“I represent the Soviet Government,” was the man’s next astonishing declaration. “By cablegram I was told to expect this flying wonder. You and your crew, Captain, may land. I take charge of the flying boat from now on. It is arranged to send her on to Russia with our own men.” “To Russia?” gasped Tom Swift. “You represent the Bolshevist Government of Russia?” “The Soviet Government—yes. The Governor of Reykjavik has agreed to allow the exchange to be made here——” “Nonsense!” broke in the young inventor. “Either you are out of your mind, or somebody has been fooling you. I built this flying boat myself and I have no intention of selling it to Russia or any other country.” “What is that? You deny that our representative, Monsieur Polansky, bought this flying boat and cabled me to take it over when it landed here?” “You are crazy!” exclaimed Tom Swift, in disgust. He beckoned to the uniformed officer in command of the military force. “Do you speak English?” he cried. “But yes, Monsieur. Speak slowly. I can understand you,” said the officer. “Then understand me right now,” Tom said, with emphasis. “This fellow who says he represents Russia, has absolutely nothing to do with this flying boat.” “No? But he has writings from the Governor——” “I am here,” interrupted Tom, in firm tones, “to search for two friends—Mr. Damon and Mr. Nestor—who were lost from the wreck of the motor schooner _Kalrye_. Do you understand me? Where is Captain Olaf Karofsen?” “I do not understand!” cried the officer anxiously. “I am instructed to take charge of this machine until the Russian official brings his crew to sail her away.” “You will not take charge of my flying boat, and no bunch of Russian Reds will ever get hold of it!” declared Tom warmly. “I begin to smell the rat in this meal bin,” he added over his shoulder to Ned. “What is it? Oh! That Frenchy who was so anxious to come with us?” “Bet you a copper cent!” ejaculated Tom. “But he was no Frenchman. A Russian!” Then to the disturbed officer of the Danish squad he said: “Better send this Soviet Consul, or whatever he is, home with a flea in his ear. We are on an important mission, and if we are interfered with I will send for Mr. Shantuck, the representative of the United States. You know him?” “Quite so, Monsieur,” said the officer, who evidently understood French better than he did English, and of which language Tom Swift could speak a few words. “But this gentleman——” “He has absolutely nothing to do with my flying boat,” declared the young inventor. “See! Who is that coming?” He had caught sight of a figure almost as tall as Koku’s pushing its way through the crowd of interested spectators. Tom had noticed that there were many tall men in the throng, but this person was head and shoulders above most of them. He was heavily bearded and wore a knitted jersey and cap, as some foreign sailors do. “This may be your Captain Karofsen,” said the military officer.