y north-east and
back again. But not a sign of the smugglers did they see.

Meanwhile the wind had arisen until it was a gale, and it began to
rain. Gently at first the drops came down, until at length there was
a torrent of water descending from the overhead clouds. But those in
the Falcon were in no discomfort.

"It's a bad storm all right!" exclaimed Tom, as he looked at the
barometer, and noted that the mercury was still falling.

"Yes, and we have had our trouble for our pains!" declared Mr.
Whitford.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I believe that we have been deceived by a false clew. The
smugglers probably had no intention of getting goods across at this
point to-night. They saw to it that my agent got false information,
believing that we would follow it, and leave the vicinity of
Logansville."

"So they could operate there?" asked Tom.

"That's it," replied the agent. "They drew us off the scent. There's
no help for it. We must get back as soon as we can. My! This is a
bad storm!" he added, as a blast careened the airship.

CHAPTER XV

THE RESCUE ON THE LAKE

For a time the Falcon shot onward through the storm and darkness,
for Tom did not want to give up. With but a single shaded light in
the pilot house, so that he could see to read the gauges and dials,
telling of the condition of the machinery in the motor room, he
pushed his stanch craft ahead. At times she would be forced downward
toward the angry waters of Lake Ontario, over which she was sailing,
but the speed of her propellers and the buoyancy of the gas bag,
would soon lift her again.

"How much longer are you going to stay?" called Ned in his chum's
ear--called loudly, not to be heard above the noise of the airship,
but above the racket of the gale.

"Oh, I guess we may as well start back," spoke Tom, after a look at
the clock on the wall. "We can just about make our camp by daylight,
and they won't see us."

"It won't be light very early," observed Mr. Whitford, looking in
the pilot house from the cabin, just aft of it. "But there is no use
waiting around here any more, Tom. They gave us a false clew, all
right."

"Bless my police badge!" cried Mr. Damon. "They must be getting
desperate."

"I believe they are," went on the custom officer. "They are afraid
of us, and that's a good sign. We'll keep right after 'em, too. If
we don't get 'em this week, we will next. Better put back."

"I will," decided the young inventor.