“Mr. Damon!” he cried.  “We’ve found him, Ned!”

“But—­too late—­maybe!” answered Ned, in a low voice, as he, too, recognized the man who had been missing so long.

Mr. Halling was bending over the unconscious form of his friend.

“He’s alive!” he cried, joyfully.  “And not much hurt, either.  But he has been ill, and looks half starved.  Who are these men?”

Tom gave a hasty look.

“Shallock Peters and Harrison Boylan!” he cried.  “Ned, at last we’ve caught the scoundrels!”

It was true.  Chance had played into the hands of Tom Swift.  While Mr. Halling was looking after Mr. Damon, reviving him, the young inventor and Ned quickly bound the hands and feet of the two plotters with pieces of wire from the broken airship.

Presently Mr. Damon opened his eyes.

“Where am I?  What happened?  Oh, bless my watch chain—­it’s Tom Swift!  Bless my cigar case, I—­”

“He’s all right!” cried Tom, joyfully.  “When Mr. Damon blesses something beside his tombstone he’s all right.”

Peters and Boylan soon revived, both being merely stunned, as was Mr. Damon.  They looked about in wonder, and then, feeling that they were prisoners, resigned themselves to their fate.  Both men were shabbily dressed, and Tom would hardly have known the once spick and span Mr. Peters.  He had no rose in his buttonhole now.

“Well, you have me, I see,” he said, coolly.  “I was afraid we were playing for too high a stake.”

“Yes, we’ve got you,” replied Tom,

“But you can’t prove much against me,” went on Peters.  “I’ll deny everything.”

“We’ll see about that,” added the young inventor, grimly, and thought of the picture in the plate and the record on the wax cylinder.

“We’ve got to get Mr. Damon to some place where he can be looked after,” broke in Mr. Halling.  “Then we’ll hear the story.”

A passing farmer was prevailed on to take the party in his big wagon to the nearest town, Mr. Hailing going on ahead in his airship.  Tom’s craft could not be moved, being badly damaged.

Once in town Peters and Boylan were put in jail, on the charges for which Tom carried warrants.  Mr. Damon was taken to a hotel and a doctor summoned.  It was as Mr. Halling had guessed.  His friend had been ill, and so weak that he could not get out of bed.  It was this that enabled the plotters to so easily keep him a prisoner.

By degrees Mr. Damon told his story.  He had rashly allowed Peters to get control of most of his fortune, and, in a vain hope of getting back some of his losses, had, one night—­the night he disappeared, in fact—­agreed to meet Peters and some of his men to talk matters over.  Of this Mr. Damon said nothing to his wife.

He went out that night to meet Peters in the garden, but the plotters had changed their plans.  They boldly kidnapped their victim, chloroformed him and took him away in Tom’s airship, which Boylan and some of his tools daringly stole a short time previously.  Later they returned it, as they had no use for it at the lonely house.