Part 15 (1/2)

”I not only saw him but I felt him,” answered Ned, with a rueful look at his fingers. ”He stepped right on me. And when he came inside the tank to-night I knew him at once. I guess he was as surprised to see me as I was to see him.”

”But what was his object?” asked Mr. Nestor.

”He must have some connection with my old enemy, Blakeson,” answered Tom, ”and we know he's mixed up with Schwen. From the looks of him I should say that this Simpson, as he calls himself, is the directing head of the whole business. He looks to be the moneyed man, and the brains of the plotters. Blakeson is smart, in a mechanical way, and Schwen is one of the best machinists I've ever employed. But this Simpson strikes me as being the slick one of the trio.”

”But what made him come here, and what did he want?” asked Mary. ”Dear me! it's like one of those moving picture plots, only I never saw one with a tank in it before--I mean a tank like yours, Tom.”

”Yes, it is a bit like moving picture--especially chasing Simpson by searchlight,” agreed the young inventor. ”As to what he wanted, I suppose he came to spy out some of my secret inventions--dad's and mine. He's probably been hiding and sneaking around the works ever since we arrested Schwen. Some of my men have reported seeing strangers about, but I have kept Shop Thirteen well guarded.

”However, this fellow may have been waiting outside, and he may have followed the tank when we started off a little while ago for the night test. Then, when he saw our mishap and noticed that we were stalled, he came in, boldly enough, thinking, I suppose, that, as I had never seen him, he would take a chance on getting as much information as he could in a hurry.”

”But he didn't count on Ned's being here!” chuckled Mr. Damon.

”No; that's where he slipped a cog,” remarked Mr. Nestor. ”Well, Tom, I like your tank, what I've seen of her, but it's getting late and I think Mary and I had better be getting back home.”

”We'll be ready to start in a little while,” Tom said, after a brief consultation with one of his men. ”Still, perhaps it would be just as well if you didn't ride back with me. She may go all right, and then, again, she may not. And as it's dark, and we're in a rough part of the field, you might be a bit shaken up. Not that the tank minds it!” the young inventor hastened to add ”She's got to do her bit over worse places than this--much worse--but I want to get her in a little better working shape first. So if you don't mind, Mary, I'll postpone your initial trip.”

”Oh, I don't mind, Tom! I'm so glad you've made this! I want to see the war ended, and I think machines like this will help.”

”I'll ride back with you, Tom, if you don't mind,” put in Ned. ”I guess a little shaking up won't hurt me.”

”All right--stick. We're going to start very soon.”

”Well, I'm coming over to-morrow to have a look at it by daylight,”

said Mr. Damon, as he started toward his car.

”So am I,” added Mary. ”Please call for me, Mr. Damon.”

”I will,” he promised.

Mr. Nestor, his daughter, and Mr. Damon went back to the automobile, while Ned remained with Tom. In a little while those in the car heard once more the rumbling and roaring sound and felt the earth tremble.

Then, with a flas.h.i.+ng of lights, the big, ungainly shape of the tank lifted herself out of the little ditch in which she had come to a halt, and began to climb back to the road.

Ned Newton stood beside Tom in the control tower of the great tank as she started on her homeward way.

”Isn't it wonderful!” murmured Mary, as she saw Tank A lumbering along toward the road. ”Oh, and to think that human beings made that. To think that Tom should know how to build such a wonderful machine!”

”And run it, too, Mary! That's the point! Make it run!” cried her father. ”I tell you, that Tom Swift is a wonder!”

”Bless my dictionary, he sure is!” agreed Mr. Damon.

Along the road, back toward the shop whence it had emerged, rumbled the tank. The noise brought to their doors inhabitants along the country thoroughfare, and some of them were frightened when they saw Tom Swift's latest war machine, the details of which they could only guess at in the darkness.

”She'll b.u.t.t over a house if it gets in her path, knock down trees, chew up barbed-wire, and climb down into ravines and out again, and go over a good-sized stream without a whimper,” said Tom, as he steered the great machine.

There was little chance then for Ned to see much of the inside mechanism of the tank. He observed that Tom, standing in the forward tower, steered it very easily by a small wheel or by a lever, alternately, and that he communicated with the engine room by means of electric signals.

”And she steers by electricity, too,” Tom told his friend. ”That was one difficulty with the first tanks. They had to be steered by brute force, so to speak, and it was a terrific strain on the man in the tower. Now I can guide this in two ways: by the electric mechanism which swings the trailer wheels to either side, or by varying the speed of the two motors that work the caterpillar belts. So if one breaks down, I have the other.”