment. But I was coming over in this plane, which I bought only yesterday, and I decided to fly across your shop and land in the meadow.

“But, just as I got here, I felt the machine dip suddenly. First I thought I had struck an air pocket, but I didn’t have time really to decide what it was before I came down with a crash. Luckily I was able to straighten her out a little before I struck, so I made a slanting landing. Otherwise I might have gone through the roof.”

“And right down on our heads!” exclaimed Ned. “Mighty glad you didn’t!”

“So am I,” said Mr. Damon. “But what’s wrong, Tom? I want to know so that the same thing won’t happen again.”

“I guess you forgot that you were in a monoplane instead of a biplane, Mr. Damon,” he answered. “You banked too much on the turn.”

“That’s it, Tom! I remember now! I was making the curve to head straight for the meadow, and it was then a sort of side slip came.”

“Yes,” remarked the young inventor, “you spilled too much air from beneath your wing tips. You see in a biplane, with two surfaces, the air is held in a sort of pocket and you can afford to make a sharper bank on the turn. But in monoplanes you must be more careful.”

“I will, after this,” promised Mr. Damon, as he arose and walked about, albeit a bit gingerly as though making sure he had no broken bones or strained tendons.

“Here, Koku!” called Tom to his giant helper. “Hold up this plane while some of the men take off the damaged wheel.”

“Sure, Master, Koku do,” was the reply.

“Go on!” cried another voice. “It doan need no big fat giant to lift a li’l machine like dat! I’ll do it fo’ you, Massa Tom!”

An old colored man with a fringe of white hair around his black pate pushed through the crowd of workmen toward the giant who was already preparing to tilt the plane so the wheel could be removed.

“You go or Koku push you!” warned the giant with a threatening look at Eradicate Sampson.

“Huh! You go on!” was the contemptuous response, and there might have been a battle then and there had not Tom interposed.

“Rad,” he said, “you let Koku attend to lifting the plane. It’s a bit heavy in spite of its small size. You go down to the storeroom and bring up the extra wheel.”

“Hah, you ain’t so smart as you t’inks you is!” taunted the colored man as he departed on his errand, satisfied now that he could help his young master.

“They’ll soon have the machine in shape for you, Mr. Damon, if you insist on trusting yourself to it again,” said Tom, as he gave instructions to his men. “And while you are waiting, came on down and talk to dad. He’s always glad to see you.”

“All right, Tom, I’ll do that. At the same time I can attend to the matter that brought me over here. Bless my Liberty Bonds, Tom, but it’s very important! Big business, you know!”

“Ned and dad and I are always ready to talk business,” remarked Tom, as he led the way to his office in which stood the new chest of secrets. Mr. Swift was there, looking over some papers. At the sight of the chest Mr. Damon exclaimed:

“Packing up to move, Tom?”

“No, just taking precautions so I won’t lose any of my secrets,” replied the young inventor. “There are so many of these plans and patents now that dad and I thought we ought to have them in one place, where we could easily get at them in a hurry if need be.”

“That’s right,” chimed in Mr. Swift. “You know I’m not as young as I once was, Damon. I can’t expect to live much longer, and I want everything in shape for Tom when I go.”

“Nonsense! Bless my life insurance policy!” laughed Mr. Damon, “you’ll be here for many years, Mr. Swift. And lest you may be losing interest in life, listen to this offer that I bring you.

“Tom, you remember Mr. Blythe?” he asked, turning to the young inventor.

“Surely! The man who got so excited when he found what my oil well drill had done?”

“The same, yes. Well, he called on me yesterday. He introduced some capitalists—big men they are, too, moneyed interests of New York and all that. Mr. Blythe introduced them to me, and the upshot of it was, Tom Swift, that they authorized me to make you a big offer for certain rights in your tidal engine and mill machinery patents. Now look here, Tom, there are millions in it for you—millions! Why, bless my bank book, it’s the biggest offer you ever listened to, Tom Swift!”

CHAPTER III
DIRTY WORK

Mr. Damon was easily excited and quite likely to become enthusiastic over small matters. None knew this better than Tom Swift, and that, perhaps, accounted for the calm manner in which the young inventor received the news of “big interests” being after some of his ideas.

“Well, Tom, what do you say to it?” asked the odd man, as he strode about the private office, all trace of his recent crash having disappeared. “Shall I tell my friend Mr. Blythe to bring over his men who have the money?”

“No,” answered Tom slowly. “Just as much obliged to you, Mr. Damon. But don’t do it.”

“What, Tom Swift? Do you mean you won’t sell a part interest in your tidal engine and mill machinery for—say a million dollars?”

“Look here, Mr. Damon,” laughed Tom. “If Mr. Blythe or his friends were to walk in here now and lay down a million dollars in cash, or certified checks, I’m not saying but what I might accept their offer. A million dollars is a lot of money.

“I hardly believe, however, they would make a bona fide offer of anything like that amount for something of which they can have heard only rumors, for neither of those inventions is on the market yet—in fact, the mill machinery is hardly past the experimental stage.”

“Well, Tom,” slowly remarked the odd character, “maybe they wouldn’t exactly give you a million in cold cash. I may have been a little hasty in saying that. But Blythe certainly said there would be millions in it.”

“Maybe he meant for him,” suggested Ned pointedly.

“Hardly,” observed Tom. “Mr. Blythe is a square man and you can depend on what he says. But, as a matter of fact, I prefer to develop these inventions myself rather than sell them, or even an interest in them, at this stage of the game. What do you say, Dad?” and he turned toward his father.

“I agree with you, Tom,” answered the elder inventor. “I haven’t gone as deeply into these two latest ideas of yours as I have into some of the other things, but from what I have seen I believe they will be very valuable, and will help along human progress.

“We must think of that, as well as of the money we might make in certain inventions. It may be that this syndicate of men wishes to keep off the market something that might displace some present method they control. And it might be that Tom’s ideas would help save human life. In that case it would be your duty, Tom, to develop the matter, even if you never got a cent for it.”

“That’s the way I feel about it,” said Tom.

“Then we don’t go into this?” asked Ned, who, as usual on occasions like this, was making shorthand notes of the talk to be preserved for future reference.

“No, we’ll just drop it,” decided Tom. “I’ll go on trying to perfect the two devices, and later on, Mr. Damon, if I decide to sell an interest, I’ll let you know and you can tell Mr. Blythe. Shall I send him a formal declination through Ned or will you tell him? I, personally, think that as long as the offer has come indirectly through you, you had better be the messenger.”

“Oh, bless my ketchup bottle, Tom! you aren’t going to turn down that offer like this, are you?”

“I’m afraid I am, Mr. Damon.”

“And you agree with him, Mr. Swift?”

“Whatever my son says I shall stand by,” answered the old inventor, with a smile. “No hard words to you, Mr. Damon, you understand, but——”

“Oh, I’m not interested in it—only to help Tom!” was the hasty answer. “It doesn’t mean anything to me. I’m not working on a commission. All I want is to learn to run my new little plane. But I’m not going to let you stand in your own light like this, Tom. I’m going to tell Blythe to send those men over to see you!”

“No use!” laughed Tom, waving his hands. “I won’t be so discourteous, of course, as not to see them, but I won’t do any business with them.”

“Oh, maybe you will,” suggested Mr. Damon hopefully. “You don’t know yet any details of their offer, you know.”

At that moment another noise was heard outside the room.

“I tell master!” boomed out the voice of Koku, the giant.

“Go ’way, big man!” cried Eradicate. “Didn’t he send me fo’ de wheel an’ ain’t de wheel on now? I’m gwin tell him dat de plane am ready to run offen de roof.”

“No! I tell!” disputed Koku.

“They’re at it again!” murmured Ned.

“Shivering hoptoads!” cried Tom testily. “If they don’t stop this everlasting contention I’ll fire them both!”

He strode to the door just as Eradicate’s voice, tense, calm, and ominous exclaimed:

“Look yeah, big man! I’s gwin in an’ tell Massa Tom ’bout de plane bein’ ready. An’ ef you all doan stand to one side I’s gwin to bust you a lambaste in de nose wif dis yeah monkey wrench.”

The dire threat evidently had its effect, for when Tom opened the door Eradicate stood there, proudly smiling, and Koku, vanquished by the firm bearing of his small enemy, was hurrying around the corner.

“Yes, sah, Massa Tom,” said the colored man, with a broad grin as he fingered the large monkey wrench in his hands, “I’s done come to tell you dat Mistah Damon’s machine am all salubrious now an’ he kin ride it down offen de roof if so be as he likes.”

“Thanks, Rad! I’m going to do that at once!” broke in the odd man.

“Well, Mr. Damon, we’ll leave it to you, then, to communicate with Mr. Blythe,” Tom said. “We won’t send any letter.”

“No, don’t turn the offer down just yet,” pleaded Tom’s friend from Waterford. “You may regret it. Wait a few days. Now I’ll see if I can do a little better with the plane than I did at first.”

“We’ll go up and see that you get started right,” said Tom. “I’ll leave you in charge of the chest of secrets, dad, until I come back. I have about all my papers in, but I thought you might like to put in some of yours.”

“Yes, Tom, I should, thank you. Rad, I’ll ask you to help me gather them up from my office.”

Knowing his chest of valuable papers would be safe in the care of his father and Eradicate, the young inventor went with Ned and Mr. Damon to the roof.

The workmen had put on a new wheel and made one or two other repairs to the slightly damaged plane. A test of the motor showed that it was in fine running order, and Mr. Damon took his seat in the small cockpit.

“I suppose it’s all right to take off from here, isn’t it, Tom?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” replied the young inventor. “I’ve often done so with bigger planes than this.”

The roof over Tom’s office and the adjoining shop had been built with special adaptability to aeroplanes, and a little later, when the engine had throbbed and roared after starting, Mr. Damon had no difficulty in getting into the air.

The little plane gathered speed, sped across the roof, and, reaching the edge, dipped down a moment and then sprang into the air like a veritable bird, which it resembled more than it did anything else.

Mr. Damon was observed to lean over the edge of the cockpit, wave his hand and shout something down to those on the roof.

“Did you hear what he said?” asked Tom of his business manager.

“No; but it probably was that he’ll send Blythe over to see you,” chuckled Ned.

“He needn’t; it will be of no use. I’m going to work on the tidal engine and the mill machinery for my own purposes,” declared the young inventor.

Those on the roof watched for a time the soaring little plane, becoming smaller as it receded from view.

“He seems to know how to run it all right,” observed Ned, as he and Tom prepared to return to the office.

“Oh, yes, he just made that one mistake,” answered Tom. “He’s pretty careful as a rule. But I’ll never forget the look on his face as he sat on the ground after his motorcycle tried to climb a tree. It was the funniest thing I ever saw!” and Tom laughed at the recollection.

Mr. Swift was putting into the great oak chest some of his papers when the young men rejoined him. As Rad closed the lid and Tom snapped the locks, the telephone rang.

“I’ll answer,” offered Ned. “And shall I have Koku come here, Tom, and put that chest in the corner?”

“Yes, you’d better. We can’t budge it.”

“I’ll move it!” rashly offered Eradicate, but a tug at the handle on one end showed him the futility of pitting his feeble strength against the box. “By golly, she suah do stick to de flo’!” he gasped. “But ef I had mah strength I could do it!”

“Hello! Hello!” Ned was saying into the telephone. The room grew quiet and Tom heard his manager exclaim:

“You don’t mean it! No! The hound! Say, wait until I get over there!”

“What is it?” asked Tom, thinking perhaps some accident had befallen Mr. Damon. “What’s the matter, Ned?”

“Dirty work!” was the answer. “Dirty work, that’s what the matter is, Tom! My father has been falsely accused! I must go to him at once!”

CHAPTER IV
LIBERTY BONDS

Ned Newton turned back to the telephone, from which he had moved but a moment to answer his chum and employer, and to his father, on the other end of the wire, the young manager said:

“I’ll be with you right away, Dad! They’re not going to get by with anything like that—not in a thousand years! Don’t let them bluff you. It’s just a rotten bad mistake, that’s all. I’ll be right with you. What’s that? Will Tom let me come? Well, say——”

“Tell him I’m coming with you!” shouted the young inventor vigorously as he caught the import of what his chum had said, and his voice was so loud that it carried to the other end of the wire.

“He heard you,” said Ned. “Thanks, Tom. Yes, Dad, I’ll be right along.”

He clicked the receiver back into place and with burning indignation on his face turned to Tom and Mr. Swift.

“Is your father in trouble, Ned?” asked Barton Swift. “If so you must say to him that Tom and I will do all in our power for him.”

“Thanks,” and Ned’s voice was a bit broken as he spoke the word, for he was greatly affected, as they all noted.

“Tell me in a few words what it is,” suggested Tom. “I want to know so we can go prepared to help him. Maybe we’d better stop and get Mr. Plum.” Ralph Plum was a lawyer of Shopton who attended to legal matters for the Swifts.

“I guess maybe we’ll need a lawyer,” answered Ned dejectedly. “For my father has been arrested.”

“Arrested!” exclaimed the Swifts in a breath.

“Yes. But of course he’s innocent,” and Ned proudly threw up his head.

“No question about that, old scout!” said Tom, clapping his chum on the back. “But what’s the nature of the charge? Tell me so I can telephone to Plum,” and he went over to the instrument on his desk.

“He is accused by Renwick Fawn of the theft of a good many thousands of dollars’ worth of Liberty Bonds,” answered Ned. “Dad didn’t have time to give me all the story over the telephone, but several times before this he has spoken to me about mysterious thefts of these securities from the National Investment Company, where he is employed, you know. Dad spoke of these thefts, and even mentioned that the firm had engaged a private detective to try to trace the thief. Now, like a bombshell, father is accused and arrested.”

“It’s all a mistake, of course,” said Tom. “Oh, Operator, get me Main 1576, please, and in a hurry if you can. Of course it is all a mistake,” and he resumed his talk to his chum.

“But think what the accusation means to dad, to mother and to me even though it is afterward proved—as it will be—that my father had nothing to do with the matter!” burst out Ned. “He is disgraced forever because that sneak Fawn thinks he knows it all! Oh, there has been dirty work all right!”

“Who is this fellow Fawn?” Tom wanted to know.

“A new manager they got at the Investment Company,” replied Ned. “I have heard dad speak of him. He’s one of these efficiency birds—everything done by clockwork, plenty of pep, a go-getter, and all that rot! I’d like to go get him! But, oh, the disgrace to dad!”

“Don’t worry about that!” exclaimed Mr. Swift. “No one who knows your father can ever think him disgraced, even if he were arrested for the theft of all the Liberty Bonds Uncle Sam ever put out!”

“Right-o!” cried Tom. “Oh, hello, is this Mr. Plum’s office? Yes, I want to talk to him—very important—Tom Swift speaking!”

The name of Swift worked like magic, even in such a ceremonious office as that of Mr. Plum, and a moment later Tom was pouring out a quick statement of the matter, suggesting that the lawyer hold himself in readiness to go with Tom and Ned to the office of the investment concern where, it appeared, Mr. Newton was being held in custody, preparatory to being arraigned before a police officer for commitment to a cell.

“I’ll call for you in my electric runabout,” finished Tom. “What’s that—can it go? Mr. Plum, when that car was built it was the speediest one on the road, and it has never yet been passed! Yes, we’ll be there in a jiffy!”

Turning to his chum as he hung up the receiver, Tom remarked:

“Now come on, Ned, we’ll get a move on. But we’ll take a few sinews of war with us!”

Quickly he opened the big chest he had locked, and from an inner compartment in it he extracted a sheaf of crisp bills whose yellow color told of high denominations.

“They always have to accept bail in these cases, Ned,” remarked the young inventor, “and cash always talks. Your dad will be able to sleep at home to-night.”

“Thanks,” murmured Ned, and, though he did not say it, he had had a horrible vision of his beloved father spending the night in a cell like some convicted felon.

“Look after the treasure chest, Dad!” called Tom to his father as he hurried out with his chum.

“I certainly will if you’ve got any more cash in it,” said the aged inventor, with a smile. “I didn’t know you planned to keep money in there, Tom.”

“I don’t—not as a rule. But this was some that came in when Ned wasn’t around and I didn’t have time to bank it, and it didn’t belong in the office safe. Now, Ned, hustle’s the word!”

Tom Swift had not misnamed his electric runabout. Though it was one of his earlier inventions, it was still in excellent shape and it was just the kind of machine for a quick, speedy trip. Running to the garage where it was kept, the two young men leaped in and soon the motors were humming as the “juice” from the storage battery was turned into them. Tom rounded a corner of the drive on two wheels, it seemed, and was soon off down the road, causing Ned to jam on his hat.

“We’ll stop and pick up Plum,” said Tom, in his chum’s ear as they whizzed along. “Then we’ll go right to the office of this concern. We’ll have this thing over before it’s fairly begun. Is there anything more you can tell me as we travel?”

“Not much,” Ned answered. “You know dad has been with this concern for a long time. It was only recently that I heard him speak of this new manager and his ways. It seems Fawn took a dislike to dad, who is a bit old-fashioned in some of his ideas. Not enough pep, I suppose, for the dirty hound!

“And, as I told you, there has been going on the stealing of Liberty Bonds for some time. But as this wasn’t in my father’s department he didn’t think much about it. He has charge of the mortgages. Then, like a bolt out of the blue, they accused him to-day—even pretended to find some of the missing bonds in his desk.

“Of course he indignantly denied the accusation and asked for permission to telephone me. Fawn didn’t even want to allow that, so dad told me over the wire, but the president of the concern put his foot down and said I should be informed. Now you know as much as I do.”

“Which isn’t much,” commented Tom. “It’s a case for Plum all right. We’ll be at his office in another minute.”

They found the lawyer waiting for them. Despite all his other legal work, it would never do to neglect any of the Swift family interests.

“Outline it to me quickly, Tom,” said Mr. Plum, as he got into the electric runabout. This Tom did, giving a brief account of the case as related by Ned.

“We’ll waive an immediate arraignment and have him admitted to bail,” decided the lawyer as they neared the office where Mr. Newton was detained a prisoner.

Father and son met and shook hands—hard. Tom nodded to some of the men of the investment company whom he knew and with whom he had done business. He noted one self-important individual walking up and down. It was Mr. Fawn, he guessed, and this was confirmed a minute later when this sleek person said:

“Well, Mr. Newton, you have had your way—your son is here, and some other friends, I presume. Now I demand that this man be locked up on the charge I make against him,” he went on. “Deputy, you can do your duty.”

“Just a moment,” put in Mr. Plum suavely. “I represent the defendant in this case. I ask to examine the warrant.”

“You can’t see it!” snapped out Mr. Fawn.

“Oh, yes, he can,” said the deputy sheriff who had served it. “That is always the privilege of the defendant’s lawyer.”

“Oh, well, all right,” snapped the accusing manager of the concern.

Mr. Plum glanced over the document, which was brief, and, in effect, charged Mr. Newton with embezzling, converting to his own use, stealing, taking and carrying away certain valuable property of the National Investment Company, to wit Liberty Bonds to the value of thirty-thousand dollars.

“This is a bailable offense,” said the lawyer. “We ask to be taken before a magistrate with the power of fixing bail.”

“He ought to be taken to jail—that’s where he ought to be taken! And he would be if I had my way!” snapped Mr. Fawn.

“That will do, Mr. Fawn,” sternly said the president of the concern, Amos Bell. “This is a very serious matter,” he went on. “Mr. Newton is an old friend of mine. I must insist that strict justice be done him.”

“Thank you,” said Ned’s father feelingly.

“He has a right to bail,” said the deputy. “Judge Klein is sitting at the court house now. I can take him before him.”

“Then we’ll go at once,” said Mr. Plum.

A little later they were before the bar of justice—Mr. Newton a little pale, but standing firm and upright. Ned flushed and indignant, with many a vindictive look at the manager of the investment company. Tom was clutching the bundle of notes in his pocket. The lawyer seemed to take it all as a matter of course.

“What is this case?” asked the old and learned judge, and when it had been explained and when he had read the accusation in the warrant, he said:

“I take it that you do not wish to plead now.”

“Yes, your honor, we do!” interposed Mr. Plum. “I wish to enter a plea of not guilty for my client. We waive arraignment now, and ask that he be admitted to bail, which we are prepared to furnish in any amount.”

“Um,” murmured the court. “I see he is accused of taking bonds to the value of thirty-three thousand dollars. I believe I must fix bail at ten thousand dollars.”

There was a gasp from Ned. Mr. Newton seemed to turn a trifle paler. Tom whispered hoarsely to his chum:

“Great bean pots! I brought only five thousand dollars with me!”

CHAPTER V
IVAN BARSKY

Mr. Plum did not seem startled, nor even much impressed, by the judge’s announcement of the large amount of bail he would require to set Mr. Newton free. Perhaps the lawyer was accustomed to such matters for his clients. At any rate, as Tom said afterward, “he never turned a hair,” but turned to Mr. Newton and asked:

“Are you prepared to furnish that amount of bail?”

“Why, no, I’m afraid I am not,” was the hesitating answer.

“What’s going to happen, Tom?” whispered Ned to his chum. “Do you think dad will have to be locked up?”

“No, I think there must be some way out,” replied Tom. “Great hoptoads! I never thought we’d need more than five thousand dollars.”

“That’s an awful lot of money to get on a moment’s notice,” sighed Ned.

“The five thousand’s about all the cash we have on hand just at present,” stated Tom Swift. “But of course we can raise a lot more. The question is, though, can we do it in time? Let’s see what Mr. Plum is saying.”

The lawyer was addressing the court.

“I suppose,” he said, “your honor will be content with a real estate bond or that of a surety company?”

“Either one, Mr. Plum,” was the answer.

Turning to Tom the lawyer asked:

“Are you prepared to go security for Mr. Newton in this amount?”

“Yes, or twice the amount, if necessary,” Tom answered. “But I have only five thousand in cash here with me——”

There was a gasp of surprise from some spectators in court, and the judge and the prosecutor smiled at one another.

“But my father and I will sign a bail bond in any amount,” Tom went on eagerly.

“I fancy that will satisfy the court. And you too, Mr. Prosecutor, will it not?” asked the lawyer, nodding to the county prosecutor, to whose lot it would fall to try the case against Mr. Newton, if it went to trial.

“If the Swift firm signs a bond I’ll be satisfied,” said Mr. Nixon, the prosecutor.

“What about us?” burst out Mr. Fawn. “Don’t we have something to say in this matter? I don’t want that man to go free. He stole a lot of our Liberty Bonds.”

“Order! Order!” called the court constables, and the judge banged with his gavel.

“You have nothing to say in this matter,” said the judge to Mr. Fawn. “The amount of bail has been fixed sufficiently high, and if a bond is furnished this defendant will go free until his trial, no matter what you think about it.”

Abashed, the manager of the investment company slunk back in his seat and Mr. Plum conferred for a few moments in whispers with the judge and the prosecutor. The upshot of it was that Tom hurried off in the electric runabout and brought his father to the court house. Mr. Swift and Tom signed the bail bond, pledging themselves to pay to the county the sum of ten thousand dollars in the event that Mr. Newton was not on hand to stand trial when called; and the matter was ended for the time being.

“May I go now?” asked Ned’s father, who was in a very nervous state over it all.

“You may, indeed,” said the judge courteously. “Your friends have gone bail for you.”

“I—I thank you—very much,” faltered Mr. Newton, and then he and Ned walked out a little ahead of the others, for Ned was affected, too.

However, they soon recovered their spirits, and when they were in the runabout, which was larger than the name implies, Mr. Newton with a sad smile, turned to Tom and asked:

“How does it seem to associate with criminals?”

“I don’t know!” laughed the young inventor. “I haven’t been with any yet.”

“Thanks!” replied Ned’s father. “I suppose I needn’t assure you, my friends, that I am innocent of this charge?” he added.

“You don’t need to say a word!” cried Tom.

“But what is it all about, Dad?” asked Ned. “What’s the game, anyhow, and why have they picked you for the goat?”