"
"It surely is," agreed Tom. "Can't seem to get any trace of
him. But if we hear another cry for help, when we have to land,
you can make up your mind I'll investigate more quickly than I
did at first."
"I agree with you," said Mr. Damon.
It was nearly evening then, and until it was dark enough for
his flight Tom spent the time tuning up the engine and seeing
that all was in readiness for the latest test. He had decided not
to go aloft while it was light enough for curiosity seekers to
note the flight.
Tom rather wished Mary Nestor might have a sail with him in his
latest improved silent Air Scout, but the girl was too much
occupied at home and in trying to find some trace of her father.
Tom, his father, and Mr. Damon had helped all they could, but
there were no results. A private detective had been engaged, but
he had no more of a clew than the regular police.
At last it was dark enough for the flight, and Tom and Mr.
Damon took their places in the machine. Once more the propellers
were turned around, and when the compression had been made, and
the spark switched on, around spun the big wooden blades, and the
great craft moved over the grass.
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