ed, who had been all
attention during the telling of the story.

"And you certainly had a hard time," declared Tom. "I am much obliged
for this platinum. Have you set a price on it? It is worth much more
than the ordinary kind."

"The price is nothing to you," replied the Russian, with a smile. "I am
only too glad to help you fix your aeroplane. Will it take long? I
should like to watch you."

"Come along," invited Tom. "I can soon have it going again, and I'll
give you a ride, if you like."

"No, thank you, I'm hardly up to that yet, though I may be some day.
The machine I made never flew well and I had several bad falls."

Tom and Ned worked rapidly on the magneto, and soon had replaced the
defective bits of platinum.

"If the Russians had such a machine as this maybe they could have
gotten to that mine," suggested Ned, who was very proud of Tom's craft.

"It would be useless in the terrific winds, I fear," answered Ivan
Petrofsky. "But now I care little for the mine. It is my brother whom I
want to save. He must be in some of the Siberian mines, and if I had
such a craft as this I might be able to rescue him."

Tom Swift dropped the file he was using. A bright light sparkled in his
eyes. He seemed strangely excited.

"Mr. Petrofsky!" he cried, "would you let me have a try at finding your
brother, and would you come with me?"

"Would I?" asked the Russian eagerly. "I would be your debtor for life,
and I would always pray for you, if you could help me to save my
brother Peter."

"Then we'll have a try at it!" cried Tom. "I've got a different airship
than this--one in which I can travel three thousand miles without
coming down. I haven't had any excitement since I got back from the
city of gold. I'm going to Russia to help you rescue your brother from
exile, and I'm also going to have a try for that lost platinum
treasure!"

"Thank heaven, there is some hope for poor Peter at last," murmured Mr.
Petrofsky earnestly.

"You never can get to the platinum mine," said Ned. "The winds will
tear your airship to pieces."

"Not the kind I'm going to make," declared Tom. "It's going to be an
air glider, that will fairly live on high winds. Ho! for Siberia and
the platinum mines. Will you come?"

"I don't know what you mean by an air glider, Tom Swift, but I'll go to
help rescue my brother," was the quick answer, and then, with the light
of a daring resolve shining in his eyes, the young inventor proceeded
to