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Updated: June 15, 2025
"Say, Uncle Jerry," she said, lowering her voice, "Stefan Petrofsky asked me the other day if I thought you would let him talk to you about Ivan some evening?" "Why, who are they, anyhow?" asked J.M. "I've often wondered why they kept themselves so separate from the rest of us." As he spoke he noticed the turn of his phrase and almost laughed aloud.
"And we'll do it, in the air glider," declared Tom. "By the way, Mr. Petrofsky, would it not be a good plan to ask your friends the location of the place where the winds constantly blow with such force. It occurs to me that in some such way we might locate the mine." "It would be of use if there was only one place of the gales," replied the exile.
"You had better keep inside," said Ivan Petrofsky to his brother and Mr. Borious. "Descriptions of you are probably out broadcast by now, but I am still sufficiently disguised, I think." "But what is to be done?" demanded the younger Russian brother. "If the gasolene is gone, how can we leave here?" "Trust Tom Swift for that," was the reply. "Keep out of sight now, there is a large crowd outside."
"There are the prison barracks," said the guide a little later, his talk being translated by Mr. Petrofsky. Below and a little ahead of them could been seen a cluster of lights. "Yes, that looks like a line of prisoners," remarked Ned, who was peering through a pair of night glasses. "Where?" asked Tom eagerly, and they were pointed out to him.
"They would if they could find it," said Ivan Petrofsky dryly, "but they can't no one can find it and I have tried very hard so hard, in fact, that it is the reason for my coming to this country that and the desire to find and aid my brother, who is a Siberian exile." "This is getting interesting," remarked Ned to Tom in a low voice, and the young inventor nodded.
"My brother Peter, who is younger than I by a few years, and I, are the last of our family," began Mr. Petrofsky, motioning Tom and Ned to take chairs. "We lived in St. Petersburg, and early in life, though we were of the nobility, we took up the cause of the common people." "Nihilists?" asked Ned eagerly, for he had read something of these desperate men. "No, and not anarchists," said Mr.
One particularly inquisitive man insisted on pulling or twisting everything, until he happened to touch a couple of live wires, giving himself quite a shock, and then he ran away howling. But still the crowd increased, and at last Mr. Petrofsky said: "I don't like this, Tom?" "Why not?" They were all inside the craft, looking out and waiting for the return of the man with the kerosene.
But these men have been very kind to me," he went on, "and they have ways of getting information that I have not. So they are going to aid me." "That's right!" exclaimed the one who had first spoken. "We will yet win you to our cause, Brother Petrofsky. Death to the Czar and the Grand Dukes!" "Never!" exclaimed the exile firmly. "Peaceful measures will succeed.
Listen to this, Ned! "This letter is from the head of one of the secret societies over there, a society that works against the government. It says that Mr. Petrofsky is being detained a prisoner in a lonely hut on the Atlantic sea coast, not far from New York Sandy Hook the letter says and here are the very directions how to get there!" "No!" cried Ned, in disbelief.
There were splinters of the frame and jagged pieces of glass sticking out, making it dangerous for the exile to slip through. "Come on! Come on!" the eccentric man continued to call. "Bless my safety valve! We'll save you! Come on!" Mr. Petrofsky was leaping across the room, just ahead of the one guard. The other two were at the open door now, through which Tom could be seen.
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