Part 17 (1/2)

”Well, quite a way from here. I got a telegram about it. Can you get on the job to-night, and do some patrol work along the border?

You're only half a mile from it now. Over there is Canada,” and he pointed to a town on a hill opposite Logansville.

”Yes, I can get right into action. What place is that?”

”Montford, Canada. I've got men planted there, and the Dominion customs officials are helping us. But I think the smugglers have changed the base of their operations for the time being. If I were you I'd head for the St. Lawrence to-night.”

”I will. Don't you want to come along?”

”Why, yes. I believe I'm game. I'll join you later in the day,” Mr.

Whitford added, as Tom told him where the Falcon was anch.o.r.ed.

The young inventor got back to find a bigger crowd than ever around his airs.h.i.+p. But Koku and the others had kept them at a distance.

With the government agent aboard Tom sent his craft into the air at dusk, the crowd cheering l.u.s.tily. Then, with her nose pointed toward the St. Lawrence, the Falcon was on her way to do a night patrol, and, if possible, detect the smugglers.

It was monotonous work, and unprofitable, for, though Tom sent the airs.h.i.+p back and forth for many miles along the wonderful river that formed the path from the Great Lakes to the sea, he had no glimpse of ghostly wings of other aircraft, nor did he hear the beat of propellers, nor the throb of motors, as his own noiseless airs.h.i.+p cruised along.

It came on to rain after midnight, and a mist crept down from the clouds, so that even with the great searchlight flas.h.i.+ng its powerful beams, it was difficult to see for any great distance.

”Better give it up, I guess,” suggested Mr. Whitford toward morning, when they had covered many miles, and had turned back toward Logansville.

”All right,” agreed Tom. ”But we'll try it again to-morrow night.”

He dropped his craft at the anchorage he had selected in the gray dawn of the morning. All on board were tired and sleepy. Ned, looking from a window of the cabin, as the Falcon came to a stop, saw something white on the ground.

”I wonder what that is?” he said as he hurried out to pick it up. It was a large white envelope, addressed to Tom Swift, and the name was in printed characters.

”Somebody who wants to disguise their writing,” remarked Tom, as he tore it open. A look of surprise came over his face.

”Look here! Mr. Whitford,” he cried. ”This is the work of the smugglers all right!”

For, staring at Tom, in big printed letters, on a white sheet of paper, was this message:

”If you know what is good for you, Tom Swift, you had better clear out. If you don't your airs.h.i.+p will burned, and you may get hurt.

We'll burn you in mid-air. Beware and quit. You can't catch us.”

”THE COMMITTEE OF THREE.”

”Ha! Warned away!” cried Tom. ”Well, it will take more than this to make me give up!” and he crumpled the anonymous warning in his hand.

CHAPTER XIII

KOKU SAVES THE LIGHT

”Don't do that!” cried Mr. Whitford.

”What?” asked Tom, in some surprise.

”Don't destroy that letter. It may give us a clew. Let me have it.