"Where are the life preservers? Oh, I KNOW we'll be drowned! I wish I'd never come on this trip! Look out, those are my pants you're putting on! Oh, where is my collar? Hand me my coat! Look out, you're stepping on my fingers!"

These were the confused and alarmed cries that Tom heard. He paused for a moment opposite the door, and then it was suddenly flung open.

The lights were glaring brightly inside and a strange sight met the gaze of the young inventor.

There stood Mr. Foger and beside him--half dressed--was his son--Andy!

Tom gasped. So did Andy and Mr. Foger, for they had both recognized our hero.

But how Mr. Foger had changed! His moustache was shaved off, though in spite of this Tom knew him. And Andy! No longer was his hair red, for it had been dyed a deep black and gla.s.ses over his eyes concealed their squint. No wonder the purser had not recognized them by the descriptions Tom and Ned had given.

"Andy Foger!" gasped Tom.

"Tom--it's Tom Swift, father!" stammered the bully.

"Close the door!" sharply ordered Mr. Foger, though he and his son had been about to rush out.

"I won't do it!" cried Andy. "The s.h.i.+p is sinking and I'm not going to be drowned down here."

"So it was you--after all," went on Tom. "What are you doing here?"

"None of your business!" snapped Andy. "Get out of my way, I'm going on deck."

Tom realized that it was not the proper time to hold a conversation, with a possibly sinking s.h.i.+p under him. He looked at Mr. Foger, and many thoughts shot through his mind. Why were they on board? Had it anything to do with the city of gold? Had Andy overheard the talk?

Or was Mr. Foger merely looking for a new venture whereby to retrieve his lost fortune.

Tom could not answer. The bully's father glared at our hero and then, slipping on a coat, he made a dash for the door.

"Get out of my way!" he shouted, and Tom stood aside.

Andy was already racing for the deck, and as the noise and confusion seemed to increase rather than diminish, Tom concluded that his wisest move would be to get out and see what all the excitement was about.

He stopped on his way to arouse Eradicate but found that he and all the colored persons had left their staterooms. A few seconds later Tom was on deck.

"It's all right, now! It's all right!" several officers were calling. "There is no danger. Go back to your staterooms. The danger is all over."

"Is the s.h.i.+p sinking?"

"What happened?"

"Are we on fire?"

"Are you sure there's no danger?"

These were only a few of the questions that were flying about, and the officers answered them as best they could.

"We hit a derelict, or some bit of wreckage," explained the first mate, when he could command silence. "There is a slight hole below the water-line, but the bulkheads have been closed, and there is not the slightest danger."

"Are we going to turn back for New York?" asked one woman.

"No, certainly not. We're going right on as soon as a slight break to one of the engines can be repaired. We are in no danger. Only a little water came in before the automatic bulkheads were shut. We haven't even a list to one side. Now please clear the decks and go back to bed."

It took more urging, but finally the pa.s.sengers began to disperse.

Tom found Ned and Mr. Damon, who were looking for him.

"Bless my life preserver!" cried the odd man. "I thought surely this was my last voyage, Tom!"

"So did I," added Ned. "What's the matter, Tom, you look as though you'd seen a ghost."

"I have--pretty near. The Fogers are on board."

"No! You don't mean it!"

"It's a fact. I just saw them. They are the mysterious pa.s.sengers."

And Tom related his experience.

"Where are they now?" demanded Ned, looking about the deck.

"Gone below again, I suppose. Though I don't see what object they can have in concealing their ident.i.ty any longer."

"Me either. Well, that surely is a queer go."

"Bless my hot cross buns! I should say so!" commented Mr. Damon when he heard about it. "What are you going to do, Tom?"

"Nothing. I can't. They have a right on board. But if they try to follow us--well, I'll act then," and Tom shut his jaws grimly.

Our three friends went back to their state-room, and Eradicate also retired. The excitement was pa.s.sing, and soon the s.h.i.+p was under way again, the sudden shock having caused slight damage to one of the big engines. But it was soon repaired and, though the storm still continued, the s.h.i.+p made her way well through the waves.

A stout bow, water-tight compartments, and the fact (learned later) that she had struck the derelict a glancing blow, had combined to save the Maderia.

There were many curious ones who looked over the side next morning to see the gaping hole in the bow. A canvas had been rigged over it, however, to keep out the waves as much as possible, so little could be viewed. Then the thoughts of landing occupied the minds of all, and the accident was nearly forgotten. For it was announced that they would dock early the next morning.

In spite of the fact that their presence on board was known to Tom and his friends, the Fogers still kept to their stateroom, not even appearing at meals. Tom wondered what their object could be, but could not guess.

"Well, here we are at last--in Mexico," exclaimed Ned the next morning, when, the Maderia having docked, allowed the pa.s.sengers to disembark, a clean bill of health having been her good luck.

"Yes, and now for a lot of work!" added Tom. "We've got to see about getting ox teams, carts and helpers, and no end of food for our trip into the interior."

"Bless my coffee pot! It's like old times to be going off into the jungle or wilderness camping," said Mr. Damon.

"Did you see anything of the Fogers?" asked Ned of his chum.

"Not a thing. Guess they're in their stateroom, and they can stay there for all of me. I'm going to get busy."

Tom and his friends went to a hotel, for they knew it would take several days to get their expedition in shape. They looked about for a sight of their enemies, but saw nothing of them.

It took five days to hire the ox carts, get helpers, a supply of food and other things, and to unload the balloon and baggage from the s.h.i.+p. In all this time there was no sign of the Fogers, and Tom hoped they had gone about their own business.

Our friends had let it be known that they were going into the interior to prospect, look for historic relics and ruins, and generally have a sort of vacation.

"For if it is even hinted that we are after the city of gold," said Tom, "it would be all up with us. The whole population of Mexico would follow us. So keep mum, everyone."