"He said he'd call up and let you know as soon as he reached the
place," the telephone manager informed Tom.

There was nothing to do but wait, and meanwhile Tom did what he
could to comfort Mrs. Damon. She was quite nervous and inclined to
be hysterical, and the youth thought it wise to have a cousin, who
had come to stay with her, summon the doctor.

"But, Tom, what shall I do about those papers?" Mrs. Damon asked
him. "Shall I send them?"

"Indeed not!"

"But I want Mr. Damon restored to me," she pleaded. "I don't care
about the money. He can make more."

"Well, we'll not give those scoundrels the satisfaction of getting
any money out of you. Just wait now, I'll work this thing out, and
find a way to catch that fellow. If I could only think what that
buzzing sound was--"

Then, in a flash, it came to Tom.

"A sawmill! A planing mill!" he cried. "That's what it was! That
fellow was telephoning from some place near a sawmill!"

The telephone rang in the midst of Tom's excited comments.

"Yes--yes!" he called eagerly. "Who is it--what is it?"