factory office, with no one on guard. We can get him out once
we get there, and we'll be glad to have you come with us. So if you
won't take any reward, maybe your boy will, as he found the note," and
Mr. Damon pressed some bills into the hands of the boy, who, it is
needless to say, was glad to get them.

It was a run of several miles hack to the deserted factory, and though
they passed houses on the way, it was decided that no addition to their
force was necessary, though they did stop at a blacksmith shop, where
they borrowed a heavy sledge to batter down a door if such action
should be needed.

The farmer's rattletrap of a car, in spite of its appearance, was not
far behind Ned's runabout, and in a comparatively short time all were
within sight of the ruined place--a ruin made more complete by the
passage through it of Tom Swift's war tank.

"And to think of his being there all this while!" exclaimed Mr. Damon,
as he and Ned leaped from their machine.

"If he only is there!" murmured the young bank clerk.

"What do you mean? Didn't the note he threw out say he was there?"

"Yes, but something may have happened in the meanwhile. Those
plotters, if they'd do a thing like this, are capable of anything. They
may have kidnapped Tom again."

"Anyway, we'll soon find out," murmured Ned, as they advanced toward
the ruin, Mr. Damon and the farmer each armed with an axe helve, while
Ned carried the blacksmith's sledge.

They went into the end of the factory that was less ruined than the
central part, where the tank had crashed through, and made their way
into what had been the office--the place where they had found the
burned scraps of paper.

"Hark!" exclaimed Ned, as they climbed up the broken steps. "I heard a
noise."

"It's him yellin'--like he did afore he threw out the note," said the
boy. Then, as they listened, they heard a distant voice calling:

"Hello! Hello, there! If that is any friend of mine, let me out, or
send word to Mr. Damon or Ned Newton! Hello!"

"Hello yourself, Tom Swift!" yelled Ned, too delighted to wait for any
other confirmation that it was his friend who was shouting. "We've come
to rescue you, Tom!"

There was a moment of silence, and then a voice asked:

"Who is there?"

"Ned Newton, Mr. Damon, and some other friends of yours!" answered the
young bank clerk, for surely the farmer and his son could be called
Tom's friends.

An indistinguishable answer came back, and then Ne