“We’ll be there in a few minutes now,” said Tom, as he flashed the light on a long slant toward the town of Waterford, where Mr. Damon lived.

“I can see his house,” spoke Ned a moment later.  He changed the course of the craft, to bring it to a stop in the yard of the eccentric man, and, shortly afterward, they landed.  Tom who had shut off the searchlight for a minute, turned it on again, and the house and grounds of Mr. Damon were enveloped in a wonderful glow.

“That will bring him out,” predicted Tom.

A moment later they heard his voice.

“Bless my astronomy!” cried Mr. Damon.  “There’s a meteor fallen in our yard.  Come out, wife—­everybody—­call the servants.  It’s a chance of a lifetime to see one, and they’re valuable, too!  Bless my star dust!  I must tell Tom Swift of this!”

Out into the glare of the great searchlight ran Mr. Damon, followed by his wife and several of the servants.

“There it is!” cried the odd man.  “There’s the meteor!”

“First we’re a comet and then we’re a meteor,” said Ned with a laugh.

“Oh.  I hope it doesn’t bury itself in the earth before I can get Tom Swift here!” went on Mr. Damon, capering about.  “Bless my telephone book.  I must call him up right away!”

“I’m here now, Mr. Damon!” shouted Tom, as he alighted from the airship.  “That’s my new searchlight you’re looking at.”

“Bless my—­” began Mr. Damon, but he couldn’t think of nothing strong enough for a moment, until he blurted out “dynamite cartridge!  Bless my dynamite cartridge!  Tom Swift!  His searchlight!  Bless my nitro-glycerine!”

Then Tom shut off the glare, and, as Mr. Damon and his wife came aboard he showed them how the light worked.  He only used a part of the current, as he knew if he put on the full glare toward Mr. Damon’s house, neighbors might think it was on fire.

“Well, that’s certainly wonderful,” said Mrs. Damon.  “In fact this is a wonderful ship.”

“Can’t you take Mrs. Damon about, and show her how it works,” said Mr. Damon suddenly.  “Show her the ship.”

“I will,” volunteered Tom.

“No, let Ned,” said the eccentric man.  “I—­er—­I want to speak to you, Tom.”

Mrs. Damon, with a queer glance at her husband, accompanied Ned to the motor room.  As soon as she was out of hearing the odd gentleman came over and whispered to the young inventor.

“I say, Tom, what’s up?”

“Smugglers.  You know.  I told you about ’em.  I’m going after ’em with my big searchlight.”

“Bless my card case!  So you did.  But, I say, Tom, I—­I want to go!”

“I supposed you would.  Well, you’re welcome, of course.  We leave in a few days.  It isn’t a very long trip this time, but there may be plenty of excitement.  Then I’ll book you for a passage, and—­”

“Hush!  Not another word!  Here she comes, Tom.  My wife!  Don’t breathe a syllable of it to her.  She’ll never let me go.”  Then, for the benefit of Mrs. Damon, who came back into the main cabin with Ned at that moment, her husband added in loud tones: