“Maybe—­maybe—­” hesitated Ned.

“No, Mr. Damon isn’t that kind of a man,” said Tom, stoutly.  “He hasn’t made away with himself.”

“But something is wrong!”

“Evidently, and it’s up to us to find out what it is.  I shouldn’t be surprised but that he knew of this coming trouble and started out to prevent it if he could.”

“But he wouldn’t disappear and make his wife worry.”

“No, that’s so.  Well, we’ll have to go over there and find out all about it.”

“Say, Tom!” exclaimed Ned, as they were getting the small, but swift monoplane ready for the flight, “could there be any connection with the disappearance of Mr. Damon and the taking of the Eagle?”

Tom started in surprise.

“How could there be?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” answered Ned.  “It was only an idea.”

“Well, we’ll see what Mrs. Damon has to say,” spoke the young inventor, as he took his seat beside Ned, and motioned to Koku to twirl the propeller.

CHAPTER XIII

THE TELEPHONE PICTURE

“Oh, Tom Swift!  I’m so glad to see you!”

Mrs. Damon clasped her arms, in motherly fashion, about the young inventor.  He held her close, and his own eyes were not free from tears as he witnessed the grief of his best friend’s wife.

“Now, don’t worry, Mrs. Damon,” said Tom, sympathetically.  “Everything will be all right,” and he led her to a chair.

“All right, Tom!  How can it be?” and the lady raised a tear-stained face.  “My husband has disappeared, without a word!  It’s just as if the earth had opened and swallowed him up!  I can’t find a trace of him!  How can it be all right?”

“Well, we’ll find him, Mrs. Damon.  Don’t worry.  Ned and I will get right to work, and I’ll have all the police and detectives within fifty miles on the search—­if we have to go that far.”

“Oh, it’s awfully good of you, Tom.  I—­I didn’t know who else to turn to in my trouble but you.”

“And why shouldn’t you come to me?  I’d do anything for you and Mr. Damon.  Now tell me all about it.”

Tom and Ned had just arrived at the Damon home in the airship, to find the wife of the eccentric man almost distracted over her husband’s strange disappearance.

“It happened last night,” Mrs. Damon said, when she was somewhat composed.  “Last night about twelve o’clock.”

“Twelve o’clock!” cried Tom, in surprise “Why that’s about the time—­”

He stopped suddenly.

“What were you going to say?” asked Mrs. Damon.

“Oh—­nothing,” answered Tom.  “I—­I’ll tell you later.  Go on, please.”

“It is all so confusing,” proceeded Mrs. Damon.  “You know my husband has been in trouble of late—­financial trouble?”

“Yes,” responded Tom, “he mentioned it to me.”

“I don’t know any of the details,” sighed Mrs. Damon, “but I know he was mixed up with a man named Peters.”