"If I could only have some word from him, Tom!" she cried, helplessly.
To Tom the matter was very puzzling. It seemed utterly impossible that Mr. Damon could be kept so close a prisoner that he could not manage to get some word to his friends. It was not as if he was a child. He was a man of more than ordinary abilities. Surely he might find a way to outwit his enemies.
But the days passed, and no word came. A number of detectives had been employed, but they were no more successful than Tom. The latter had given up his inventive work, for the time being, to devote all his time to the solution of the mystery.
Tom and Ned had been away from Shopton for three days, following the most promising clew they had yet received. But it had failed at the end, and one afternoon they found themselves in a small town, about a hundred miles from Shopton. They had been motoring.
"I think I'll call up the house," said Tom. "Dad may have received some news, or Mrs. Damon may have sent him some word. I'll get my father on the wire."
Connection to Tom's house was soon made, and Ned, who was listening to his chum's remarks, was startled to hear him cry out:
"What's that you say? My airship taken again? When did it happen? Yes, I'm listening. Go on, Father!"
Then followed a silence while Tom listened, breaking in now and then with an excited remark, Suddenly he called:
"Good-by, Dad! I'm coming right home!"
Tom hung up the receiver with a bang, and turned to his chum.