“Bless my handkerchief, Tom!” exclaimed Mr. Damon, vigorously mopping his face with the linen article in question, while he held out one hand to the young inventor. “What’s all this I hear about you? I just got back from a Western trip and my wife tells me you were blown sky high, that your plant was demolished, and that the whole business is in ruins. Bless my insurance policies! Whew!” “Not quite so bad as that,” Tom answered, with a laugh. “But something happened, bless my thermometer if it didn’t!” declared Mr. Damon, pointing to a bandage on Tom’s left hand. “Yes, there was an accident,” and in a few words Tom told what had happened, without, however, making mention of the new machine, which was too deep a secret as yet for even so close a friend as the eccentric man to share. “But it might have been worse,” concluded the young man. “And, as a matter of fact, that isn’t the worst that’s happened.” “No, Tom? What else? Bless my spectacles!” “Ned Newton has mysteriously vanished,” said Tom, with a serious face, and he told as much as he knew about the strange occurrence. “That’s terrible!” declared Mr. Damon. “It’s the worst outrage I ever heard of! But I came back just in time, Tom Swift.” “Time for what?” “To help you hunt for Ned! Now, don’t stop me! I’m going to do it. I’ll devote all my time and half my fortune to finding my young friend and your chum. Tell me more about it.” “I’ve told you all I know, which isn’t much,” Tom answered. “But suppose we go to the house. I’m about through here,” and he looked around the laboratory, asking his father to close and lock it when he left. “We’ll go over to the house, Mr. Damon.” “Yes, I want to pay my respects to Mrs. Baggert. But I can’t get over your accident and the kidnapping of Ned. Why, bless my——” But Mr. Damon had no time to complete his pet phrase, for half way up the path to the house Tom and his friend saw an old man coming toward them, ragged and unkempt—a veritable tramp. He held in his outstretched hand a dirty piece of paper. “Is this Mr. Tom Swift?” asked the ragged man, looking at Mr. Damon. “No, I am,” answered the owner of the name. “Then I have a strange message for you,” went on the tramp in whining tones. “And if you see fit to reward me for bringing it, I’d be glad, for I’m a poor old codger and I’m hungry——” Tom Swift hastily took the dirty piece of paper and uttered an exclamation of surprise as he read what was scrawled on it. CHAPTER V ON A MYSTERIOUS TRAIL “WHAT’S the matter, Tom?” asked Mr. Damon, for he could not fail to note the agitation of the young inventor on reading the strange message brought by so strange a messenger. “Bless my favorite detective story, but you act as though you had news!” “I hope it proves to be good news and true news,” said Tom, looking sharply at the whining old man. “Read that, Mr. Damon!”