Chapter 11 Tom Swift and His Talking Pictures by Victor Appleton
RESCUED
Using the utmost caution, though they felt quite certain their movements would be muffled by the noise of the storm that raged about the lonely house, Tom Swift and Ned Newton made their way through the narrow, dark passage. It was so low that they had to stoop and, as the way was strange to them, Tom, who was in the lead, proceeded carefully. He kept his hands outstretched, one in front of him and the other pressed against a side wall. Nor did he let his weight bear on his feet when descending from one step to another until he was sure it was firm and solid.
The house was not large, therefore the secret stairway built in the walls could not be very long. So in a comparatively short time, though to the two young men it seemed long enough, the inventor came to the end of the passage and stopped.
“Well?” whispered Ned, behind his chum, after waiting impatiently for a short time.
“I don’t know whether it’s well or ill,” Tom answered. “But I’ve come to a wall or a door and I can find no means of opening it—if it is a door. So we can’t go any farther without breaking through.”
“Burst it open, then!” advised Ned with force. “We’ve got to get loose!”
“It’s bound to make a noise,” Tom went on, trying the second secret door by pushing on it, thus determining that it was not of very solid construction. “But I think the racket of the storm will cover it. Are you ready for a dash?”
“Sure!” replied Ned. “We’re going to get good and wet, though.”
Even in the secret passage where they were crouched, the noise of the storm came to them, and it seemed to be increasing in fury. The wind moaned, shrieked, and whistled around the island house and the rain came down in rattling sheets that played a tattoo on the sides and roof of the building.
“Here goes!” murmured Tom in a tense voice.
He drew back a little and when a sudden and louder burst of the storm’s fury enveloped the house, the young inventor hurled himself, back foremost, against the door.
There was a crackling and splintering of wood and Tom almost fell, so suddenly was he precipitated through the broken door. Recovering himself as best he could, Tom Swift saw that he had come out into a small passageway.
There was another door in front of him—an ordinary one fastened with bolts in plain view, and the passage was lighted by a window near the ceiling. Ned followed his chum through the broken secret door and the two stood for a moment, listening for anything which might indicate that their escape had been discovered.
But no sounds came to them save the noise of the storm, more in evidence now that they were closer to the outer air. Then Tom stepped to the locked door and, pushing back the bolts, swung it open. He had a momentary fear that it might lead into another strong room, but, to his own delighted surprise, as well as that of Ned, it gave out of doors and a moment later the two escaping captives stood in the wind and rain beneath the forest trees, free!
“That was luck!” murmured Ned.
“But we aren’t out of the woods yet,” replied Tom.
This was true in a double sense. The island in Lake Carlopa was densely wooded, and, so far as the young men knew, uninhabited save by the unscrupulous men who had kidnapped them. The sinister name of the place—Rattlesnake Island—kept away many campers who otherwise might have made the place popular. Perhaps, years before, there had been many of the deadly reptiles in the thickets, but it was doubtful if many were there now.
However, Tom and Ned did not give this a thought. Their main idea was to get as far as possible away from the house before Janner, Snogg and Torpy discovered that the prisoners had escaped.
“Come on!” murmured Tom, plunging off into the rain-drenched woods, followed by Ned. “They may be after us at any minute.”
But evidently the scoundrels were too much occupied with repairing their motorboat, for the two escaping captives had a glimpse of the unsavory trio grouped about it on the beach as they threaded their way through the forest.
“Whew, but I’m getting wet!” gasped Ned, as they crossed a little clearing and caught the full force of the downpour.
“This storm was the best thing that could happen to us,” Tom said.
“How come?”
“Except for the noise it made, the racket I produced when I broke that door would have given the alarm. Yes, this storm saved us. Don’t mind a little wetting.”
“A little wetting!” good-naturedly chuckled Ned. “This is about the biggest drenching I ever saw—except when you went into the lake.”
On they plunged, taking little heed of whither they went so long as they put distance between themselves and the three men. Then, when it was evident there was to be no immediate pursuit, they slackened their pace and began to make plans.
“What are we going to do, Tom?” Ned asked, pausing beneath a shelving ledge of rock that afforded partial shelter from the dashing rain and wind. “We’re still far from safe.”
“We ought to get to the shore—as far away from those fellows as we can—and signal some passing boat. There ought to be plenty of craft passing up and down the lake, though there’ll be more after this storm lets up. We’ve got to get back to the mainland. There’s no telling what mischief this gang may be up to at my works. The three scoundrels here are only part of the crowd.”
“I guess you’re right there, Tom. A boat headed for the mainland would just about suit me now. I’d like to let my folks know I’m all right.”
“So should I,” agreed Tom. “Dad will be in a fit when Koku and Mr. Damon go back and tell him I fell overboard.”
“They must have seen those fellows haul you into their boat,” Ned suggested.
“Naturally, they did. But that won’t make dad feel any easier. Yes, we want to get back home!”
However, there seemed to be no prospect of that in the immediate future. The storm continued unabated and no boats passed Rattlesnake Island, at least near the shore the two captives dared approach. They might have had better luck on the other side, for there lay the usual channel, but the scoundrels’ motorboat was there and the fugitives, therefore, must keep away.
At last, Ned’s watch, which had not been taken from him, indicated noon.
“Whew!” exclaimed the young manager when he saw the time. “We ought to eat, Tom, and get into some kind of shelter.”
“Yes, that’s so,” agreed Tom, who was as miserable as was his chum. “And if I’m not mistaken, we passed some sort of a cave back there. Let’s head for it.”
They came to a small cavern under an overhanging ledge of rock, and into this the two wanderers gratefully crawled. They did not explore to see how far back the cave extended, but when they found some dry wood near the entrance they built a fire and took off some of their wet garments. As these were hung on sticks near the blaze, to dry out, the young men, sitting near the grateful heat, took out their packages of food.
Luckily, they had wrapped the victuals in waxed paper taken from some of the cracker boxes supplied them for their first meal by their captors. So that now the improvised lunch was fairly dry. It was rather limited in its bill of fare, however, and Tom and Ned would gladly have parted with all the spare change in their pockets for a cup of hot coffee. However, such a luxury was beyond their reach, so they made the best of what they had.
The rain kept up all that afternoon, and once the two were warm from their cave fire and their garments fairly dry, they decided against venturing out again into the downpour.
“It may stop by morning,” Tom suggested, “and by morning more boats will be out and we’ll have a better chance of signaling one.”
“What! Stay here all night?”
“Why not?” chuckled Tom. “Do you know a better place?”
“You win!” agreed Ned. “We’ll camp out here.”
This they did, gathering some dried leaves farther back in the cave, and in these they burrowed, finding the warmth grateful from the chill of the storm.
It was still raining in the morning, but not as hard as before, when Tom and Ned awakened and made a very light breakfast. Then, when they were able to catch a glimpse of the sun, which came out about an hour after they had finished their limited meal, they again made a trail toward the shore farthest removed from the dock to which the scoundrels had tied up.
They soon came out on a sandy beach and into the full glare of a hot sun after the storm. The cheering beams of Old Sol both warmed and invigorated them.
“Now if we can only see a boat we’ll be all right,” said Tom.
They did not have long to wait. A motor craft came chugging into view and by dint of shouts and the waving of Ned’s shirt, which that young man gladly stripped off as a signal flag, the man in the boat saw the castaways and headed in toward them. The boatman proved to be Gill Marsh, a fisherman for whom Tom had more than once done favors, and Mr. Marsh gladly agreed to take the young men to Shopton.
“Though what you were doin’ on Rattlesnake Island is more’n I can figger out,” said the mystified Mr. Marsh.
“We’re not very good at figuring, ourselves, this morning,” said Tom, with a glance at Ned. They saw no reason for telling what had happened until they had had a chance to capture the scoundrels, for to attempt this they were determined.
In a short time they were landed at a dock not far from the Swift shops, and Tom was soon in telephonic communication with Mr. Jackson, who was both surprised and delighted to hear from his missing employer.
“Ned’s safe, too!” Tom said. “Get word to his folks as soon as you can.”
“That’s what I’ll do, Mr. Swift!” said the shop superintendent. “But where have you been? We’ve had the police for miles around looking for you two. What happened?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later,” Tom said. “But how are things at the shop?”
“Well, we’ve had some trouble, and that fellow Greenbaum——”
But there, to Tom’s disgust, the connection was broken, nor, do what he would to attract the operator, could he restore it again.
“We’ve got to hurry back, Ned!” exclaimed the young inventor. “Those scoundrels are still at their tricks!”