"I guess there's no danger, where Tom Swift's concerned," was the answer. "I have not volplaned much, but it will be all right I think."
And it was, for with Ned Newton to guide the craft, while Tom did his best to stop the leak, the craft came gently to earth on the outskirts of a fairly large Siberian city. Almost instantly the Falcon was surrounded by a curious throng.
"You had better keep inside," said Ivan Petrofsky to his brother and Mr. Borious. "Descriptions of you are probably out broadcast by now, but I am still sufficiently disguised, I think."
"But what is to be done?" demanded the younger Russian brother. "If the gasolene is gone, how can we leave here?"
"Trust Tom Swift for that," was the reply. "Keep out of sight now, there is a large crowd outside."
Tom came from the tank room. There was a despondent look on his face.
"It's all gone—every drop," he said. "That's what made the motor stop."
"What's gone?" asked Mr. Damon.
"The gasolene. We sprung a leak in the main tank, somehow, and it all flowed out while we were flying along."
"Haven't you any more?"