"Hurrah!" yelled Ned, clapping his friend on the back. "You've done it again, Tom Swift!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: He Bent the Gla.s.s]

"Don't crow too soon. Perhaps it won't bend back again. If a rod of copper is annealed in a certain way it can be bent ONCE like rubber but then the crystal breaks up and it becomes as rigid as ever. Maybe this gla.s.s will act the same way."

"Then try it! Don't keep me in suspense!"

Perhaps Tom had been tantalizing his business manager, or maybe he really was doubtful about the flexibility of the bar. At any rate, when he applied pressure he did not seem surprised when the gla.s.s became straight again. Then he proceeded actually to tie a knot in it, so bendable was the new substance!

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Gla.s.s Became Straight Again]

"This will revolutionize the gla.s.s industry!" declared Ned, noting that even the blows of a heavy sledge-hammer failed even so much as to crack the rod.

"It's not half as wonderful as that other kind of gla.s.s," said Tom, dreamily.

"Your gla.s.s eye, d'you mean?" chuckled Ned in high good humor. In his mind he could already see fat profits for the company.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A Heavy Hammer Did Not Crack It]

"I'll give you a pair of black eyes if you make another bad joke!"

laughed Tom, giving his chum a playful push. "But seriously, I'm mighty well pleased with this stuff; it turned out better than I dared hope.

You know, I got the idea for bendable gla.s.s while I was trying to figure out a way to make a huge telescope mirror. That was before we found the meteorite."

"And I suppose you'll go back to the gla.s.s mirror if you can't find the big stone so you can make the large green disk."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I'm Well Pleased With This."]

"Yes, that's what I'll have to do if the salvage attempt fails. But I'm sure we'll succeed."

Captain Britten had been given a room at the Swift home. When the boys got there they found their guest and Tom's father deep in a game of chess.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Two Men Were Playing Chess]

"Well, son," laughed Mr. Swift, "I've met my match at last. John Britten has beaten me three straight games! But don't tell Damon about it!"

"I won't, Dad," grinned Tom. "What do you think of this?" He handed his father the bar of bendable gla.s.s.

"What do I think of it? Why, it looks like a gla.s.s rod, that's all I can see."

"Then watch!" Tom took the bar and deftly twisted it into the shape of a fat pretzel.

"You've done it, son!" cried Mr. Swift. "And to think I told you such a thing was impossible! Congratulations!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "What Do You Think of This?"]

At dinner that evening the conversation turned mainly to the projected flight to the West Indies. It was decided to start the next day at sunrise, as Captain Britten had received word from Florida that his barge had been made ready. A tug was getting up steam to haul it to the Cuban coast.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Congratulations!" Cried Mr. Swift]

"Mr. Damon can't go with us, Dad," said Tom. "His wife won't let him! By the way," he added with a laugh, "she was looking up the names of all his relatives--Mr. Damon said she was glad of the excuse to do so!--but she could find none named Jones or Brown. So that definitely proves those two fellows were fakes and that they merely pretended relationship in order to pump him about my work."

After supper Ned went to his home to pack a suitcase, for he was to spend the night at the Swifts' to be on hand for the early start that was being planned. Tom spent the evening in his office studying the latest available data on diving operations, and plotting the route over which the party would travel to the coast of Cuba.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Ned Packed His Suitcase]

Immersed in his work, he at first paid but little attention to a peculiar odor that gradually was pervading the atmosphere.

Suddenly he realized that something was wrong; a strange buzzing filled his ears and the lights seemed to be growing dim. He started to get up, but instead fell across his desk.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Something Was Wrong]

As Tom lay there motionless, a window opened noiselessly. Stealthily a masked figure climbed in. After a hasty glance around the room, the intruder hastened to the desk and leaned over the unconscious youth.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A Masked Figure Entered]

CHAPTER VII

DEEP SEA DIVING

Swiftly the masked man took a bunch of keys from Tom's pocket. With a directness that indicated familiarity with the place, he went straight to the rug covering the entrance to the secret vault. Throwing this aside, he unlocked the trap door and quietly raised it. The combination lock, which gave warning if tampered with, had not been set for the night.

[Ill.u.s.tration: He Unlocked the Trap Door]

Now the intruder very carefully draped the rug over the door in such a way that it would spread itself as before when the trap should be closed from below. Two minutes later Tom was alone in the office, which appeared exactly as it had before he was rendered unconscious. Yet there crouched in the vault a hidden spy whose purpose was as sinister as his appearance.

[Ill.u.s.tration: He Draped the Rug Over the Door]

"Mist' Swift, Ma.s.sa Tom ain' come back fum de office yit," announced Rad Sampson as he placed the elderly inventor's nightly gla.s.s of hot milk on the library table. "I wuz jest up t' his room to ax him suffin' an' he wuzn't dar."

"Well, I guess the boy is working a bit late tonight. But you sound a trifle anxious, Eradicate. Do you think anything is wrong?"

"Uh--Oh, no suh. No suh," mumbled the old Negro. "I jest wondered ef yo'd seen him. Good night, suh! Good night!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Ma.s.sa Tom Ain' Back Fum de Office."]

"Good night, Rad."

"Mustn't worry ole Mist' Swift," the servant muttered to himself as he shuffled back to the kitchen. "But Ma.s.sa Tom tole me hisself he gwine t'

baid early 'cause he gotta git up befo' sunrise.

"Look hyah, Koku," he went on when he got to the kitchen. "Quit stuffin'

dat 'ar pie an' go out an' see ef Ma.s.sa Tom all right. He ought t' have bin in de house long sence. I'se skeered mebbe some villains mought've cotched him!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "See Ef Ma.s.sa Tom All Right."]