n't found him, and his father will be
more worried than ever."

"We can ask the telephone girl, and tell her to keep quiet about it,"
decided Ned; and this they did.

But the answer that came back over the wire was discouraging. For Tom
had not returned, and there was no word from him. There was an urgent
message for him, too, from government officials regarding the tank, the
girl reported.

"Well, we've just got to find him--that's all!" declared Ned. "I guess
we'll have to make a regular search of it. I did hope we'd find him out
at the Kanker farm. But since he isn't there, nor anywhere about, as
far as we can tell, we've got to try some other plan."

"You mean notify the authorities?"--asked Mr. Damon.

"Hardly that--yet. But I'll get some of Tom's friends who have
machines, and we'll start them out on the trail. In that way we can
cover a lot of ground."

Late that afternoon, and far into the night, a number of the friends of
Tom and Ned went about the country in automobiles, seeking news of the
young inventor. Mr. Swift became very anxious over the non-return of
his son, and felt the authorities should be notified; but as all agreed
that the local police could not handle the matter and that it would
have to be put into the hands of the United States Secret Service, he
consented to wait for a while before doing this.

All the next day the search was kept up, and Ned and Mr. Damon were
getting discouraged, not to say alarmed, when, most unexpectedly, they
received a clew.

They had been traveling around the country on little-frequented roads
in the hope that perhaps Tom might have taken one and disabled his
machine so that he was unable to proceed.

"Though in that case he could, and would, have sent word," said Ned.

"Unless he's hurt," suggested Mr. Damon.

"Well, maybe that is what's happened," Ned was saying, when they
noticed coming toward them a very much dilapidated automobile, driven
by a farmer, and on the seat beside him was a small, barefoot boy.

"Which is the nearest road to Shopton?" asked the man, bringing his
wheezing machine to a stop.

"Who are you looking for in Shopton?" asked Ned, while a strange
feeling came over him that, somehow or other, Tom was concerned in the
question.

"I'm looking for friends of a Tom Swift," was the answer.

"Tom Swift? Where is he? What's happened to him?" cried Ned.

"Bless my dyspepsia tablets!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Do you know where
he is?"