Tom Swift and His Photo Telephone Part 16

"Oh, I don't know," spoke Tom, rather listlessly.

"Why not?" Ned wanted to know.

"Well, I ought to be working on my photo telephone," was the answer. "I've got a new idea now. I'm going to try a different kind of current, and use a more sensitive plate. And I'll use a tungsten filament lamp in the sending booth."

"Oh, let your experiments go for a little while, Tom," suggested Ned. "Come on over to Mr. Damon's. The trouble with you is that you keep too long at a thing, once you start."

"That's the only way to succeed," remarked Tom. "Really, Ned, while I feel sorry about the airs.h.i.+p, of course, I ought to be working on my telephone. I'll get the Eagle back sooner or later."

"That's not the way to talk, Tom. Let's follow up this clue."

"Well, if you insist on it I suppose I may as well go. We'll take the little monoplane. I've fixed her up to carry double. I guess--"

Tom Swift broke off suddenly, as the telephone at his elbow rang.

"h.e.l.lo," he said, taking off the receiver. "Yes, this is Tom Swift. Oh, good morning, Mrs. Damon! Eh! What's that? Mr. Damon has disappeared? You don't tell me! Disappeared! Yes, yes, I can come right over. Be there in a few minutes. Eh? You don't know what to make of it? Oh, well, maybe it can easily be explained.

Yes, Ned Newton and I will be right over. Don't worry."

Tom hung up the receiver and turned to his chum.

"What do you think of that?" he asked.

"What is it?"

"Why, Mr. Damon mysteriously vanished last night, and this morning word came from his bankers that every cent of his fortune had disappeared! He's lost everything!"

"Maybe--maybe--" hesitated Ned.

"No, Mr. Damon isn't that kind of a man," said Tom, stoutly. "He hasn't made away with himself."

"But something is wrong!"

"Evidently, and it's up to us to find out what it is. I shouldn't be surprised but that he knew of this coming trouble and started out to prevent it if he could."

"But he wouldn't disappear and make his wife worry."

"No, that's so. Well, we'll have to go over there and find out all about it."

"Say, Tom!" exclaimed Ned, as they were getting the small, but swift monoplane ready for the flight, "could there be any connection with the disappearance of Mr. Damon and the taking of the Eagle?"

Tom started in surprise.

"How could there be?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't know," answered Ned. "It was only an idea."

"Well, we'll see what Mrs. Damon has to say," spoke the young inventor, as he took his seat beside Ned, and motioned to Koku to twirl the propeller.

CHAPTER XIII

THE TELEPHONE PICTURE

"Oh, Tom Swift! I'm so glad to see you!"

Mrs. Damon clasped her arms, in motherly fas.h.i.+on, about the young inventor. He held her close, and his own eyes were not free from tears as he witnessed the grief of his best friend's wife.

"Now, don't worry, Mrs. Damon," said Tom, sympathetically.

"Everything will be all right," and he led her to a chair.

"All right, Tom! How can it be?" and the lady raised a tear-stained face. "My husband has disappeared, without a word! It's just as if the earth had opened and swallowed him up! I can't find a trace of him! How can it be all right?"

"Well, we'll find him, Mrs. Damon. Don't worry. Ned and I will get right to work, and I'll have all the police and detectives within fifty miles on the search--if we have to go that far."

"Oh, it's awfully good of you, Tom. I--I didn't know who else to turn to in my trouble but you."

"And why shouldn't you come to me? I'd do anything for you and Mr.

Damon. Now tell me all about it."

Tom and Ned had just arrived at the Damon home in the airs.h.i.+p, to find the wife of the eccentric man almost distracted over her husband's strange disappearance.

"It happened last night," Mrs. Damon said, when she was somewhat composed. "Last night about twelve o'clock."

"Twelve o'clock!" cried Tom, in surprise "Why that's about the time--"

He stopped suddenly.

"What were you going to say?" asked Mrs. Damon.

"Oh--nothing," answered Tom. "I--I'll tell you later. Go on, please."

"It is all so confusing," proceeded Mrs. Damon. "You know my husband has been in trouble of late--financial trouble?"

"Yes," responded Tom, "he mentioned it to me."

"I don't know any of the details," sighed Mrs. Damon, "but I know he was mixed up with a man named Peters."

"I know him, too," spoke Tom, grimly.

"My husband has been very gloomy of late," went on Mrs. Damon. "He foolishly entrusted almost his entire fortune to that man, and last night he told me it was probably all gone. He said he saw only the barest chance to save it, but that he was going to take that chance."

"Did he go into details?" asked Tom.

"No, that was all he said. That was about ten o'clock. He didn't want to go to bed. He just sat about, and he kept saying over and over again: 'Bless my tombstone!' 'Bless the cemetery!' and all such stuff as that. You know how he was," and she smiled through her tears.