VANISHING GUN***


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[Illustration: AS HE MOVED ALONG AND NEARED ITS CENTER, THE BOARD
CRACKED AND BENT OMINOUSLY.]


THE BOY INVENTORS AND THE VANISHING GUN

by

RICHARD BONNER

Author of “The Boy Inventors’ Wireless Triumph,”
“The Boy Inventors’ Diving Torpedo Boat,” etc., etc.

With Illustrations by Charles L. Wrenn






New York
Hurst & Company
Publishers

Copyright, 1912
By Hurst & Company

Printed in U. S. A.




                                CONTENTS

                        I. An Eccentric Inventor
                       II. The Vanishing Gun
                      III. A Flying Machine in Trouble
                       IV. Zack Gets Mad
                        V. The Yellow Auto
                       VI. Getting the Doctor
                      VII. A Rescue in Mid-Air
                     VIII. Mr. Peregrine Explains
                       IX. A Mysterious Man
                        X. An Unwelcome Encounter
                       XI. The Wrong Road
                      XII. The Red-Bearded Man
                     XIII. Jake Rook & Co.
                      XIV. The Driverless Car
                       XV. Tom Makes a Discovery
                      XVI. Jack in Dire Peril
                     XVII. “Drive Where We Tell You”
                    XVIII. In the Old Mansion
                      XIX. Mr. Stephen Melville
                       XX. Found and Lost
                      XXI. “Things Are Coming Our Way”
                     XXII. “There’s Many a Slip”
                    XXIII. The Start of a Long Chase
                     XXIV. Jack’s Triumph




                THE BOY INVENTORS AND THE VANISHING GUN




                    CHAPTER I—AN ECCENTRIC INVENTOR


Jack Chadwick stepped from the door of the shed where he and Tom Jesson,
his cousin—and, like Jack, about seventeen years old—had been busy all
the morning getting the Flying Road Racer back into shape, after that
wonderful craft’s adventurous cruise along the Gulf Coast of Mexico.

“Almost eleven o’clock,” said Jack, and, thrusting his hand into the
breast pocket of his khaki working shirt, he drew out a rather crumpled
bit of yellow paper.

“What time did Mr. Pythias Peregrine say he’d be here?” inquired Tom,
who, like Jack, was attired in a business-like costume of khaki, topped
off with an automobile cap.

Jack, who had been busy perusing the telegraphic message inscribed on
the bit of yellow paper, read it aloud.

    “‘Jack Chadwick, High Towers, Nestorville, Mass.:

    “‘Can I see you about noon on Thursday next? Wish to talk
    over a new invention with you and your father. Wire if you
    can see me at that time and I will call on you.

                                            “‘Pythias Peregrine.
                                            “‘Pokeville, Mass.’”

“Wonder what he can want?” mused Professor Chadwick’s son, in a
speculative tone. “Pythias Peregrine is one of the best-known inventors
in the country. I guess we all ought to feel honored by his wanting to
consult with us, Tom.”

“You bet we ought. Wonder what sort of a man he is. I suppose he’ll be
inclined to look down upon us as a couple of kids when he does see us.
But—hello, Jack!” he broke off suddenly—“what’s that off there in the
sky—over there to the northwest?”

“That speck yonder? It looks like—yes, by ginger, it is—it’s an
aëroplane of some sort!”

“That’s what.”

A sudden idea struck Tom.

“Say, Jack, don’t you recall reading about Mr. Peregrine and his
aëroplane Red Hawk?”

“Yes, I do, very well indeed. He captured the Jordan Meritt speed and
long-distance cup with it.”

“That’s right, and I’m willing to bet the hole out of a doughnut that
that is the Red Hawk approaching right now. Pokeville is sixty miles off
in that direction, and what more natural than that Mr. Peregrine should
take an up-to-date way of paying his call?”

“I do believe you’re right, Tom,” said Jack. “Let’s go in and spruce up
a bit, and then we’ll come out and meet him.”

In the rear of the work shed, which housed the Flying Road Racer, was a
washroom, and to this the boys hastened to remove some of the grime of
their morning’s work. While they are thus engaged, and the aëroplane is
winging its way rapidly toward High Towers, it is a good time to tell
something about the two lads and their adventures.

As readers of the first volume of this series—“The Boy Inventors’
Wireless Triumph”—are aware, Jack Chadwick was the wide-awake,
good-looking son of a man well known for his achievements in science.
The name of Chester Chadwick was one of the best known in the world
along the lines of his chosen field of endeavor. Tom Jesson, almost as
bright a lad as his chum and cousin, was, like Jack, motherless. His
father, Jasper Jesson—Mr. Chadwick’s brother-in-law—lived at High
Towers, the remainder of which establishment was composed of Mrs.
Jarley, a motherly old housekeeper, two under servants, and Jupe, a
<DW52> man-of-all-work about the place.

High Towers, Professor Chadwick’s estate, was, as we already know from
the address on Mr. Peregrine’s telegram, located near the village of
Nestorville, not far from Boston. It was a fine old place, and consisted
of a big, rambling house set in the midst of oaks and elms with broad
lawns and fields stretching on every side. But the most interesting
features of the place were a big lake and a group of sheds, workshops
and laboratories in which Professor Chadwick and his son and nephew
worked over their inventions.

For Jack and Tom were more like chums to Professor Chadwick than son and
nephew. Together the three had devised the Flying Road Racer, the
Chadwick gas gun, and many other remarkable devices. From his patents
Professor Chadwick had amassed a considerable fortune, thus disproving
the popular idea that inventors are, of necessity, shiftless or needy.

The present story opens on a day not long after the three, together with
Mr. Jesson, had returned from an adventurous trip in the neighborhood of
the semi-savage country of Yucatan. As readers of “The Boy Inventors’
Wireless Triumph” know, Jack and Tom, accompanied by Jupe, had been
despatched mysteriously to Lone Island, a desolate spot of land off the
mouth of the Rio Grande. Here they had awaited a wireless message from
Professor Chadwick, who was cruising on a chartered steam yacht, the Sea
King. At last the eagerly expected message came, and the boys set out on
a gasolene motor boat to find the Sea King, which, the message had
informed them, was disabled.

They found her, and also discovered that she was in peculiar trouble.
The rascally governor of the province of Yucatan, off which she lay,
had, so they learned, imprisoned Professor Chadwick, Mr. Jesson and some
sailors. The boys found that the Sea King carried on board the Flying
Road Racer—of which more anon—and they determined to utilize this craft
of the land and air in the work of rescue.

How Tom was re-united to his father, the explorer who had been given up
as lost in the wilderness of Yucatan for many years, cannot be told in
detail here; nor can we go into the surprising incident of the three
 gems contained in a silver casket which caused a lot of trouble
for the boys and the others. But all came out well, and wireless played
a considerable part in getting the party out of many dilemmas.

It will also be recalled by readers of the volume whose contents we have
lightly sketched, that the Flying Road Racer—the aerial auto—had been
badly damaged, so far as her raising apparatus was concerned, when she
was blown to sea in a hurricane, during which those on board narrowly
escaped with their lives. Since their return to High Towers, the boys
had been engaged in refitting the craft on new principles, and Professor
Chadwick had been busy in Washington in connection with some patents.
Mr. Jesson had interested himself in scientific farming, and, at the
very moment that the boys had hastened into the shed to make swift
preparations to receive what they believed to be Mr. Peregrine’s Red
Hawk, he was busy in a corn patch with Jupe, the <DW52> man.

Jack had just given a hasty dab with the brush and comb to his hair, and
Tom’s face was still buried in a towel when from the rear of the shed
where the corn patch was came the sound of angry and alarmed voices.

“Hyar, you, wha’ fo’ yo’ don’ look out? Wha’ fo’ yo’ mean come floppin’
lak an ole buzzard inter dis yar cohn patch—huh?”

Then, in milder tones:

“My dear sir, I beg of you, be careful. This corn is a particular kind.
If you alight here you’ll ruin several hills of it.”

“That’s Jupe and Uncle Jasper,” exclaimed Jack, throwing down the brush
and comb and rushing out; “wonder what’s up?”

Tom hastily followed his cousin.

“Sounds as if somebody’s trying to spoil dad’s corn patch,” he murmured,
as he ran.

As they rounded the corner of the Flying Road Racer’s shed, the boys
came on an astonishing sight—if anything can be called astonishing in
this century of marvels.

Above Mr. Jesson’s corn, of which he was justly proud, hovered a
beautifully finished monoplane with bright red planes. Its propeller was
buzzing like an angry bee—or rather like a dragon-fly, which it
resembled with its long tail and bright gossamer wings.

In the air ship was seated a small, rather stout figure, whose
countenance was almost hidden by goggles and a black leather skull cap
pierced with holes. As this brilliant apparition of the skies swooped
over the corn, so low that it almost mowed the feathery heads of the
topmost stalks, Jupe made angry passes at it with his hoe.

Mr. Jesson, less strenuous but equally alarmed for his corn, had his
arms raised imploringly.

“Yo’ jes git out of hyar, or I gib yo’ one wid dis yar hoe!” Jupe was
exclaiming angrily, as the boys came on the scene.

“Why, I—bless my soul—I won’t hurt you,” came reassuringly in sharp,
nervous tones from the occupant of the red aëroplane, which, the boys
had already guessed, was the Red Hawk, and their visitor, Mr. Peregrine.
“I merely dropped to inquire if this is High Towers?”

“Ya’as, dis am High Towers, an’ we got ’nough sky schooners ’roun’ hyar
now widout you drappin’ in on our cohn patch,” angrily cried Jupe.

“Jupe! Jupe!” shouted Jack, “be more respectful. That’s Mr. Peregrine!”

“Don’t cahr ef he is Jerry Green,” grunted Jupe, “he don’ wan’ ter
fustigate dis yar cohn patch wid dat red bug oh hisn.”

“Don’t be alarmed—won’t hurt it—very sorry—watch!”

With these jerky sentences, the occupant of the monoplane pulled a lever
and turned a wheel on the side of the body of his machine. Instantly it
rose, as gracefully as a butterfly, skimmed above the corn patch,
circled around the boys’ astonished heads, and then dropped lightly in
front of the shed which housed its ponderous rival of the skies.

As it came to a standstill the boys ran up to greet its operator, who,
although he appeared rather fat and podgy, had already leaped nimbly to
the ground.

“This is Mr. Pythias Peregrine?” inquired Jack politely.

“My name—glad to see you—dropped in, as it were—how do you do?—quite
well?—glad to hear it.”

“Mah goodness,” exploded Jupe, leaning on his hoe and scratching his
woolly head, “dat dar Jerry Green talks lak he had a package of
firecrackers in him tummy.”




                      CHAPTER II—THE VANISHING GUN


Mr. Peregrine, having alighted from his Red Hawk, removed his helmet and
goggles and mopped his forehead vigorously—for the day was warm, it
being about the middle of August. The removal of his headpiece revealed
him as a round-faced, good-natured looking man, with a rosy complexion
and deep-set, twinkling blue eyes. Having taken off his goggles, he
replaced them by a pair of big horn-rimmed spectacles, which, somehow,
gave him an odd resemblance to an amiable bull-frog. Indeed, his
explosive way of talking was very much at variance with his rotund
figure and appearance of “easy-goingness.”

“Naturally want to know what I came to see you about? Of course. Father
at home?—No. Recollect you said in your telegram he was in Washington.
Very warm, isn’t it?—It is.”

“I got on the long-distance telephone as soon as I received your
message,” rejoined Jack, finding it rather hard to keep a straight face
as Mr. Peregrine rapidly “popped” out the above sentences. “He said he
recalled you very well as an old scientific friend, and that anything
that we could do to aid you we were to do. Both my Cousin Tom and myself
will be very glad to help in any way you may require. By the way,” as
Mr. Jesson came up, “this is my uncle, and Tom’s father, Mr. Jasper
Jesson.”

“Jasper Jesson, eh? Noted explorer?—Yes. Lost in Yucatan?—You were. Did
I read about it in the papers?—I did. Columns of it. Was it
interesting?—Very. Glad to meet you, sir. Glad to meet you.”

He and Mr. Jesson shook hands cordially. Mr. Jesson expressed his
surprise at the manner in which Mr. Peregrine had been able to handle
his Red Hawk when the corn patch was threatened.

The inventor from Pokeville waved his hand airily.

“Was there ever any need for you to be alarmed?—None at all, my dear
sir, none at all. Very simple—Red Hawk, fine little air craft.—
Fast?—Very.—Your corn in danger?—Never for a moment.—Sorry I alarmed
you, though.”

The somewhat eccentric man went on to tell how he had set out from
Pokeville an hour before, and had winged his way to High Towers in fast
time. He had used the lake, which lay at the foot of the hill on which
they stood talking, as his guide. From above it was visible at a
distance of several miles.

“You spoke in your telegram of wishing to see us in regard ito some
invention?” hinted Jack, at this juncture.

“Did I?—Of course I did,” sputtered out Mr. Peregrine, using his
customary way of expressing himself. “A most interesting thing, too.
Well, the fact is, that I’m at a standstill.—Invention won’t work—heard
a lot of you boys—thought I’d get you to help me out.—Pay well—very
grateful.”

“So far as the last feature is concerned, don’t mention it,” said Jack,
“if we can help you out at all, Mr. Peregrine, it will give us great
pleasure. But what is this invention of yours?”

Mr. Peregrine cocked his head on one side and paused a short time before
answering. At length he spoke.

“It’s a vanishing gun,” he said, forgetting for once to add another
explosive sentence.

“A vanishing gun!” gasped the boys, while Mr. Jesson looked astonished
and Jupe muttered: “Wha’ de matter wid dis yar Jerry Green and his
perishing gun?”

“Yes, a vanishing motor gun,” repeated the inventor—“working on it for
the government. Big thing—designed for defense against aëroplanes—having
lot of trouble, though—need help—will you come?”

“Why—why,” said Jack, in some perplexity, “I think we might; but, Mr.
Peregrine, can’t you explain a little more in detail?”

“Impossible now—hard to tell about gun intelligently till you can see
and examine it. Why not come over to-morrow?—Not long trip—soon show you
gun—like to have your opinion on it, anyway.—Lot depends on
it—government offers big prize for successful one.”

“I think you can quite well go. Jack,” said Mr. Jesson, “Jupe, here, and
I can look after the place till you get back. I know your father would
like you to help Mr. Peregrine.”

“Then it’s settled,” declared Jack, who was equally anxious to see Mr.
Peregrine’s invention, “we’ll be over as early as possible.”

“Many thanks,” said the inventor warmly, looking really relieved, “with
you to help, I’m sure we can get it to work all right. One thing
more—your Flying Road Racer—may I look at it?”

“Surely,” rejoined Jack, “it’s in this shed. Come in, Mr. Peregrine.
Mind that step. There, that’s the Flying Road Racer!”

Jack’s face flushed proudly as he indicated what looked like an ordinary
automobile, with a silvery aluminum body shaped like a cigar and a
propeller at