Mr. Sharp relieved Tom at the wheel, while the young inventor ate, and then, with the airship heading southwest, the speed was increased a trifle, the balloonist desiring to see what the motor could accomplish under a heavy load.

A drop of several hundred feet was made about an hour later, and, as this made it warmer, Mr. Damon, who was a great lover of fresh air, decided to go out on the platform in front of the cabin. This platform, and a similar one at the rear, was railed about, to prevent accidents.

A fine view could be had from them much better than through the floor windows of the car.

"Be careful of the propeller," advised Tom, as his friend went outside.

"I don't believe you're tall enough to be hit by the blades, but don't take any chances of standing on your tiptoes."

"Bless my pocket handkerchief, indeed I'll not," came the answer. "But I think I shall wrap up my throat in the scarf I brought along. I am subject to neuralgia, and the breeze may bring on an attack of it."

Wrapping along, woolen scarf about his neck, the eccentric man ventured out on the open platform. About the middle of it, but sufficiently high to be above a person's head, was the forward propeller, whirring around at swift speed.

Tom, with his eye on the various gauges and the compa.s.s, was steering the airship. He glanced at Mr. Damon, who appeared to be enjoying the view from the platform. For an instant the eyes of the lad were taken from the form of his friend. He looked back suddenly, however, his attention attracted by a smothered cry. He was horrified by what he saw.

Mr. Damon was leaning far over the edge of the railing, with nothing between him and the earth a thousand feet below. He seemed to have lost his balance and had toppled forward, being doubled up on the iron pipe railing, his hands hanging limply over. Then, as Tom cried to Mr. Sharp to shut off the motor, the lad saw that, hanging to the blade of the propeller, and being whirled around in its revolutions, was a part of Mr. Damon's red scarf.

"Hurry! Hurry, Mr. Sharp!" yelled Tom, not daring to let go the steering wheel, for fear the ship would encounter a treacherous current and tilt. "Hurry to Mr. Damon!"

"What's the matter?" asked the balloonist.

"He's dead--or unconscious--hanging over the railing. He seems to be slipping! Hurry, or it will be too late!"

Chapter 14

Andy Gives The Clue

When Mr. Swift followed the chief of police and the constable to the town hall his mind was filled with many thoughts. All his plans for revolutionizing submarine travel, were, of course, forgotten, and he was only concerned with the charge that had been made against his son.

It seemed incredible, yet the officers were not ones to perpetrate a joke. The chief and constable had driven from town in a carriage, and they now invited the inventor to ride back with them.

"Do you mean to tell me a warrant has actually been sworn out against my son, Chief?" asked the father, when they were near the town hall.

"That's just what I mean to say, Mr. Swift, and, I'm sorry, on your account, that I have to serve it."

"Hub! Don't look like you was goin' to serve it," remarked the constable. "He's skipped out."

"That's all right, Higby," went on the chief. "I'll catch em both.

Even if they have escaped in an airship with their booty, I'll nab 'em.

I'll have a general alarm out all over the country in less than an hour. They can't stay up in the air forever."

"A warrant for Tom--my son," murmured Mr. Swift, as if he could not believe it.

"Yes, and for that Damon man, too," added the chief. "I want him as well as Tom, and I'll get 'em."

"Would you mind letting me see the warrants?" asked the inventor, and the official pa.s.sed them over. The doc.u.ments were made out in regular form, and the complaints had been sworn to by Isaac Pendergast, the bank president.

"I can't understand it," went on Tom's father. "Seventy-five thousand dollars. It's incredible! Why!" he suddenly exclaimed, "it can't be true. Just before he left, Mr. Damon--"

"Yes, what did he do?" asked the chief eagerly, thinking he might secure some valuable evidence.

"I guess I'll say nothing until I have seen the bank president,"

replied Mr. Swift, and the official was obviously disappointed.

The inventor found Mr. Pendergast, and some other bank officials in the town hall. The financiers were rather angry when they learned that the accused persons had not been caught, but the chief said he would soon have them in custody.

"In the meanwhile will you kindly explain, what this means?" asked Mr.

Swift of the president.

"You may come and look at the looted vault, if you like, Mr. Swift,"

replied Mr. Pendergast. "It was a very thorough job, and will seriously cripple the bank."

There was no doubt that the vault had been forced open, for the locks and bars were bent and twisted as if by heavy tools. Mr. Swift made a careful examination, and was shown the money drawers that had been smashed.

"This was the work of experts," he declared.

"Exactly what we think," said the president. "Of course we don't believe your son was a professional bank robber, Mr. Swift. We have a theory that Mr. Damon did the real work, but that Tom helped him with the tools he had. There is no doubt about it."

"What right have you to accuse my son?" burst out the aged inventor.

"Why have you any more cause to suspect him than any other lad in town?

Why do you fix on him, and Mr. Damon? I demand to know."

"Mr. Damon's eccentric actions for a few days past, and his well-known oddity of character make him an object of suspicion," declared the president in judicial tones. "As for Tom, we have, I regret to say, even better evidence against him."

"But what is it? What? Who gave you any clues to point to my son?"

"Do you really wish to know?"

"I certainly do," was the sharp reply. Mr. Swift, the police and several bank officials were now in the president's office. The latter pressed an electric bell, and, when a messenger answered, he said:

"Send young Foger here."

At the mention of this name, Mr. Swift started. He well knew the red-haired bully was an enemy of his son. Andy entered, walking rather proudly at the attention he attracted.

"This is Mr. Swift," said the president.

"Aw, I know him," blurted out Andy.

"You will please tell him what you told us," went on Mr. Pendergast.

"Well, I seen Tom Swift hanging around this bank with burglar tools in his possession last night, just before it was robbed," exclaimed the squint-eyed lad triumphantly.

"Hanging around the bank last night with burglar tools?" repeated Mr.

Swift, in dazed tones.

"That's right," from Andy.