nd young women into
the two sound craft. And when the last of the picnic party had been
taken off, the boat with a hole in it gave a sudden lurch, there was a
gurgling, bubbling sound, and she sank quickly.

Tom and Ned had anticipated this, however, and had their craft well out
of the way of the suction.

"You'll all have to sit quiet," Tom warned his passengers as he took
Ned's boat, with her load, in tow. "I've got about all the law allows
me to carry," he added grimly.

"Oh, what ever would we have done without you?" half sobbed one girl.

"I guess you could have managed to swim ashore," Tom answered, not
wanting to make too much of his effort.

Then more rescue boats came up, but those in the naphtha craft, and
Ned's smaller one, refused to be transferred, and remained with our
friends until safely landed at the dock.

Receiving the half-hysterical thanks of the party, and leaving them to
explain matters to the owner of the borrowed boats, Ned and Tom went
back to the Lucifer, and were soon aloft again.

"Pretty slick act, Tom," remarked Ned.

"Oh, it's all in the day's work," was the answer. He had all but
perfected his big fire-extinguishing aeroplane, and was contemplating
means by which he could give a demonstration to the fire department of
some big city, when Mr. Baxter asked to see Tom one day. There was a
look on the face of the chemist that caused Tom to exclaim with a good
deal of concern:

"What's the matter?"

"Only the same old trouble," was the discouraged answer. "I can't get
on the track of my lost secret formulae. If I had Field and Melling
here now I--I'd--"

He did not finish his threat, but the look on his face was enough to
show his righteous anger.

"I wish we could do something to those fellows!" exclaimed Tom
energetically. "If we only had some direct evidence against them!"

"I've got evidence enough--in my own mind!" declared Mr. Baxter.

"Unfortunately that doesn't do in law," returned Tom. "But now that I
have this airship firefighter craft so nearly finished, I can devote
more time to your troubles, Mr. Baxter."

"Oh, I don't want you bothered over my troubles," said the chemist.
"You have enough of your own. But I'm at my wit's end what to do next."

"If it is money matters," began Tom.

"It's partly that, yes," said the other, in a low voice. "If I had
those dye formulae, I'd be a rich man."

"Well, let me help you temporarily," begged Tom. And the upshot of the