The proprietor, knowing the broken pieces
belonged to an aeroplane, questioned Tom about his craft but the young
inventor knew better than to give any clew that might make trouble, so
he returned evasive answers.
It was nearly night when he got back to the place where he had left the
Falcon, and he found a curious crowd of rustics grouped about it.
"Has anything happened?" he asked of his friends.
"No, everything is quiet, I'm glad to say," replied Mr. Petrofsky. "I
don't think our presence will create stir enough so that the news of it
will reach the spies in Paris. Still I will feel easier when we're in
the air again."
"It will take a day to make the repairs," said Tom, "and put in the new
pieces of platinum. But I'll work as fast as I can."
He and Ned labored far into the night, and were at it again the next
morning. Mr. Damon and the Russian were of no service for they did not
understand the machinery well enough. It was while Tom was outside the
craft, filing a piece of platinum in an improvised vise, that a
poorly-clothed man sauntered up and watched him curiously. Tom glanced
at him, and was at once struck by a difference between the man's attire
and his person.
For, though he was tattered and torn, the man's face showed a certain
refinement, and his hands were not those of a farmer or laborer in which
character he obviously posed.
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