He had been kept a close prisoner in the lonely hut,
and each day he had expected to be taken back to serve out his sentence
in Siberia.
"Another day would have been too late," he told Tom, when he had thanked
the young inventor over and over again, "for the papers would have
arrived, and the last obstacle to taking me back to Russia would have
been removed. They dared not take me out of the United States without
official documents, and they would have been forged ones, for they
intended trumping up a criminal charge against me, the political one not
being strong enough to allow them to extradite me."
"Well I'm glad we got you," said Tom heartily. "We will soon be ready to
start for Siberia."
"In this kind of a craft?"
"Yes, only much larger. You'll like it. I only hope my air glider
works."
By putting on speed, Tom was able to reach Shopton before midnight, and
there was quite an informal celebration in the Swift homestead over the
rescue of the exile. The detective, for whom there was no further need,
was paid off, and Mr. Petrofsky was made a member of the household.
"You'd better stay here until we are ready to start," Tom said, "and
then we can keep an eye on you. We need you to show us as nearly as
possible where the platinum field is."
"All right," agreed the Russian with a laugh.
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