"I have it!" he declared. "The carriage came from the village, and kept right on the other way. You're right, Ned. They didn't go back to town.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. You can see for yourself; if the carriage had turned around the track would show, but it doesn't and, even if they turned on the gra.s.s, there'd be two lines of marks--one coming out here and one returning. As it is there is only a single set--just as if the carriage drove up here, took on its load, and continued on. This way, Ned."

They hurried down the road, and soon came to a cl.u.s.ter of farm houses.

Inquiries there, however, failed to bring anything to light, for either the occupants of the house had failed to notice pa.s.sing vehicles, or there had been so many that any particular carriage was not recalled.

And there were now so many impressions in the soft dirt of the highway--so many wheel tracks and hoof imprints--that it was impossible to pick out those of the carriage with the cut rubber tire. "Well, I guess it isn't of much use to go on any farther," spoke Ned, when they had traveled several miles and had learned nothing.

"We'll try one more house, and then go back," agreed Tom. "We'll tell dad about what's happened, and see what he says."

"Carriage?" repeated an old farmer to whom they next put the question.

"Wa'al, now, come t' think of it, I did see one drivin' along here early this morning. It had rubber tires on too, for I recollect remarkin' t' myself that it didn't make much noise. Had t' talk t'

myself," he added in explanation, "'cause n.o.body else in the family was up, 'ceptin' th' dog."

"Did the carriage have some Russians in it?" asked Tom eagerly, "and was one a big bearded man?"

"Wa'al, now you've got me," admitted the farmer frankly. "It was quite early you see, and I didn't take no particular notice. I got up early t' do my milkin' 'cause I have t' take it t' th' cheese factory. That's th' reason n.o.body was up but me. But I see this carriage comin' down th' road, and thinks I t' myself it was pretty middlin' early fer anybody t' be takin' a pleasure ride. I 'lowed it were a pleasure ride, 'cause it were one of them hacks that folks don't usually use 'ceptin'

fer a weddin', or a funeral, an' it wa'n't no funeral."

"Then you can't tell us anything more except that it pa.s.sed?" asked Ned.

"No, I couldn't see inside, 'cause it was rather dark at that hour, and then, too, I noticed that they had th' window shades down."

"That's suspicious!" exclaimed Tom. "I believe they are the fellows we're after," and, without giving any particulars he said that they were looking for a friend who might have been taken away against his will.

"Could you tell where they were going?" asked Tom, scarcely hoping to get an affirmative answer.

"Wa'al, th' man on th' seat pulled up when he see me," spoke the farmer with exasperating slowness, "an' asked me how far it was t' th'

Waterville station, an' I told him."

"Why didn't you say so at first?" asked Tom quickly. "Why didn't you tell us they were heading for the railroad?"

"You didn't ask me," replied the farmer. "What difference does it make."

"Every minute counts!" exclaimed the young inventor. "We want to keep right after those fellows. Maybe the agent can tell us where they bought tickets to, and we can trace them that way.

"Shouldn't wonder," commented the farmer. "There ain't many trains out from Waterville at that time of day, an' mighty few pa.s.sengers.

Shouldn't wonder but Jake Applesauer could put ye on th' trail."

"Much obliged," called Tom. "Come on, Ned," and he started back in the direction of the house where the kidnapping had taken place.

"That ain't th' way t' 'vaterville!" the farmer shouted after them.

"I know it, we're going to get our airship," answered Tom, and then he heard the farmer mutter.

"Plumb crazy! That's what they be! Plumb crazy! Going after their airship! Shouldn't wonder but they was escaped lunatics, and the other fellers was keepers after 'em. Hu! Wa'al, I've got my work to do.

'Tain't none of my affair."

"Let him think what he likes," commented Ned as he and his chum hurried on. "We're on the trail all right."

If Jake Applesauer, the agent at the Waterville station, was surprised at seeing two youths drop down out of an aeroplane, and begin questioning him about some suspicious strangers that had taken the morning train, he did not show it. Jake prided himself on not being surprised at anything, except once when he took a counterfeit dollar in return for a ticket, and had to make it good to the company.

But, to the despair of Tom and Ned, he could not help them much. He had seen the party, of course. They had driven up in the hack, and one of the men seemed to be sick, or hurt, for his head was done up in bandages, and the others had to half carry him on the train.

"That was Mr. Petrofsky all right," declared Ned.

"Sure," a.s.sented Tom. "They must have hurt and drugged him. But you can't tell us for what station they bought tickets, Mr. Applesauer?"

"No, for they didn't buy any. They must have had 'em, or else they paid on the train. One man drove off in the coach, and that's all I know."

As Tom and Ned started back to Shopton in the aeroplane they discussed what could be done next. A hard task lay before them, and they realized that.

"They could have gotten off at any station between here and New York, or even changed to another railroad at the junction," spoke Tom. "It's going to be a hard job."

"Guess we'll have to get some regular detectives on it," suggested Ned.

"And that's what I'll do," declared the young inventor. "They may be able to locate Mr. Petrofsky before those spies take him out of this country. If they don't--it will be too late. I'm going to talk to dad about it, and if he agrees I'll hire the best private detectives."

Mr. Swift gave his consent when Tom had told the story, and, a day later, one of the best detectives of a well known agency called on Tom in Shopton and a.s.sumed charge of the case.

The early reports from the detective were quite rea.s.suring. He got on the trail of the men who had taken Mr. Petrofsky away, and confirmed the suspicion that they were agents of the Russian police. He trailed them as far as New York, and there the clews came to an end.

"Whether they are in the big city, which might easily be, or in some of the nearby towns, will take some time to learn," the detective wrote, and Tom wired back telling him to keep on searching.

But, as several weeks went by, and no word came, even Tom began to give up hope, though he did not stop work on the air glider, which was nearing completion. And then, most unexpectedly a clew came--a clew from far-off Russia.

Tom got a letter one day--a letter in a strange hand, the stamp and postmark showing that it had come from the land of the Czar.

"What do you suppose it contains?" asked Ned, who was with his chum when the communication was received.

"Haven't the least idea; but I'll soon find out."

"Maybe it's from the Russian police, telling you to keep away from Siberia."

"Maybe," answered Tom absently, for he was reading the missive. "I say!" he suddenly cried. "This is great! A clew at last, and from St.

Petersburg! Listen to this, Ned!

"This letter is from the head of one of the secret societies over there, a society that works against the government. It says that Mr.

Petrofsky is being detained a prisoner in a lonely hut on the Atlantic sea coast, not far from New York--Sandy Hook the letter says--and here are the very directions how to get there!"

"No!" cried Ned, in disbelief. "How in the world could anybody in Russia know that."

"It tells here," said Tom. "It's all explained. As soon as the secret police got Mr. Petrofsky they communicated with the head officials in St. Petersburg. You know nearly everyone is a spy over there, and the letter says that Mr. Petrofsky's friends there soon heard the news, and even about the exact place where he is being held."

"What are they holding him for?" asked Ned.

"That's explained, too. It seems they can't legally take him back until certain papers are received from his former prison in Siberia, and those are now on the way. His friends write to me to hasten and rescue him."