Chapter 14 Tom Swift and his Chest of Secrets by Victor Appleton
A QUEER ATTACK
The young inventor, not much accustomed to tears, thought at first that Mary had been hurt in some way, perhaps burned by a flying brand.
“What is it? Tell me,” he urged, taking her in his arms as they stood in the cool darkness and safety of the cave.
“I’m—I’m all right!” gasped Mary, looking up at him as well as she could in the gloom.
“All right? Then, why are you crying?”
“Oh, it’s because—because I’m so glad we’re—we’re here—safe!” sobbed the girl.
“Oh!” exclaimed Tom, but there was a great deal of meaning in that one word. “Yes, I guess we’re all right,” he agreed.
He looked out of the cave. In front of it and on either side the fire was burning fiercely. Another few seconds and neither he nor Mary would have been able to get through that fierce, hot barrier. But the flames could not eat their way into the cavern.
Then, as he and the girl stood there, thankfulness in their hearts that they had thus come safely through two grave dangers, there suddenly sounded a deep, booming, vibrating sound that seemed to shake the earth about them.
“Dynamite!” cried Tom. “They’ve brought up explosives and are blowing up patches to stop the flames. A good idea!”
“No, that isn’t dynamite,” said Mary. “Don’t you know thunder when you hear it?”
“Thunder?” cried Tom Swift.
“Yes. It’s thundering! Don’t you remember, we saw signs of a storm coming up in the west just before the aeroplane went dead?”
“That’s right. If it is thunder——”
A booming crash interrupted him. There was no doubt of it, a heavy storm was pending.
“The rain will put out the forest fire,” concluded Tom. “Then we can get out of here and back home.”
“Home seems a long way off,” sighed Mary.
“We can make it pretty quickly by going down the brook,” suggested Tom. “The brook always rises a short time after even a little rain, for all the water in this section drains into it. I know where there’s a boat hidden in the bushes not far from here, and we can paddle down in that.”
“It sounds enticing,” returned Mary. “Oh, I look a fright, don’t I?” she asked, with a nervous giggle. Having been in the cave a little while, their eyes were more accustomed to the gloom and they could see better.
“You do not!” emphatically cried Tom, which, of course, was the right answer.
“It has been a wonderful experience,” she went on slowly. “Not that I would care to repeat it—Oh, Tom!”
She suddenly gave a gasp of fear and covered her eyes with her hands as a blinding flash of lightning seemed actually to shoot through the cavern. It was followed a second later by a crash of thunder which made even Tom Swift, used as he was to experimenting with big guns, jump.
“Here comes the rain!” he cried.
At that moment the storm broke with almost tropical fury, the big drops pelting down like hail on the burning trees, bushes and such dry leaves as had accumulated from the previous fall.
“This will douse the blaze,” went on the young inventor.
Certainly, no forest fire could continue in the face of such odds as a violent rain storm—and this storm was violent. Seldom had Tom seen it rain so hard. He and Mary stood in the entrance to the cave and watched the drops pelt down. They could observe the fire in front of them die away, the blaze flickering out and then the smoke ceasing.
“I guess those fire-fighters are glad of this!” observed Tom, as he remembered the hardworking men and boys.
“Indeed, yes,” agreed Mary.
For an hour or more the downpour continued, and every vestige of the forest fire was extinguished when at last the muttering of the thunder died away and the fierce glow of the lightning faded from the blackened clouds.
Tom stepped outside the cave and looked about him. In the distance he could hear the loud murmuring of the brook, now turned into a good-sized stream.
“Come on, Mary,” he called. “It’s all over. We might as well start. Your mother may be worried about you. I’ll find that boat and we’ll soon be in Shopton.”
“Oh, I do wish I had a comb or something!” exclaimed the girl as she emerged from the cavern, trying to pin her hair back to keep it out of her eyes.
“You look fine!” declared Tom, and he really meant it.
“I can’t help it, anyhow,” Mary said, smiling slightly. “Thanks, Tom.”
The boat was found where Tom knew it to be hidden—he had used it on some of his excursions with Ned—and soon he and his companion were riding in comparative comfort down the swift little stream. They passed through a region where the forest fire had eaten its devastating way, but now the danger was over, the rain having soaked and drenched the woods.
In due time Tom and his companion reached the outskirts of Shopton, and then, knowing Mary would like a little privacy, he went to the nearest telephone and called a taxicab from the town garage. It came out to get him and Mary, and a little later she was safe at home.
“Oh, Mary! I’ve been so worried about you!” cried Mrs. Nestor. “Where have you been?”
“Oh, aeroplaning, falling, climbing out of trees, forest-firing, thunder and lightning, boating and floating—those are just a few of our activities this afternoon,” replied Mary, with a little excited laugh.
“What does she mean, Tom?” asked the bewildered lady.
“Those are some of the things that happened to us,” the young inventor said. “It isn’t a bit exaggerated. I suppose you heard about the forest fire?”
“Yes; and we were much worried for those in its path. But Mr. Nestor said it wouldn’t come this way.”
“No, it was far enough off from you,” agreed Tom. “And it’s all over now. Well, I think I’ll get back. I took this afternoon off as a sort of rest and mental relaxation—and I got it!” he chuckled grimly.
“How is Mr. Newton’s case coming on, Tom?” asked Mrs. Nestor.
“We thought very well, but something curious turned up a few days ago,” answered the young inventor, but not going into details. “Mr. Plum and Mr. Newton are out of town now, running down some evidence.”
At that moment the telephone rang, and Mr. Nestor, answering it, exclaimed:
“Tom Swift? Yes, he’s here. Wait a minute and I’ll let you talk to him. It’s for you, Tom,” he said, as he handed him the receiver.
“Hello!” called Tom into the instrument. Then he recognized his father’s voice and was aware at once that something had happened. “What’s that?” he cried. “An attack on you and Mrs. Baggert? Are you hurt? I’ll be right over! Send Ned with the runabout! Yes, I’ll come right away!”
There was an anxious look on his face as he hung up the receiver and turned to his friends.
“What is it?” asked Mary. “Has anything happened?”
“Lots, apparently,” answered Tom, with a grim smile. “Just a little while ago, while my father was alone, working in our office, he was mysteriously attacked and momentarily knocked senseless. Mrs. Baggert, too, was knocked down; and when Eradicate came to help he was savagely set upon—not that it would take much to knock out the poor old fellow.”
“Who did it?” cried Mr. Nestor.
“Is your father much hurt?” asked Mary.
“Dad doesn’t know who did it,” Tom answered. “He isn’t much hurt, I’m glad to say, or he wouldn’t have been able to telephone. I didn’t get a chance to ask him how Mrs. Baggert and Rad were, but I don’t believe they’re in a serious condition or he would have told me. It’s the mysteriousness of the attack and what it may mean that alarms my father and, naturally, me also.”
“Do you want me to go back with you, Tom?” asked Mr. Nestor. “I may be able to help you.”
“Thank you, but I guess the worst is over. I’ll telephone back and let you know how matters stand as soon as I find out myself. Ned ought to be here in a little while if he has luck.”
“You mean if he isn’t smashed up hurrying here,” said Mary.
“Something like that—yes,” Tom answered.
Certainly, Ned got out of the electric runabout about all it was capable of, for soon after Mr. Swift had telephoned the news of the mysterious attack the honk of the machine was heard out front. Bidding his friends good-bye, the young inventor was rushed to the scene of the latest outrage on the part of his enemies.
That it was the work of some enemy, or enemies, Tom did not for an instant doubt. It was not the first time those jealous of his success had tried to wrest from him by unfair means the fruits of his talents and toils.
“What’s it all about, Ned?” he asked his manager, as he was rushed along in the electric car.
“Don’t know, Tom,” was the answer. “I had gone over to the bank, and I was delayed a little while. As a matter of fact, I stopped to hear some reports about the forest fire, for I was anxious about you.
“When I got back I found the office in confusion, and Eradicate, staggering about with a badly cut head, was telling some story about a big red-haired man who had burst in on your father and had tried to take some papers away from him. Mrs. Baggert, it seems, had come over to the office to bring your father a glass of milk which she thought he ought to have, and she tried to stop the attack. But the rascal went for her, too.
“As soon as I got in your father, having in the meanwhile located you at Mary’s house, sent me over to get you. That’s all I know about it.”
“Is dad all right?”
“Yes—nothing serious. Though he’s greatly upset, and that isn’t any too good for him. But he got only a slight blow on the head.”
“And a man with red hair did it,” mused Tom. “Red hair! I don’t know anybody with red hair who would be as desperate as all that. This is getting mysterious!”