Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle
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Victor Appleton >> Tom Swift and His Motor Cycle
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"No, dad, I was robbed yesterday. Those scoundrels got ahead of us,
after all. They have your model. I tried to telephone to you, but
the wires were down, or something."
"What!" cried Mr. Swift. "Oh, Tom! That's too bad! I will lose ten
thousand dollars if I can't get that model and those papers back!"
and with a despairing gesture Mr. Swift rose and began to pace the
floor.
CHAPTER XVIII.
HAPPY HARRY AGAIN
Tom watched his father anxiously. The young inventor knew the loss
had been a heavy one, and he blamed himself for not having been more
careful.
"Tell me all about it, Tom," said Mr. Swift at length. "Are you sure
the model and papers are gone? How did it happen?"
Then Tom related what had befallen him.
"Oh, that's too bad!" cried Mr. Swift. "Are you much hurt, Tom?
Shall I send for the doctor?" For the time being his anxiety over
his son was greater than that concerning his loss.
"No, indeed, dad. I'm all right now. I got a bad blow on the head,
but Mrs. Blackford fixed me up. I'm awfully sorry---"
"There, there! Now don't say another word," interrupted Mr. Swift.
"It wasn't your fault. It might have happened to me. I dare say it
would, for those scoundrels seemed very determined. They are
desperate, and will stop at nothing to make good the loss they
sustained on the patent motor they exploited. Now they will probably
try to make use of my model and papers."
"Do you think they'll do that, dad?"
"Yes. They will either make a motor exactly like mine, or construct
one so nearly similar that it will answer their purpose. I will have
no redress against them, as my patent is not fully granted yet. Mr.
Crawford was to attend to that."
"Can't you do anything to stop them, dad? File an injunction, or
something like that?"
"I don't know. I must see Mr. Crawford at once. I wonder if he could
come here? He might be able to advise me. I have had very little
experience with legal difficulties. My specialty is in other lines
of work. But I must do something. Every moment is valuable. I wonder
who the men were?"
"I'm sure one of them was the same man who came here that night--the
man with the black mustache, who dropped the telegram," said Tom. "I
had a pretty good look at him as the auto passed me, and I'm sure it
was he. Of course I didn't see who it was that struck me down, but I
imagine it was some one of the same gang."
"Very likely. Well, Tom, I must do something. I suppose I might
telegraph to Mr. Crawford--he will be expecting you in Albany--" Mr.
Swift paused musingly. "No, I have it!" he suddenly exclaimed. "I'll
go to Albany myself."
"Go to Albany, dad?"
"Yes; I must explain everything to the lawyers and then he can
advise me what to do. Fortunately I have some papers, duplicates of
those you took, which I can show him. Of course the originals will
be necessary before I can prove my claim. The loss of the model is
the most severe, however. Without that I can do little. But I will
have Mr. Crawford take whatever steps are possible. I'll take the
night train, Tom. I'll have to leave you to look after matters here,
and I needn't caution you to be on your guard, though, having got
what they were after, I fancy those financiers, or their tools, will
not bother us again."
"Very likely not," agreed Tom, "but I will keep my eyes open, just
the same. Oh, but that reminds me, dad. Did you see anything of a
tramp around here while I was away?"
"A tramp? No; but you had better ask Mrs. Baggert. She usually
attends to them. She's so kind-hearted that she frequently gives
them a good meal."
The housekeeper, when consulted, said that no tramps had applied in
the last few days.
"Why do you ask, Tom?" inquired his father.
"Because I had an experience with one, and I believe he was a member
of the same gang who robbed me." And thereupon Tom told of his
encounter with Happy Harry, and how the latter had broken the wire
on the motor-cycle.
"You had a narrow escape," commented Mr. Swift. "If I had known the
dangers involved I would never have allowed you to take the model to
Albany."
"Well, I didn't take it there, after all," said Tom with a grim
smile, for he could appreciate a joke.
"I must hurry and pack my valise," went on Mr. Swift. "Mrs. Baggert,
we will have an early supper, and I will start at once for Albany."
"I wish I could go with you, dad, to make up for the trouble I
caused," spoke Tom.
"Tut, tut! Don't talk that way," advised his father kindly. "I will
be glad of the trip. It will ease my mind to be doing something."
Tom felt rather lonesome after his father had left, but he laid out
a plan of action for himself that he thought would keep him occupied
until his father returned. In the first place he made a tour of the
house and various machine shops to see that doors and windows were
securely fastened.
"What's the matter? Do you expect burglars, Master Tom?" asked
Garret Jackson, the aged engineer.
"Well, Garret, you never can tell," replied the young inventor, as
he told of his experience and the necessity for Mr. Swift going to
Albany. "Some of those scoundrels, finding how easy it was to rob
me, may try it again, and get some at dad's other valuable models.
I'm taking no chances."
"That's right, Master Tom. I'll keep steam up in the boiler to-night,
though we don't really need it, as your father told me you would
probably not run any machinery when he was gone. But with a good head
of steam up, and a hose handy, I can give any burglars a hot
reception. I almost wish they'd come, so I could get square with
them."
"I don't, Garret. Well, I guess everything is in good shape. If you
hear anything unusual, or the alarm goes off during the night, call
me."
"I will, Master Tom," and the old engineer, who had a living-room in
a shack adjoining the boiler-room, locked the door after Tom left.
The young inventor spent the early evening in attaching a new wire
to his motor-cycle to replace the one he had purchased while on his
disastrous trip. The temporary one was not just the proper thing,
though it answered well enough. then, having done some work on a new
boat propeller he was contemplating patenting, Tom felt that it was
time to go to bed, as he was tired. He made a second round of the
house, looking to doors and windows, until Mrs. Baggert exclaimed:
"Oh, Tom, do stop! You make me nervous, going around that way. I'm
sure I shan't sleep a wink to-night, thinking of burglars and
tramps."
Tom laughingly desisted, and went up to his room. He sat up a few
minutes, writing a letter to a girl of his acquaintance, for, in
spite of the fact that the young inventor was very busy with his own
and his father's work, he found time for lighter pleasures. Then, as
his eyes seemed determined to close of their own accord, if he did
not let them, he tumbled into bed.
Tom fancied it was nearly morning when he suddenly awoke with a
start. He heard a noise, and at first he could not locate it. Then
his trained ear traced it to the dining-room.
"Why, Mrs. Baggert must be getting breakfast, and is rattling the
dishes," he thought. "But why is she up so early?"
It was quite dark in Tom's room, save for a little gleam from the
crescent moon, and by the light of this Tom arose and looked at his
watch.
"Two o'clock," he whispered. "That can't be Mrs. Baggert, unless
she's sick, and got up to take some medicine."
He listened intently. Below, in the dining-room, he could hear
stealthy movements.
"Mrs. Baggert would never move around like that," he decided. "She's
too heavy. I wonder--it's a burglar--one of the gang has gotten in!"
he exclaimed in tense tones. "I'm going to catch him at it!"
Hurriedly he slipped on some clothes, and then, having softly turned
on the electric light in his room, he took from a corner a small
rifle, which he made sure was loaded. Then, having taken a small
electric flashlight, of the kind used by police men, and sometimes
by burglars, he started on tiptoe toward the lower floor.
As Tom softly descended the stairs he could more plainly hear the
movements of the intruder. He made out now that the burglar was in
Mr. Swift's study, which opened from the dining-room.
"He's after dad's papers!" thought Tom. "I wonder which one this
is?"
The youth had often gone hunting in the woods, and he knew how to
approach cautiously. Thus he was able to reach the door of the
dining-room without being detected. He had no need to flash his
light, for the intruder was doing that so frequently with one he
carried that Tom could see him perfectly. The fellow was working at
the safe in which Mr. Swift kept his more valuable papers.
Softly, very softly Tom brought his rifle to bear on the back of the
thief. Then, holding the weapon with one hand, for it was very
light, Tom extended the electric flash, so that the glare would be
thrown on the intruder and would leave his own person in the black
shadows. Pressing the spring which caused the lantern to throw out a
powerful glow, Tom focused the rays on the kneeling man.
"That will be about all!" the youth exclaimed in as steady a voice
as he could manage.
The burglar turned like a flash, and Tom had a glimpse of his face.
It was the tramp--Happy Harry--whom he had encountered on the lonely
road.
CHAPTER XIX.
TOM ON A HUNT
Tom held his rifle in readiness, though he only intended it as a
means of intimidation, and would not have fired at the burglar
except to save his own life. But the sight of the weapon was enough
for the tramp. He crouched motionless. His own light had gone out,
but by the gleam of the electric he carried Tom could see that the
man had in his hand some tool with which he had been endeavoring to
force the safe.
"I guess you've got me!" exclaimed the intruder, and there was in
his tones no trace of the tramp dialect.
"It looks like it," agreed Tom grimly. "Are you a tramp now, or in
some other disguise?"
"Can't you see?" asked the fellow sullenly, and then Tom did notice
that the man still had on his tramp make-up.
"What do you want?" asked Tom.
"Hard to tell." replied the burglar calmly. "I hadn't got the safe
open before you came down and disturbed me. I'm after money,
naturally."
"No, you're not!" exclaimed Tom.
"What's that?" and the man seemed surprised.
"No, you're not!" went on Tom, and he held his rifle in readiness.
"You're after the patent papers and the model of the turbine motor.
But it's gone. Your confederates got it away from me. They probably
haven't told you yet, and you're still on the hunt for it. You'll
not get it, but I've got you."
"So I see," admitted Happy Harry, and he spoke with some culture.
"If you don't mind," he went on, "would you just as soon move that
gun a little? It's pointing right at my head, and it might go off."
"It is going off--very soon!" exclaimed Tom grimly, and the tramp
started in alarm. "Oh, I'm not going to shoot you," continued the
young inventor. "I'm going to fire this as an alarm, and the
engineer will come in here and tie you up. Then I'm going to hand
you over to the police. This rifle is a repeater, and I am a pretty
good shot. I'm going to fire once now, to summon assistance, and if
you try to get away I'll be ready to fire a second time, and that
won't be so comfortable for you. I've caught you, and I'm going to
hold on to you until I get that model and those papers back."
"Oh, you are, eh?" asked the burglar calmly. "Well, all I've got to
say is that you have grit. Go ahead. I'm caught good and proper. I
was foolish to come in here, but I thought I'd take a chance."
"Who are you, anyhow? Who are the men working with you to defraud my
father of his rights?" asked Tom somewhat bitterly.
"I'll never tell you," answered the burglar. "I was hired to do
certain work, and that's all there is to it. I'm not going to peach
on my pals."
"We'll see about that!" burst out Tom. Then he noticed that a
dining-room window behind where the burglar was kneeling was open.
Doubtless the intruder had entered that way, and intended to escape
in the same manner.
"I'm going to shoot," announced Tom, and, aiming his rifle at the
open window, where the bullet would do no damage, he pressed the
trigger. He noticed that the burglar was crouching low down on the
floor, but Tom thought nothing of this at the time. He imagined that
Happy Harry--or whatever his name was--might be afraid of getting
hit.
There was a flash of fire and a deafening report as Tom fired. The
cloud of smoke obscured his vision for a moment, and as the echoes
died away Tom could hear Mrs. Baggert screaming in her room.
"It's all right!" cried the young inventor reassuringly. "No one is
hurt, Mrs. Baggert!" Then he flashed his light on the spot where the
burglar had crouched. As the smoke rolled away Tom peered in vain
for a sight of the intruder.
Happy Harry was gone!
Holding his rifle in readiness, in case he should be attacked from
some unexpected quarter, Tom strode forward. He flashed his light in
every direction. There was no doubt about it. The intruder had fled.
Taking advantage of the noise when the gun was fired, and under
cover of the smoke, the burglar had leaped from the open window. Tom
guessed as much. He hurried to the casement and peered out, at the
same time noticing the cut wire of the burglar alarm. It was quite
dark, and he fancied he could hear the noise of some one running
rapidly. Aiming his rifle into the air, he fired again, at the same
time crying out:
"Hold on!"
"All right, Master Tom, I'm coming!" called the voice of the
engineer from his shack. "Are you hurt? Is Mrs. Baggert murdered? I
hear her screaming."
"That's pretty good evidence that she isn't murdered," said Tom with
a grim smile.
"Are you hurt?" again called Mr. Jackson.
"No, I'm all right," answered Tom. "Did you see any one running away
as you came up?"
"No, Master Tom, I didn't. What happened?"
"A burglar got in, and I had him cornered, but he got away when I
fired to arouse you."
By this time the engineer was at the stoop, on which the window
opened. Tom unlocked a side door and admitted Mr. Jackson, and then,
the incandescent light having been turned on, the two looked around
the apartment. Nothing in it had been disturbed, and the safe had
not been opened.
"I heard him just in time," commented Tom, telling the engineer what
had happened. "I wish I had thought to get between him and the
window. Then he couldn't have gotten away."
"He might have injured you, though," said Mr. Jackson. "We'll go
outside now, and look--"
"Is any one killed? Are you both murdered?" cried Mrs. Baggert at
the dining-room door. "If any one is killed I'm not coming in there.
I can't bear the sight of blood."
"No one is hurt," declared Tom with a laugh. "Come on in, Mrs.
Baggert," and the housekeeper entered, her hair all done up in curl
papers.
"Oh, my goodness me!" she exclaimed. "When I heard that cannon go
off I was sure the house was coming down. How is it some one wasn't
killed?"
"That wasn't a cannon; it was only my little rifle," said Tom, and
then he told again, for the benefit of the housekeeper, the story of
what had happened.
"We'd better hurry and look around the premises," suggested Mr.
Jackson. "Maybe he is hiding, and will come back, or perhaps he has
some confederates on the watch."
"Not much danger of that," declared Tom. "Happy Harry is far enough
away from here now, and so are his confederates, if he had any,
which I doubt. Still, it will do no harm to take a look around."
A search resulted in nothing, however, and the Swift household had
soon settled down again, though no one slept soundly during the
remainder of the night.
In the morning Tom sent word of what had happened to the police of
Shopton. Some officers came out to the house, but, beyond looking
wisely at the window by which the burglar had entered and at some
footprints in the garden, they could do nothing. Tom wanted to go
off on his motor-cycle on a tour of the surrounding neighborhood to
see if he could get any clues, but he did not think it would be wise
in the absence of his father. He thought it would be better to
remain at home, in case any further efforts were made to get
possession of valuable models or papers.
"There's not much likelihood of that, though," said Tom to the old
engineer. "Those fellows have what they want, and are not going to
bother us again. I would like to get that model back for dad,
though. If they file it and take out a patent, even if he can prove
that it is his, it will mean a long lawsuit and he may be defrauded
of his rights, after all. Possession is nine points of the law, and
part of the tenth, too, I guess."
So Tom remained at home and busied himself as well as he could over
some new machines he was constructing. He got a telegram from his
father that afternoon, stating that Mr. Swift had safely arrived in
Albany, and would return the following day.
"Did you have any luck, dad?" asked the young inventor, when his
father, tired and worn from the unaccustomed traveling, reached home
in the evening.
"Not much, Tom," was the reply. "Mr. Crawford has gone back to
Washington, and he is going to do what he can to prevent those men
taking advantage of me."
"Did you get any trace of the thieves? Does Mr. Crawford think he
can?"
"No to both questions. His idea is that the men will remain in
hiding for a while, and then, when the matter has quieted down, they
will proceed to get a patent on the motor that I invented."
"But, in the meanwhile, can't you make another model and get a
patent yourself?"
"No; there are certain legal difficulties in the way. Besides, those
men have the original papers I need. As for the model, it will take
me nearly a year to build a new one that will work properly, as it
is very complicated. I am afraid, Tom, that all my labor on the
turbine motor is thrown away. Those scoundrels will reap the benefit
of it."
"Oh, I hope not, dad! I'm sure those fellows will be caught. Now
that you are back home again, I'm going out on a hunt on my own
account. I don't put much faith in the police. It was through me,
dad, that you lost your model and the papers, and I'll get them
back!"
"No, you must not think it was your fault, Tom," said his father.
"You could not help it, though I appreciate your desire to recover
the missing model."
"And I'll do it, too, dad. I'll start to-morrow, and I'll make a
complete circuit of the country for a hundred miles around. I can
easily do it on my motor-cycle. If I can't get on the trail of the
three men who robbed me, maybe I can find Happy Harry."
"I doubt it, my son. Still, you may try. Now I must write to Mr.
Crawford and tell him about the attempted burglary while I was away.
It may give him a clue to work on. I'm afraid you ran quite a risk,
Tom."
"I didn't think about that, dad. I only wish I had managed to keep
that rascal a prisoner."
The next day Tom started off on a hunt. He planned to be gone
overnight, as he intended to go first to Dunkirk, where Mr.
Blackford lived, and begin his search from there.
CHAPTER XX.
ERADICATE SAWS WOOD
The farmer's family, including the son who was a deputy sheriff, was
glad to see Tom. Jed said he had "been on the job" ever since the
mysterious robbery of Tom had taken place, but though he had seen
many red automobiles he had no trace of the three men.
From Dunkirk Tom went back over the route he had taken in going from
Pompville to Centreford, and made some inquiries in the neighborhood
of the church shed, where he had taken shelter. The locality was
sparsely settled, however, and no one could give any clues to the
robbers.
The young inventor next made a trip over the lonely, sandy road,
where he had met with the tramp, Happy Harry. But there were even
fewer houses near that stretch than around the church, so he got no
satisfaction there. Tom spent the night at a country inn, and
resumed his search the next morning, but with no results. The men
had apparently completely disappeared, leaving no traces behind
them.
"I may as well go home," thought Tom, as he was riding his motor-cycle
along a pleasant country road. "Dad may be worried, and perhaps
something has turned up in Shopton that will aid me. If there isn't,
I'm going to start out again in a few days in another direction."
There was no news in Shopton, however. Town found his father
scarcely able to work, so worried was he over the loss of his most
important invention.
Two weeks passed, the young machinist taking trips of several days'
duration to different points near his home, in the hope of
discovering something. But he was unsuccessful, and, in the
meanwhile, no reassuring word was received from the lawyers in
Washington. Mr. Crawford wrote that no move had yet been made by the
thieves to take out patent papers, and while this, in a sense, was
some aid to Mr. Swift, still he could not proceed on his own account
to protect his new motor. All that could be done was to await the
first movement on the part of the scoundrels.
"I think I'll try a new plan to-morrow, dad," announced Tom one
night, when he and his father had talked over again, for perhaps the
twentieth time, the happenings of the last few weeks.
"What is it, Tom?" asked the inventor.
"Well, I think I'll take a week's trip on my machine. I'll visit all
the small towns around here, but, instead of asking in houses for
news of the tramp or his confederates, I'll go to the police and
constables. I'll ask if they have arrested any tramps recently, and,
if they have, I'll ask them to let me see the 'hobo' prisoners."
"What good will that do?"
"I'll tell you. I have an idea that though the burglar who got in
here may not be a regular tramp, yet he disguises himself like one
at times, and may be known to other tramps. If I can get on the
trail of Happy Harry, as he calls himself, I may locate the other
men. Tramps would be very likely to remember such a peculiar chap as
Happy Harry, and they will tell me where they had last seen him.
Then I will have a starting point."
"Well, that may be a good plan," assented Mr. Swift. "At any rate it
will do no harm to try. A tramp locked up in a country police
station will very likely be willing to talk. Go ahead with that
scheme, Tom, but don't get into any danger. How long will you be
away?"
"I don't know. A week, perhaps; maybe longer. I'll take plenty of
money with me, and stop at country hotels overnight."
Tom lost no time in putting his plan into execution. He packed some
clothes in a grip, which he attached to the rear of his motor-cycle,
and then having said good-by to his father, started off. The first
three days he met with no success. He located several tramps in
country lock-ups, where they had been sent for begging or loitering,
but none of them knew Happy Harry or had ever heard of a tramp
answering his description.
"He ain't one of us, youse can make up your mind to dat," said one
"hobo" whom Tom interviewed. "No real knight of de highway goes
around in a disguise. We leaves dat for de story-book detectives.
I'm de real article, I am, an' I don't know Happy Harry. But, fer
dat matter, any of us is happy enough in de summer time, if we don't
strike a burgh like dis, where dey jugs you fer panhandlin'."
In general, Tom found the tramp willing enough to answer his
questions, though some were sullen, and returned only surly growls
to his inquiries.
"I guess I'll have to give it up and go back home," he decided one
night. But there was a small town, not many miles from Shopton,
which he had not yet visited, and he resolved to try there before
returning. Accordingly, the next morning found him inquiring of the
police authorities in Meadton. But no tramps had been arrested in
the last month, and no one had seen anything of a tramp like Happy
Harry or three mysterious men in an automobile.
Tom was beginning to despair. Riding along a silent road, that
passed through a strip of woods, he was trying to think of some new
line of procedure, when the silence of the highway, that, hitherto,
had resounded only with the muffled explosions of his machine, was
broken by several exclamations.
"Now, Boomerang, yo' might jest as well start now as later," Tom heard
a voice saying--a voice he recognized well. "Yo' hab got t' do dis
yeah wuk, an' dere ain't no gittin' out ob it. Dis yeah wood am got to
be sawed, an' yo' hab got to saw it. But it am jest laik yo' to go
back on yo' ole friend Eradicate in dis yeah fashion. I neber could
tell what yo' were gwine t' do next, an' I cain't now. G'lang, now,
won't yo'? Let's git dis yeah sawmill started."
Tom shut off the power and leaped from his wheel. From the woods at
his left came the protesting "hee-haw" of a mule.
"Boomerang and Eradicate Sampson!" exclaimed the young inventor.
"What can they be doing here?"
He leaned his motor-cycle against the fence and advanced toward
where he had heard the voice of the colored man. In a little
clearing he saw him. Eradicate was presiding over a portable
sawmill, worked by a treadmill, on the incline of which was the
mule, its ears laid back, and an unmistakable expression of anger on
its face.
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