Chapter 20 Tom Swift and His Talking Pictures by Victor Appleton
MASKED MEN
Tom Swift sat at the wheel of his craft, his hands on the spokes and his eyes gazing ahead through the darkness. He had set a straight course for Rattlesnake Island and wondered what would happen after he arrived. In spite of his bold words to Ned Newton, the young inventor was a little apprehensive, as well he might be.
He scanned the water on either side of him for a possible sight of other craft that might be heading in the same direction. But though in the distance he saw and heard other motorboats, none seemed to be laying a course for Rattlesnake Island.
“I wonder if they’ll be there—and on time,” mused Tom. He did not whisper, even to the unoccupied darkness about him, any designation of those he had in mind. He merely said: “I wonder if they’ll be there.”
It was not a long run, in Tom’s speedy craft, to the sinister, dark island where he and Ned had lately been prisoners, and almost before he had finished going over in his mind the various occurrences that had taken place since he had begun working on his talking-picture machine, the young inventor found himself approaching the place.
“Wonder if I’m to land at the dock where Snogg and Janner tied up the Turtle. Or am I to circle the island until I get a sign?” mused Tom. “From the fact that they have named as a rendezvous the old house, I should think it would be at the same dock where Ned and I saw those rascals working on their boat the time we gave them the slip. Think I’ll try there first, anyhow.”
Tom was a good navigator, and it did not take him long to get his bearings and head for the dock in question. As he approached it, he saw a dim light on it and this convinced him that he was to tie up there. Slowing his boat to half speed, for he was not sure about the state of water, and thinking there might be rocks, the young man stood up and strained his eyes to pierce the gloom. The single lantern on the end of the dock gave illumination enough to make certain that the way was clear, as far as obstructions in the water were concerned.
“Well, here I go—for better or for worse,” said Tom grimly to himself as he shut off power and allowed his craft to glide up to the stringpiece. The dock was rather a ruin, but he found a ring in a beam and made his rope fast there.
Then, before getting out of the boat, Tom looked sharply about as well as he could by such illumination as a smoking lantern gave. There was no sight nor sound of any other visitor to Rattlesnake Island. Tom seemed to be the only one there. Yet he knew there were others.
“I suppose I’m to go right up and knock at the front door,” and Tom chuckled a little. “They don’t seem to have appointed a reception committee with a brass band. Guess those fellows don’t do business that way. Well, might as well get started.”
Before getting out of his boat, however, he made sure that the mooring rope was tied in such a way that, if need be, he could make a running jump into the craft, pull the knot out with one tug of the free end and so be loosed from the dock. Also he made certain that his motor would start at once. It was a powerful and speedy craft in which Tom had come to the island—one that would start with a throw of a switch, not needing any laborious cranking.
“I might want to get away in a hurry,” he had reasoned.
Thus having taken all precautions to serve him in case of emergency, Tom clambered up on the dock and started for the shore end.
As he left the circle of friendly rays from the lantern, he could not prevent a slight feeling of uneasiness creeping over him. After all, it was a risky thing that he was doing—trusting himself alone to unknown men who had every motive for wishing him out of the way or, if not exactly out of the way, at least prevented from pursuing his activities in certain directions.
“But I think I’m going to beat them at their own game,” mused Tom, as he walked along.
His feet made ghostly echoes on the rattling planks of the old dock, and, now and then, he paused to ascertain if any one else in the neighborhood were stirring. However, he appeared to be the only one.
“Let’s see,” mused the young inventor as he was about to step off the dock to the shore. “As I remember it, the dock was to the east of the house when Ned and I looked out of the window and saw the three men. So I must turn right now.”
Accordingly he swung in that direction as he started up a path that was partly overgrown with weeds. It was quite dark, once he had left the glow of the dock lantern, and Tom was glad he had brought a pocket flashlight with him.
Switching this on, he let the bright rays fall in front of him to guide his steps so he would not get off the path. For he had in mind the sinister name of the island to which he was paying a midnight visit.
“They say the rattlesnakes are all gone,” mused Tom, as he kept as nearly as he could to the middle of the path, “but I’m taking no chances of stepping on one. I don’t want to tread on a tail and be bitten. Even if their bite isn’t always deadly, it’s bad enough.”
In spite of himself, Tom could not prevent a creepy feeling coming over him at times as he walked along on the path. He almost wished he had not selected this means of tricking the plotters. But it was too late to turn back now. He had made his choice.
Suddenly, when he judged that he was half way to the old house, Tom heard a noise in the bushes just ahead of him and off to the left. For a moment he had a fear that it might be the rustle caused by the passage of a rattlesnake through the underbrush. He flashed his light in that direction, but instead of the beams picking up the gliding form of a serpent they illuminated the feet and legs of a man.
Before Tom could cry out or step back, he heard another noise on his right, and there, too, his flashlight revealed the feet and legs of another man.
Suddenly the four feet and four legs made a rush and Tom felt himself caught by the arm on either side. His flashlight was knocked from his hand, but, falling to the ground, still glowed and its rays showed Tom that he had been caught by two Negroes.
“Let me go!” he cried, fiercely struggling to free himself. But the black men held him fast.
Then one spoke, in rather soothing accents, saying:
“It’s all right, sir. We don’t aim to be rough with you, but we got our orders. I’m sorry I knocked your light down. I’ll pick it up for you,” and, stooping, he retrieved the flashlight which he gave to Tom.
“Better put it in your pocket, sir,” suggested the other Negro. “You won’t need it where you’re going. We know the path in the dark. And don’t be worried. We aren’t going to hurt you.”
“I’m not worried,” declared Tom boldly. “But this is an outrage! I came here of my own free will for a conference and——”
“That’s all right, sir,” went on the first black man, still soothingly. “You’re going to be taken to the conference. That’s what we came down for—to meet you and show you the way.”
Tom was at once struck by the fact that the language of these Negroes was above the average. They did not talk like poor, old Eradicate. Rather their talk was that of the man who has seen service in wealthy families. As this was in line with Tom’s theories regarding the identity of the men persecuting him, he ceased to struggle and said:
“Very well. Lead me to the men with whom I have an appointment.”
“That’s just what we’ll do, sir,” said the man who had picked up the flashlight. “It’s just a bit farther on.”
The Negroes seemed able to find their way in the dark, which, Tom reflected, was more than he could have done. In a short time they led him, gently enough, into a little clearing and there, showing dimly in the light of the stars, was the house where Tom and Ned had been prisoners.
If Tom had any compunctions about entering the house again he had no time to exercise them. Nor, be it known, had he the inclination. He was there for a purpose and intended to carry it out.
“Right this way, sir,” said one of the Negroes, letting go of Tom’s right arm and preceding him to the front door. “They’re expecting you.”
He knocked—whether in a signal code or not Tom was unable to determine—and the door was opened, letting out a flood of light. The place seemed to have been prepared for the reception of the young inventor.
“Go straight ahead,” said the Negro who had opened the door, as he stepped back to allow Tom to enter.
Tom walked into a hall, furnished only with a chair. One of the three Negroes—which he could not determine—glided ahead of him, tapped on a door at the end of the corridor, and opened it in response to a voice that said:
“Enter!”
Tom Swift saw before him a brilliantly lighted room. Gathered around a table in the middle were half a dozen men. Each one wore a black mask and through the eye-holes in them Tom felt himself being sharply scrutinized.
“You may go, Richard,” said one of the men in cultured tones to the Negro who had opened the door.
Then the masked faces silently regarded the young inventor.