of additional apparatus
hurrying to the fire.

"Well, I'm glad it isn't on our side of town," remarked Tom, as he
looked back at the peaceful gloom surrounding and covering his own home
and work buildings.

"Where do you reckon it is?" asked Ned, as they sped onward.

"Hard to say," remarked the young inventor, as he steered to one side
to pass a powerful imported automobile which, however, did not have the
speed of the electric runabout. "A fire at night is always deceiving as
to direction. But we can locate it when we get to the top of the hill."

Shopton, the suburb of the town where Tom lived, was named so because
of the many shops that had been erected by the industry of the young
inventor and his father. In fact the town was named Shopton though of
late there had been an effort to change the name of the strictly
residential section, which lay over the hill toward the river.

Tom's car shot up the slope with scarcely any slackening of speed, and,
as he passed a group of men and boys running onward, Tom shouted:

"Where is it?"

"The fireworks factory!" was the answer.

"Fireworks factory!" cried Ned. "Bad place for a fire!"

"I should say so!" exclaimed Tom.

The chums had become gradually aware of the gale that was blowing, and,
as they reached the summit of the hill and caught sight of the burning
factory, they saw the flames being swept far out from it and toward a
collection of houses on the other side of a vacant lot that separated
the fireworks industrial plant from the dwellings. As Tom Swift
glimpsed the fire, noted its proportions and the fierceness of the
flames, and saw which way the wind was blowing them, he turned on the
power to the utmost.

"What are you doing, Tom?" yelled Ned.

"I'm going down there!" cried Tom. "That place is likely to explode any
minute!"

"Then why go closer?" gasped Ned, for his breath was almost taken away
by the speed of the car, and he had to hold his hat to keep it from
blowing away. "Why don't you play safe?"

"Don't you understand?" shouted Tom in his chum's ear. "The wind is
blowing the fire right toward those houses! Mary Nestor lives in one of
them!"

"Oh--Mary Nestor!" exclaimed Ned. Then he understood--Mary and Tom were
engaged to be married.

"They may be all right," Tom went on. "I can't be sure from this
distance. Or they may be in danger. It's a bad fire and--"

His voice was blotted out in the roar of an explosion which seemed to
hurl bac