“No, I fainted,” Tom explained, “and Mr. Knowlton or his wife hung up the receiver without trying to carry on the talk, which, if they had done, would have told you everything. But the doctor soon pulled me around and the only thing really the matter with me now is this swollen ankle. But that will soon go down and then I’ll get after these fellows and finish work on my airline express. Now tell me where you found the bombs.”
Ned did, stating that one had been found near Tom’s office.
“Well, there may be more bombs,” Tom said. “I won’t be satisfied until we have gone over all this plant again. We can’t afford to take chances. But I’ll move my airline express models and patent papers—that is, the preliminary ones—to a place of safety in my Chest of Secrets.”
This was done, and then another careful search was made of the premises. No more bombs were found and Tom announced his intention of going home to get some much-needed rest.
“But how do you suppose, with all your guards, Tom, and the electrical fence, those fellows planted the bombs?” asked Mr. Damon.
“I don’t know,” replied the young inventor. “I’m afraid there is treachery somewhere in our working force. Without the aid of confederates those plotters couldn’t have put the bombs in here. I’ll have to make an investigation. But for the present the danger is past, I think.”
They were all in need of rest and quiet after the exciting two days through which they had passed, especially Tom, and when he reached home Mrs. Baggert insisted on putting him straight to bed, in which place, to tell the truth, the young inventor was not at all averse to spending some time.
The following day things had rather quieted down at the plant. The resulting débris was swept up, and the shattered lumber pile, devastated by the bomb, was examined for remnants of the infernal machine. Several pieces of cast iron were picked up, and Tom said he would investigate them to try to discover, if possible, where the bomb was made. It appeared to have contained no missiles, being merely a hollow shell filled with explosives, set to go off at a certain time, and Ned had hurled it away not an instant too soon.
“The first thing we’ve got to do,” decided Tom, a few days later, when he was able to be about without his crutch and with much of his former energy restored, “is to investigate that secret stairway. Maybe some of the fellows are still on Barn Door Island.”
But the delay, short as it was, had given the plotters time to vanish and to destroy some of their work. The stairs were in place, but after tearing up the planks, after the soil had been swept away, there was revealed only a blind passage. The tunnel had been caved in a short distance from the secret steps and it was impossible to traverse it.