Tom Swift And His Photo Telephone
V >>
Victor Appleton >> Tom Swift And His Photo Telephone
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 | 8 |
9
"I suppose you're right, Tom. It's like setting a number of
traps."
"Exactly. A trapper can't be sure where he is going to get his
catch, so he picks out the place, or run-way, where the game has
been in the habit of coming. He hides his traps about that place,
and trusts to luck that the animal will blunder into one of them."
"Criminals, to my way of thinking, are a good bit like animals.
They seem to come back to their old haunts. Nearly any police
story proves this. And it's that on which I am counting to capture
this criminal. So I'm going to fit up as many telephones with my
photo and phonograph outfit, as I can in the time we have. You'll
have to help me. Luckily I've got plenty of selenium plates for
the sending end. I'll only need one at the receiving end. Now
we'll have to go and have a talk with the telephone manager, after
which we'll get busy."
"You've overlooked one thing, Tom."
"What's that, Ned?"
"Why, if you know about which telephone this fellow is going to
use, why can't you have police stationed near it to capture him as
soon as he begins to talk?"
"Well, I did think of that, Ned; but it won't work."
"Why not?"
"Because, in the first place this man, or some of his friends,
will be on the watch. When he goes into the place to telephone
there'll be a look-out, I'm sure, and he'd either put off talking
to Mrs. Damon, or he'd escape before we had any evidence against
him."
"You see I've got to get evidence that will stand in the courts to
convict this fellow, and if he's scared off before we get that,
the game will be up."
"That's what my photo telephone will do--it will get the evidence,
just as a dictaphone does. In fact, I'm thinking of working it out
on those lines, after I clear up this business."
"Just suppose we had detectives stationed at all the telephones
near the sawmill, where this fellow would be likely to go. In the
first place no one has seen him, as far as we know, so there's no
telling what sort of a chap he is. And you can't go up to a
perfect stranger and arrest him because you think he is the man
who has spirited away Mr. Damon."
"Another thing. Until this fellow has talked, and made his offer
to Mrs. Damon, to restore her husband, in exchange for certain
papers, we have no hold over him."
"But he has done that, Tom. You heard him, and you have his voice
down on the wax cylinder."
"Yes, but I haven't had a glimpse of his face. That's what I want,
and what I'm going to get. Suppose he does go into the telephone
booth, and tell Mrs. Damon an address where she is to send the
papers. Even if a detective was near at hand he might not catch
what was said. Or, if he did, on what ground could he arrest a man
who, very likely, would be a perfect stranger to him? The
detective couldn't say: 'I take you into custody for telephoning
an address to Mrs. Damon.' That, in itself, is no crime."
"No, I suppose not," admitted Ned. "You've got this all thought
out, Tom."
"I hope I have. You see it takes quite a combination to get
evidence against a criminal--evidence that will convict him.
That's why I have to be so careful in setting my trap."
"I see, Tom. Well, it's about time for us to get busy; isn't it?"
"It sure is. There's lots to do. First we'll go see the telephone
people."
Tom explained to the 'phone manager the necessity for what he was
about to do. The manager at once agreed to let the young inventor
have a free hand. He was much interested in the photo telephone,
and Tom promised to give his company a chance to use it on their
lines, later.
The telephone near the sawmill was easily located. It was in a
general store, and the instrument was in a booth. To this
instrument Tom attached his sending plate, and he also substituted
for the ordinary incandescent light, a powerful tungsten one, that
would give illumination enough to cause the likeness to be
transmitted over the wire.
The same thing was done to a number of the public telephones in
that vicinity, each one being fitted up so that the picture of
whoever talked would be transmitted over the wire when Tom turned
the switch. To help the plan further the telephone manager marked
a number of other 'phones, "Out of Order," for the time being.
"Now, I think we're done!" exclaimed the young inventor, with a
sigh, late that night. He and Ned and the line manager had worked
hard.
"Yes," answered the young banker, "the traps are set. The question
is: Will our rat be caught?"
CHAPTER XXI
THE PHOTO TELEPHONE
Tom Swift was taking, as he afterward confessed, "a mighty big
chance." But it seemed the only way. He was working against
cunning men, and had to be as cunning as they.
True, the man he hoped to capture, through the combination of his
photo telephone and the phonograph, might go to some other
instrument than one of those Tom had adjusted. But this could not
be helped. In all he had put his new attachment on eight 'phones
in the vicinity of the sawmill. So he had eight chances in his
favor, and as many against him as there were other telephones in
use.
"It's a mighty small margin in our favor," sighed Tom.
"It sure is," agreed Ned. They were at Mrs., Damon's house,
waiting for the call to come in.
"But we couldn't do anything else," went on Tom.
"No," spoke Ned, "and I have a great deal of hope in the
proverbial Swift luck, Tom."
"Well, I only hope it holds good this time!" laughed the young
inventor.
"There are a good many things that can go wrong," observed Ned.
"The least little slip-up may spoil your traps, Tom."
"I know it, Ned. But I've got to take the chance. We've just got
to do something for Mrs. Damon. She's wearing herself out by
worrying," he added in a low voice, for indeed the wife of his
friend felt the absence of her husband greatly. She had lost
flesh, she ate scarcely anything, and her nights were wakeful ones
of terror.
"What if this fails?" asked Ned.
"Then I'm going to work that button clue to the limit," replied
Tom. "I'll go to Boylan and see what he and Peters have to say."
"If you'd done as I suggested you'd have gone to them first,"
spoke Ned. "You'll find they're mixed up in this."
"Maybe; but I doubt it. I tell you there isn't a clue leading to
Peters--as yet."
"But there will be," insisted Ned. "You'll see that that I'm right
this time."
"I can't see it, Ned. As a matter of fact, I would have gone to
Boylan about that button I found in my airship only I've been so
busy on this photo telephone, and in arranging the trap, that I
haven't had time. But if this fails--and I'm hoping it won't--I'll
get after him," and there was a grim look on the young inventor's
face.
It was wearying and nervous work--this waiting. Tom and Ned felt
the strain as they sat there in Mrs. Damon's library, near the
telephone. It had been fitted up in readiness. Attached to the
receiving wires was a sensitive plate, on which Tom hoped would be
imprinted the image of the man at the other end of the wire--the
criminal who, in exchange for the valuable land papers, would give
Mr. Damon his liberty.
There was also the phonograph cylinder to record the man's voice.
Several times, while waiting for the call to come in, Tom got up
to test the apparatus. It was in perfect working order.
As before, there was an extension telephone, so that Mrs. Damon
could talk to the unknown, while Tom could hear as well. But he
planned to take no part in the conversation unless something
unforeseen occurred.
Mr. Damon was an enthusiastic photographer, and he had a dark room
adjoining his library. It was in this dark room that Tom planned
to develop the photo telephone plate.
On this occasion he was not going to use the metal plate in which,
ordinarily, the image of the person talking appeared. That record
was but a fleeting one, as in a mirror. This time Tom wanted a
permanent picture that could, if necessary, be used in a court of
justice.
Tom's plan was this: If the person who had demanded the papers
came to one of the photo telephones, and spoke to Mrs. Damon, Tom
would switch on the receiving apparatus. Thus, while the man was
talking, his picture would be taken, though he would not know of
the thing being done.
His voice would also be recorded on the wax cylinder, and he would
be equally unaware of this.
When Tom had imprinted the fellow's image on the prepared plate,
he would go quickly to the dark room and develop it. A wet print
could be made, and with this as evidence, and to use in
identification, a quick trip could be made to the place whence the
man had telephoned. Tom hoped thus to capture him.
To this end he had his airship in waiting, and as soon as he had
developed the picture he planned to rush off to the vicinity of
the sawmill, and make a prisoner of the man whose features would
be revealed to him over the wire.
It was a hazardous plan--a risky one--but it was the best that he
could evolve. Tom had instructed Mrs. Damon to keep the man in
conversation as long as possible, in order to give the young
inventor himself time to rush off in his airship. But of course
the man might get suspicious and leave. That was another chance
that had to be taken.
"If I had thought of it in time," said Tom, musingly, as he paced
up and down in the library waiting for the 'phone to ring, "if I
had thought of it in time I would have rigged up two plates--one
for a temporary, or looking-glass, picture, and the other for a
permanent one. In that way I could rush off as soon as I got a
glimpse of the fellow. But it's too late to do that now. I'll have
to develop this plate."
Waiting is the most wearisome work there is. Tom and Ned found
this to be the case, as they sat there, hoping each moment that
the telephone bell would ring, and that the man at the other end
of the wire would be the mysterious stranger. Mrs. Damon, too,
felt the nervous strain.
"This is about the hour he called up yesterday," said Tom, in a
low voice, after coming back from a trip to the window to see that
his airship was in readiness. He had brought over to help in
starting it, for he was using his most powerful and speedy craft,
and the propellers were hard to turn.
"Yes," answered Mrs. Damon. "It was just about this hour, Tom. Oh,
I do hope--"
She was interrupted by the jingle of the telephone bell. With a
jump Tom was at the auxiliary instrument, while Mrs. Damon lifted
off the receiver of her own telephone.
"Yes; what is it?" she asked, in a voice that she tried to make
calm.
"Do you know who this is?" Tom heard come over the wire.
"Are you the--er--the person who was to give me an address where I
am to send certain papers?"
"Yes. I'm the same one. I'm glad to see that you have acted
sensibly. If I get the papers all right, you'll soon have your
husband back. Now do as I say. Take down this address."
"Very well," assented Mrs. Damon. She looked over at Tom. He was
intently listening, and he, too, would note the address given. The
trap was about to be sprung. The game had walked into it. Just
which telephone was being used Tom could not as yet tell. It was
evidently not the one nearest the planing mill, for Tom could not
hear the buzzing sound. It was well he had put his attachment on
several instruments.
"One moment, please," said Mrs. Damon, to the unknown at the other
end of the wire. This was in accordance with the pre-arranged
plan.
"Well, what is it?" asked the man, impatiently. "I have no time to
waste."
Tom heard again the same gruff tones, and he tried in vain to
recognize them.
"I want you take down a message to Mr. Damon," said his wife.
"This is very important. It can do you no harm to give him this
message; but I want you to get it exact. If you do not promise to
deliver it I shall call all negotiations off."
"Oh, all right I'll take the message; but be quick about it. Then
I'll give you the address where you are to send the papers."
"This is the message," went on Mrs. Damon. "Please write it down.
It is very important to me. Have you a pencil?"
"Yes, I have one. Wait until I get a bit of paper. It's so dark in
this booth--wait until I turn on the light."
Tom could not repress a pleased and joyful exclamation. It was
just what he had hoped the man would do--turn on the light in the
booth. Indeed, it was necessary for the success of the trap that
the light be switched on. Otherwise no picture could be
transmitted over the wire. And the plan of having the man write
down a message to Mr. Damon was arranged with that end in view.
The man would need a light to see to write, and Tom's apparatus
must be lighted in order to make it work. The plot was coming
along finely.
"There!" exclaimed the man at the other end of the wire. "I have a
light now. Go ahead with your message, Mrs. Damon. But make it
short. I can't stay here long."
Then Mrs. Damon began dictating the message she and Tom had agreed
upon. It was as long as they dared make it, for they wanted to
keep the man in the booth to the last second.
"Dear Husband," began Mrs. Damon. What the message was does not
matter. It has nothing to do with this story. Sufficient to say
that the moment the man began writing it down, as Tom could tell
over the sensitive wire, by the scratching of the pencil--at that
moment Tom, knowing the light was on in the distant telephone
booth, switched on the picture-taking apparatus. His receiving
apparatus at once indicated that the image was being made on the
sensitive plate.
It took only a few seconds of time, and with the plate in the
holder Tom hastened to the dark room to develop it. Ned took his
chum's place at the telephone, to see that all worked smoothly.
The photo telephone had done it's work. Whose image would be found
imprinted on the sensitive plate? Tom's hands trembled so that he
could scarcely put it in the developing solution.
CHAPTER XXII
THE ESCAPE
Ned Newton, listening at the auxiliary telephone heard the man, to
whom Mrs. Damon was dictating her message to her husband, utter an
exclamation of impatience.
"I'm afraid I can't take down any more," he called. "That is
enough. Now you listen. I want you to send me those papers."
"And I am willing to," went on Mrs. Damon, while Ned listened to
the talk, the phonograph faithfully recording it.
"I wonder whose picture Tom will find," mused Ned.
The unknown, at the other end of the wire, began giving Mrs. Damon
a description of just what papers he wanted, and how to mail them
to him. He gave an address that Ned recognized as that of a cigar
store, where many persons received their mail under assumed names.
The postal authorities had, for a long time, tried to get evidence
against it
"That's going to make it hard to get him, when he comes for the
papers," thought Ned. "He's a foxy criminal, all right. But I
guess Tom will turn the trick."
Mrs. Damon was carefully noting down the address. She really
intended to send the papers, if it proved that there was no other
way in which she could secure the release of her husband. But she
did not count on all of Tom's plans. "Why doesn't he develop that
plate?" thought Ned. "He'll be too late, in spite of his airship.
That fellow will skip."
It was at that moment that Tom came into the library. He moved
cautiously, for he realized that a loud sound in the room would
carry to the man at the other end of the wire. Tom motioned for
Ned to come to him. He held out a dripping photographic plate.
"It's Peters!" said Tom, in a hoarse whisper.
"Peters?" gasped Ned. "How could it be? His voice--"
"I know. It didn't sound a bit like Peters over the 'phone, but
there's his picture, all right!"
Tom held up the plate. There, imprinted on it by the wonderful
power of the young inventor's latest appliance, was the image of
the rascally promoter. As plainly as in life he was shown, even to
his silk hat and the flower in his button-hole. He was in a
telephone booth--that much could be told from the photograph that
had been transmitted over the wire, but which booth could not be
said--they were nearly all alike.
"Peters!" gasped Ned. "I thought he was the fellow, Tom."
"Yes, I know. You were right, and I was wrong. But I did not
recognize his voice. It was very hoarse. He must have a bad cold."
Later this was learned to have been the case. "There's no time to
lose," whispered Tom, while Mrs. Damon was doing her best to
prolong the conversation in order to hold the man at the other end
of the wire. "Ned, get central on the other telephone, and see
where this call came from. Then we'll get there as fast as the
airship will take us."
A second and temporary telephone line had been installed in the
Damon home, and on this Ned was soon talking, while Tom, putting
the photographic plate away for future use, rushed out to get his
airship in shape for a quick flight. He had modified his plans.
Instead of having a detective take a print of the photo telephone
image, and make the arrest, Tom was going to try to capture Peters
himself. He believed he could do it. One look at the wet plate was
enough. He knew Peters, though it upset some of his theories to
learn that it was the promoter who was responsible for Mr. Damon's
disappearance.
The man at the other end of the wire was evidently getting
impatient. Possibly he suspected some trick. "I've got to go now,"
he called to Mrs. Damon. "If I don't get those papers in the
morning it will be the worse for Mr. Damon."
"Oh, I'll send you the papers," she said.
By this time Ned had gotten into communication with the manager of
the central telephone exchange, and had learned the location of
the instrument Peters was using. It was about a mile from the one
near the sawmill.
"Come on!" called Tom to his chum, as the latter gave him this
information. "The Firefly is tuned up for a hundred miles an hour!
We'll be there in ten minutes! We must catch him red-handed, if
possible!"
"He's gone!" gasped Mrs. Damon as she came to the outer door, and
watched Tom and Ned taking their places in the airship, while Koku
prepared to twirl the propellers.
"Gone!" echoed Tom, blankly.
"Yes, he hung up the receiver."
"See if you can't get him back," suggested the young inventor.
"Ask Central to ring that number again. We'll be there in a jiffy.
Maybe he'll come to the telephone again. Or he may even call up
his partners and tell them the game is working his way. Try to get
him back, Mrs. Damon."
"I will," she said.
And, as she hurried back to the instrument, Tom and Ned shot up
toward the blue sky in an endeavor to capture the man at the other
telephone.
"And to think it was Peters!" cried Tom into Ned's ear, shouting
to be heard above the roar of the motor exhaust.
"I thought he'd turn out to be mixed up in the affair," said Ned.
"Well, you were right. I was off, that time," admitted Tom, as he
guided his powerful craft above the trees. "I was willing to admit
that he had something to do with Mr. Damon's financial trouble,
but as for kidnapping him--well, you never can tell."
They drove on at a breath-catching pace, and it seemed hardly a
minute after leaving Mrs. Damon's house before Tom called:
"There's the building where the telephone is located."
"And now for that rascal Peters!" cried Ned.
The airship swooped down, to the great astonishment of some
workmen nearby.
Hardly had the wheels ceased revolving on the ground, as Tom made
a quick landing, than he was out of his seat, and running toward
the telephone. He knew the place at once from having heard Ned's
description, and besides, this was one of the places where he had
installed his apparatus.
Into the store Tom burst, and made a rush for the 'phone booth. He
threw open the door. The place was empty!
"The man--the man who was telephoning!" Tom called to the
proprietor of the place.
"You mean that big man, with the tall hat, who was in there so
long?"
"Yes, where is he?"
"Gone. About two minutes ago."
"Which way?"
"Over toward Shopton, and in one of the fastest autos that ever
scattered dust in this section."
"He's escaped us!" said Tom to Ned. "But we'll get him yet! Come
on!"
"I'm with you. Say, do you know what this looks like to me?"
"What?"
"It looks as if Peters was scared and was going to run away to
stay!"
CHAPTER XXIII
ON THE TRAIL
Such a crowd had quickly gathered about Tom's airship that it was
impossible to start it. Men and boys, and even some girls and
women, coming from no one knew where, stood about the machine,
making wondering remarks about it.
"Stand back, if you please!" cried Tom, good-naturedly. "We've
got to get after the fellow in the auto."
"You'll have hard work catching him, friend, in that rig,"
remarked a man. "He was fracturing all the speed laws ever passed.
I reckon he was going nigh onto sixty miles an hour."
"We can make a hundred," spoke Ned, quietly.
"A hundred! Get out!" cried the man. "Nothing can go as fast as
that!"
"We'll show you, if we once get started," said Tom. "I guess we'll
have to get one of these fellows to twirl the propellers for us,
Ned," he added. "I didn't think, or I'd have brought the self-
starting machine," for this one of Tom's had to be started by
someone turning over the propellers, once or twice, to enable the
motor to begin to speed. On some of his aircraft the young
inventor had attached a starter, something like the ones on the
newest autos.
"What are you going to do?" asked Ned, as Tom looked to the
priming of the cylinders.
"I'm going to get on the trail of Peters," he said. "He's at the
bottom of the whole business; and it's a surprise to me. I'm going
to trail him right down to the ground now, and make him give up
Mr. Damon and his fortune,"
"But you don't know where he is, Tom."
"I'll find out. He isn't such an easy man to miss--he's too
conspicuous. Besides, if he's just left in his auto we may catch
him before he gets to Shopton."
"Do you think he's going there?"
"I think so. And I think, Ned, that he's become suspicious and
will light out. Something must have happened, while he was
telephoning, and he got frightened, as big a bluff as he is. But
we'll get him. Come on! Will you turn over the propellers, please?
I'll show you how to do it," Tom went on to a big, strong man
standing close to the blades.
"Sure I'll do it," was the answer. "I was a helper once at an
airship meet, and I know how."
"Get back out of the way in time," the young inventor warned him.
"They start very suddenly, sometimes."
"All right, friend, I'll watch out," was the reply, and with Tom
and Ned in their seats, the former at the steering wheel, the
craft of the air was soon throbbing and trembling under the first
turn, for the cylinders were still warm from the run from Mrs.
Damon's house.
The telephone was in an outlying section of Waterford--a section
devoted in the main to shops and factories, and the homes of those
employed in various lines of manufacture. Peters had chosen his
place well, for there were many roads leading to and from this
section, and he could easily make his escape.
"But we'll get after him," thought Tom, grimly, as he let the
airship run down the straight road a short distance on the bicycle
wheels, to give it momentum enough so that it would rise.
Then, with the tilting of the elevation rudder, the craft rose
gracefully, amid admiring cheers from the crowd. Tom did not go up
very far, as he wanted to hover near the ground, to pick out the
speeding auto containing Peters.
But this time luck was not with Tom. He and Ned did sight a number
of cars speeding along the highway toward Shopton, but when they
got near enough to observe the occupants they were disappointed
not to behold the man they sought. Tom circled about for some
time, but it was of no use, and then he headed his craft back
toward Waterford.
"Where are you going?" asked Ned, yelling the words into the ear
of his chum.
"Back to Mrs. Damon's," answered Tom, in equally loud tones.
It was impossible to talk above the roaring and throbbing of the
motor, so the two lads kept silent until the airship had landed
near Mrs. Damon's home.
"I want to see if Mrs. Damon is all right," Tom explained, as he
jumped from the still moving machine. "Then we'll go to Shopton,
and cause Peters's arrest. I can make a charge against him now,
and the evidence of the photo telephone will convict him, I'm
sure. And I also want to see if Mrs. Damon has had any other
word."
She had not, however, though she was more nervous and worried than
ever.
"Oh, Tom, what shall I do?" she exclaimed. "I am so frightened!
What do you suppose they will do to Mr. Damon?"
"Nothing at all!" Tom assured her. "He will be all right. I think
matters are coming to a crisis now, and very likely he'll be with
you inside of twenty-four hours. The game is up, and I guess
Peters knows it. I'm going to have him arrested at once."
"Shall I send those land papers, Tom?"
"Indeed you must not! But I'll talk to you about that later. Just
put away that phonograph record of Peters's talk. I'll take along
the photo telephone negative, and have some prints made--or, I
guess, since we're going in the airship, that I'd better leave it
here for the present. We'll use it as evidence against Peters.
Come on, Ned."
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 | 8 |
9