“Yes, there was an accident,” and in a few words Tom told what had happened, without, however, making mention of the new machine, which was too deep a secret as yet for even so close a friend as the eccentric man to share. “But it might have been worse,” concluded the young man. “And, as a matter of fact, that isn’t the worst that’s happened.”
“No, Tom? What else? Bless my spectacles!”
“Ned Newton has mysteriously vanished,” said Tom, with a serious face, and he told as much as he knew about the strange occurrence.
“That’s terrible!” declared Mr. Damon. “It’s the worst outrage I ever heard of! But I came back just in time, Tom Swift.”
“Time for what?”
“To help you hunt for Ned! Now, don’t stop me! I’m going to do it. I’ll devote all my time and half my fortune to finding my young friend and your chum. Tell me more about it.”
“I’ve told you all I know, which isn’t much,” Tom answered. “But suppose we go to the house. I’m about through here,” and he looked around the laboratory, asking his father to close and lock it when he left. “We’ll go over to the house, Mr. Damon.”
“Yes, I want to pay my respects to Mrs. Baggert. But I can’t get over your accident and the kidnapping of Ned. Why, bless my——”
But Mr. Damon had no time to complete his pet phrase, for half way up the path to the house Tom and his friend saw an old man coming toward them, ragged and unkempt—a veritable tramp. He held in his outstretched hand a dirty piece of paper.
“Is this Mr. Tom Swift?” asked the ragged man, looking at Mr. Damon.