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Updated: May 15, 2025
"I'll call some one who can, though," and, raising his voice, he summoned Ivan Petrofsky who, with Mr. Damon, was inside the airship doing some small repairs. "There's a Russian out here, Mr. Petrofsky," said Tom, "and what he wants I can't make out."
He glanced at a small anemometer or wind gage, on the craft, and noted that it registered sixty miles an hour. "That ought to do," he remarked. "Now who's going up with me? Will you take a chance, Mr. Petrofsky?" "I'd rather not at first." "Come on then, Ned and Mr. Damon. Mr. Petrofsky and Rad can cast off the ropes." The wind, if anything, was stronger than ever.
Looking through the window, ready to act on the instant, Mr. Damon and the detective saw the three guards spring to their feet. One remained near Mr. Petrofsky, who also leaped up. "Now!" called the detective to his companion. "Smash the window!" The next instant a big piece of driftwood crashed through the casement, just as the two men were hurrying to the front door to answer Tom's summons.
Petrofsky can call out to his brother to run to him, we can take him up with us and get away before the guards know what we are doing." "But aren't the prisoners chained?" asked Tom. "No, they depend on guards to prevent escapes." "Then we'll try that way," decided the young inventor. On and on they sailed, the Falcon working admirably. Verst after verst was covered, and finally, one morning, Mr.
They had driven up in the hack, and one of the men seemed to be sick, or hurt, for his head was done up in bandages, and the others had to half carry him on the train. "That was Mr. Petrofsky all right," declared Ned. "Sure," assented Tom. "They must have hurt and drugged him. But you can't tell us for what station they bought tickets, Mr. Applesauer?" "No, for they didn't buy any.
"This is the place! This is the place!" cried Ivan Petrofsky. "Don't you remember, Peter?" "Indeed I do! I have good cause to! This is where we found the platinum!" "Bless my soul!" cried Mr. Damon. "Where is it, in the lake?" "The mine itself is just beyond that barrier of broken and twisted trees," replied the elder Russian brother.
"I will gladly tell you the story," spoke Mr. Petrofsky, "for I am much interested in inventions, and I formerly did something in that line myself, and I have even made a small aeroplane, so you see I know the need of platinum in a high power magneto." "But where did you get such pure metal?" asked Tom. "I have never seen it's equal."
"Mr. Petrofsky! This way!" yelled Mr. Damon, sticking his head in through the broken sash. "Come out! We've come to save you! Bless my putty blower, but this is great! Come on!" For a moment the exile stared at the head thrust through the broken window, and he listened to Tom's emphatic knocks and demands.
At last word was received from Russia, from some Revolutionist friends of the exile, stating that his brother was supposed to be working in a certain sulphur mine north of the Iablonnoi mountains, and half way between that range and the city of Iakutsk. "But it might be a salt mine, just as well," said Mr. Petrofsky, when he told the boys the news.
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