“I guess we’ve frightened them away,” said Mr. Whitford dubiously, as it came near morning, and nothing suspicious had been seen or heard.  “They’re holding back their goods, Tom until they think they can take us unawares.  Then they’ll rush a big shipment over.”

“Then’s the time we must catch them,” declared the young inventor.  “We may as well go back now.”

“And not a picture!” exclaimed Mr. Period tragically.  “Well, be sure to get good ones when you do make a capture, Tom.”

“I will,” promised the young inventor.  Then, with a last sweep along the border he turned the nose of his craft toward Logansville.  He had almost reached the place, and was flying rather low over the country roads, when Ned called: 

“Hark!  I hear something!”

The unmistakable noise of a gasolene motor in operation could be distinguished.

“There they are!” cried Mr. Period.

“Bless my honeysuckle vine!” gasped Mr. Damon.

“The light, Ned, the light!” cried Tom.

His chum flashed the powerful beam all around the horizon, and toward the sky, but nothing was visible.

“Try down below,” suggested Mr. Whitford.

Ned sent the beams earthward.  And there, in the glare, they saw a youth speeding along on a motor-cycle.  In an instant Tom grabbed up the binoculars and focussed them on the rider.

“It’s Andy Foger!” he cried.

CHAPTER XXIII

NED IS MISSING

There was a period of silence, following Tom’s startling announcement.  There were several plate glass windows in the floor of the airship, and through these they all gazed at the youth on the motor-cycle.  Only Tom, however, by the aid of the glasses, was able to make out his features.

“Bless my spark plug!  Andy Foger!” cried Mr. Damon.  “Are you going to try to catch him?”

“Get him and break chug-chug machine!” suggested Koku.

“What do you suppose he’s up to, Tom?” asked Ned.

“Andy Foger speeding along at this hour of the morning,” remarked Mr. Whitford.  “There must be something in the wind.”

“Get a moving picture of him,” urged Mr. Period.  “I might be able to use that.”

“I hardly think it would be worth while,” decided Tom.  “You see Andy hasn’t done anything criminal, as far as we know.  Of course I think he is capable of it, but that’s a different thing.  He may be out only on a pleasure jaunt, and he could stop us from showing the pictures, if we took them.”

“That’s so,” agreed Mr. Period.  “Don’t run any risks of a lawsuit.  It takes up too much of my time.  Never mind the pictures.”

“Just capture him, Tom, and see what he is doing,” suggested Mr. Damon.  “Bless my chewing gum!  But he must be up to something.”

“Well, he’s aware of the fact that we’re watching him, at all events!” exclaimed Mr. Whitford, for, at that moment, Andy, having seen the glare of the light, glanced up.  They could see him looking at him, and, a second later, the Shopton bully steered his machine down a side road where the overhanging trees were so thick that he could not be made out, even by the powerful gleams of the great searchlight.