"Bless my hasty pudding! So he has!" gasped Mr. Damon.
Changing the course of his craft Tom sent the Falcon toward the earth, pulling the other aeroplane with him. Down and down he went, and the frantic efforts of the smugglers to release themselves were useless. They were pulled along by the powerful airship of our hero.
A few minutes later Tom picked out a good landing place in the dim light of the breaking dawn, and went to earth. Jamming on the brakes he leaped from the pilot house to the stern of his own craft, catching up his electric rifle. The other airship, caught by the grappling anchor at the end of a long rope, was just settling down, those in her having the good sense to shut off their power, and volplane when they found that they could not escape.
As the smugglers' craft touched the earth, several figures leaped from her, and started to run away.
"Hold on!" cried Tom. "I've got you all covered with the electric rifle! Don't move! Koku, you, and Mr. Whitford and Mr. Damon take care of them. Tie 'em up."
"Bless my hat band!" cried the eccentric man. "What a great capture! Where are we?"
"Not far from Shopton," answered Tom. "But look after the prisoners."
There was a cry of astonishment from Mr. Whitford as he reached the sullen occupants of the smugglers' craft.
"Here are the Fogers--father and son!" the agent called to Tom. "They were in it after all. Great Scott! What a surprise. And here are a lot of men whom I've been after for some time! Oh, Tom Swift, this is a capture."
"What right have you to use these high-handed methods on us?" demanded Mr. Foger pompously.