While Mr. Swift was writing the message he wished his son to take tothe village, the young mechanic inspected the motor-cycle he hadpurchased. Tom found that a few repairs would suffice to put it ingood shape, though an entire new front wheel would be needed. Themotor had not been damaged, as he ascertained by a test. Tom rodeinto town on his bicycle, and as he hurried along he noticed in thewest a bank of ugly-looking clouds that indicated a shower.
"I'm in for a wetting before I get back," he mused, and he increasedhis speed, reaching the telegraph office shortly before seveno'clock.
"Think this storm will hold off until I get home?" asked Tom.
"I'm afraid not," answered the agent. "You'd better get a hustleon."
Tom sprinted off. It was getting dark rapidly, and when he was abouta mile from home he felt several warm drops on his face.
"Here it comes!" exclaimed the youth. "Now for a little more speed!"
Tom pressed harder on the pedals, too hard, in fact, for an instantlater something snapped, and the next he knew he was flying over thehandlebars of the bicycle. At the same time there was a metallic,clinking sound.
"Chain's busted!" exclaimed the lad as he picked himself up out ofthe dust. "Well, wouldn't that jar you!" and he walked back towhere, in the dusk, he could dimly discern his wheel.
The chain had come off the two sprockets and was lying to one side.Tom picked it up and ascertained by close observation that the screwand nut holding the two joining links together was lost.
"Nice pickle!" he murmured. "How am I going to find it in all thisdust and darkness?" he asked himself disgustedly. "I'll carry anextra screw next time. No, I won't, either. I'll ride my motor-cyclenext time. Well, I may as well give a look around. I hate to walk,if I can fix it and ride."
Tom had not spent more than two minutes looking about the dustyroad, with the aid of matches, for the screw, when the rain suddenlybegan falling in a hard shower.
"Guess there's no use lingering here any longer," he remarked. "I'llpush the wheel and run for home."
He started down the road in the storm and darkness. The highway soonbecame a long puddle of mud, through which he splashed, finding itmore and more difficult every minute to push the bicycle in thethick, sticky clay.
Above the roar of the wind and the swishing of the rain he heardanother sound. It was a steady "puff-puff," and then the darknesswas cut by a glare of light.
"An automobile," said Tom aloud. "Guess I'd better get out of theway."
He turned to one side, but the auto, instead of passing him when itgot to the place where he was, made a sudden stop.
"Want a ride?" asked the chauffeur, peering out from the sidecurtains which somewhat protected him from the storm. Tom saw thatthe car was a large, touring one. "Can I give you a lift?" went onthe driver.
"Well, I've got my bicycle with me," explained the young inventor."My chain's broken, and I've got a mile to go."
"Jump up in back," invited the man. "Leave your wheel here; I guessit will be safe."
"Oh, I couldn't do that," said Tom. "I don't mind walking. I'm wetthrough now, and I can't get much wetter. I'm much obliged, though."
"Well, I'm sorry, but I can hardly take you and the bicycle, too,"continued the chauffeur.
"Certainly not," added a voice from the tonneau of the car. "Wecan't have a muddy bicycle in here. Who is that person, Simpson?"
"It's a young man," answered the driver.
"Is he acquainted around here?" went on the voice from the rear ofthe car. "Ask him if he is acquainted around here, Simpson."
Tom was wondering where he had heard that voice before. He had avague notion that it was familiar.
"Are you acquainted around here?" obediently asked the man at thewheel.
"I live here," replied Tom.
"Ask him if he knows any one named Swift?" continued the voice fromthe tonneau, and the driver started to repeat it.
"I heard him," interrupted Tom. "Yes, I know a Mr. Swift;" but Tom,with a sudden resolve, and one he could hardly explain, decidedthat, for the present, he would not betray his own identity.
"Ask him if Mr. Swift is an inventor." Once more the unseen personspoke in the voice Tom was trying vainly to recall.
"Yes, he is an inventor," was the youth's answer.
"Do you know much about him? What are his habits? Does he live nearhis workshops? Does he keep many servants? Does he--"
The unseen questioner suddenly parted the side curtains and peeredout at Tom, who stood in the muddy road, close to the automobile. Atthat moment there came a bright flash of lightning, illuminating notonly Tom's face, but that of his questioner as well. And at thesight Tom started, no less than did the man. For Tom had recognizedhim as one of the three mysterious persons in the restaurant, and asfor the man, he had also recognized Tom.
"Ah--er--um--is--Why, it's you, isn't it?" cried the questioner, andhe thrust his head farther out from between the curtains. "My, what astorm!" he exclaimed as the rain increased. "So you know Mr. Swift,eh? I saw you to-day in Mansburg, I think. I have a good memory forfaces. Do you work for Mr. Swift? If you do I may be able to--"
"I'm Tom Swift, son of Mr. Barton Swift," said Tom as quietly as hecould.
"Tom Swift! His son!" cried the man, and he seemed much agitated."Why, I thought--that is, Morse said--Simpson, hurry back toMansburg!" and with that, taking no more notice of Tom, the man inthe auto hastily drew the curtains together.
The chauffeur threw in the gears and swung the ponderous machine toone side. The road was wide, and he made the turn skilfully. Amoment later the car was speeding back the way it had come, leavingTom standing on the highway, alone in the mud and darkness, with therain pouring down in torrents.