ograph that
had been transmitted over the wire, but which booth could not be
said--they were nearly all alike.

"Peters!" gasped Ned. "I thought he was the fellow, Tom."

"Yes, I know. You were right, and I was wrong. But I did not
recognize his voice. It was very hoarse. He must have a bad cold."
Later this was learned to have been the case. "There's no time to
lose," whispered Tom, while Mrs. Damon was doing her best to
prolong the conversation in order to hold the man at the other end
of the wire. "Ned, get central on the other telephone, and see
where this call came from. Then we'll get there as fast as the
airship will take us."

A second and temporary telephone line had been installed in the
Damon home, and on this Ned was soon talking, while Tom, putting
the photographic plate away for future use, rushed out to get his
airship in shape for a quick flight. He had modified his plans.
Instead of having a detective take a print of the photo telephone
image, and make the arrest, Tom was going to try to capture Peters
himself. He believed he could do it. One look at the wet plate was
enough. He knew Peters, though it upset some of his theories to
learn that it was the promoter who was responsible for Mr. Damon's
disappearance.

The man at the other end of the wire was evidently getting
impatient. Possibly he suspected some trick. "I've got to go now,"
he called to Mrs. Damon. "If I don't get those papers in the
morning it will be the worse for Mr. Damon."

"Oh, I'll send you the papers," she said.

By this time Ned had gotten into communication with the manager of
the central telephone exchange, and had learned the location of
the instrument Peters was using. It was about a mile from the one
near the sawmill.

"Come on!" called Tom to his chum, as the latter gave him this
information. "The Firefly is tuned up for a hundred miles an hour!
We'll be there in ten minutes! We must catch him red-handed, if
possible!"

"He's gone!" gasped Mrs. Damon as she came to the outer door, and
watched Tom and Ned taking their places in the airship, while Koku
prepared to twirl the propellers.

"Gone!" echoed Tom, blankly.

"Yes, he hung up the receiver."

"See if you can't get him back," suggested the young inventor.
"Ask Central to ring that number again. We'll be there in a jiffy.
Maybe he'll come to the telephone again. Or he may even call up
his partners and tell them the game is working his way. Try to get
him ba