He did not recover his senses until after the ship departed, and then found a policeman standing beside him, to whom he explained what had happened.
“My name is Frank Reade, Jr.,” said the wounded young man. “I am an inventor of submarine boats, flying machines and overland engines, and reside in Readestown. I have just invented a flying ice boat, and came to Boston to get some things for her construction. While I was passing the railroad depot on my way to the hotel where I am stopping, I saw a man and boy go by in the same direction I was taking. Then I observed how he was led into the trap.”
“What ship did they take him on?” asked the policeman.
“The Red Eric.”
“Come and show me.”
They left the drug store, and reaching the dock, learned from some longshoremen that the whaler had just departed for the Arctic.
It was a bitter disappointment, as they could not now hope to rescue the boy from his captors.
Seeing that he could do nothing further in the matter, Frank took his departure and proceeded back to the hotel.
As he entered the office he observed a woman standing before the clerk weeping bitterly, and heard her say in sob-choked tones:
“Do not refuse me lodging here, sir! You surely would not have me roam the streets all night for want of shelter.”