A STRANGE MESSAGE
A STRANGE MESSAGE
A STRANGE MESSAGE
“Too worried to eat,” spoke Hiram Dobbs to himself at supper time. “Too busy to do any sleeping to-night.”
Dusk had settled down over the International grounds as he sallied forth after an impatient hour spent in waiting for darkness. He locked the hangar, and turned in the direction of the Syndicate camp.
“Slow, and cautious, and sure,” murmured Hiram. “I’ve got plenty of time, and I must be careful not to muddle matters through any haste. It’s Borden, first and foremost. When I locate him I’ll find some way to attract his attention.”
Hiram followed the fence, keeping away from casual pedestrians and crowds. He passed the hangar next in the line to the Syndicate camp. About to approach nearer, Hiram stretched himself carelessly along a slanting fence support as though taking a rest, for a man was coming towards him.It was one of the “White Wings” battalion, Hiram at once made out. The man wore the white khaki uniform of the men supposed to keep the grounds in order. He had a pronged stick, and slung at his side a light but deep basket.
Whenever he came to a piece of paper, rags, or the like, he would spear the same, and transfer it to his basket. Daytimes the sanitary squad kept the streets in order. Early in the evening they went about gathering up the refuse that littered the grounds.
Hiram decided to wait till the man got out of the way before he approached nearer to the Syndicate camp. He noticed that the man had an uncertain gait. He missed spearing several pieces of paper. One the wind kept scurrying along every time he neared it. Hiram would have been amused at any other time. Finally, in trying to corner a whirling fragment of paper, the man stumbled and fell flat, the basket on top of him.
“Here, let me help you,” proffered Hiram.
“That you, Palen?” spoke a sharp voice, as the unfortunate man was mumbling out his thanks to Hiram. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Hiram turned to observe one of the lieutenants in charge of the grounds-workers.
“Late again, and in a fine condition, aren’t you?” demanded the newcomer in a stern, censuring tone. “You’re discharged, do you hear? You’ve been careless for the last two days.”
“Yes, sir—bad cold. Not feelin’ well. Don’t like this job anyhow,” the man mumbled.
“Well, get through with your work, if you’ve sense enough to do it, and draw your pay. We can’t have your kind around here.”
The official walked away with these words. His subordinate steadied himself against a fence-support, and watched the other disappear. Then he threw the spear-stick to the ground, tossed the basket after it and muttered glumly:
“All right. Sick of the place anyhow. I’ll do no more work!”
Hiram had been casually interested in the episode. Suddenly it suggested an idea to his quick mind. He took a dollar bill from his pocket.
“Say, my friend,” he spoke, “I like exercise. You lend me your jacket and hat, and I’ll give you that, and do the rest of your work.”
“Well!” murmured the man stolidly. “Must have lots of money to waste it that way. That’s a bargain. Leave the old coat and hat where they’ll find it, will you? There you are,” and the speaker divested himself of the bulk of his uniform, and went off with the dollar, chuckling gleefully.
Hiram waited till the man was out of sight. Then he went to the side of a path and proceeded to daub his hands and face with dust. The clumsy jacket came nearly to his knees. The hat was helmet-shaped. It dipped both front and rear and well shadowed his face.
“I think I’ll do. I can surely pass for what I pretend to be, if I don’t get where it’s too light,” decided Hiram.
A more industrious “white wings” never worked on the International grounds. Hiram seemed to have eyes for every stray fragment of rubbish. He boldly invaded the precincts of the Syndicate camp. Just inside several hangar’s men were playing cards, smoking and conversing.
“I don’t see anything of Mr. Borden,” soliloquized Hiram disappointedly. “There’s Worthington, though, and his special man, Valdec.”
The humble, dust-covered grounds-man picking up rubbish, suggested nothing suspicious to the two men, as Hiram poked around a bench on which they were seated engrossed in earnest conversation. Hiram speared an empty cigarette box not three feet away from the foot of Valdec. He approached close to the side of the bench making a great ado of kneeling, and picking up the fragments of a torn programme of the meet.
“Yes, I’ve got the altitude stunt fixed for good,” he overheard Valdec observe.
“How is that,” inquired the big Syndicate manager.
“A dummy barograph,” chuckled the trick aeronaut. “Oh, I’ll beat ten thousand feet easy as pie! TheArielmight have made it, but—pouf! We’ve got that off our minds, more’s the luck! You’re sure there’s no chance of Dashaway coming on the scene to spoil things?”
“Dashaway won’t get away,” coarsely laughed Worthington. “I sent Borden down with Terry to double the guard on him this afternoon.”
Some one hailed the manager just then and the talk ended. Hiram’s spirits drooped. Borden had been sent away from the meet before he could get any further word to theArielhangar. For some time Hiram hung around, hoping to overhear some indication as to the place where his chum was undoubtedly held a captive. His energy was unrewarded, and he returned to his own hangar.
“I know two things,” he reflected, but disconsolately, as he tossed restlessly in bed some hours later. “Dave is alive—theArielis gone. Another thing; we won’t be in this meet. Poor Dave! How will it all come out?”
Hiram was fairly frantic when the next day passed, and there was no word from Bruce. The next morning he had decided to proceed to see Mr. Brackett himself, fearing that something had happened to his messenger, when Bruce himself appeared.
“What news? Quick!” spoke Hiram, in great excitement. “What kept you?”
“I was delayed. Mr. Brackett was away until yesterday afternoon. He listened to my story and asked me a hundred questions. Then he sent a note to you. Here it is.”
Hiram was so eager and anxious that he fairly tore a folded sheet from the hand of Bruce. Quickly his eyes scanned its contents.
And thus it read:
“Go right on, the same as if Dashaway and theArielwere ready for the contest.”
ARIEL II
ARIEL II
ARIEL II
“Hold me, Bruce! I’m seeing things!” gasped Hiram Dobbs, half whimsically.
“You’re seeing Dave Dashaway. Both of us are. Oh, hooray!”
“And theAriel——”
“A newAriel—Ariel II; don’t you see? Brace up—hurry! Don’t you understand that everything has come out all right at last?”
It was nine o’clock in the morning of the great day. All the entrants were expected to report within the ensuing sixty minutes. On the Saturday previous those who had not qualified fully had been ruled out of the competition. Some had not supplied the required data. Some had not been able to promise the delivery of their machines on the grounds before the contest began. Others were mere amateurs in aviatics, with no demonstrated records.
Those had been anxious, unsatisfactory days for Hiram and Bruce that succeeded the strange, yet definite message from Mr. Brackett. There was a ray of hope in his explicit direction to go right on, just as if there had been no break in the programme laid out by Dave the day they arrived at the International grounds. Both Hiram and Bruce were very secretive. They took a flight each day in theScout. They mingled with the crowds at headquarters. They picked up all the information possible and kept in touch with everything going on.
The Syndicate crowd had gone past their hangar frequently, as if trying to probe what lay behind their composure and system. Twice they had detected a lurker outside the hangar, eavesdropping. He got little satisfaction, however, for the boys suspected his pretense and talked of matters a thousand miles away from Mr. Brackett, Dave Dashaway and theAriel.
And now, eager, anxious, prepared for disappointment yet hoping, dreaming, they had come down to the grand stand where the inspection of the entrants of the day was to take place.
Valdec and his crowd were very much in evidence. It was characteristic of the juggler airman to assume airs of mystery, distinction and oddness. He wore a score of trumpetry medals, and gave a reckless swing to his machine as he circled the grounds and alighted the nearest to the stand occupied by the judges. It was plainly to be seen thathe believed himself the hero of the day. Worthington strutted around followed by his contingent, some of whom were to take part in various minor contests after the first day. It had been depressing to Hiram to note the buoyancy and assurance of this crowd. It nettled him to think that for him the meet, and all appertaining it to, was a hollow farce without his chum. Then came the climax. Nearly all the contesting air craft had reported, and were in full view inside the roped off space near the starter’s box. It lacked thirty minutes of the stroke of the bell that would exclude all delinquent contestants, when Bruce, seated on a bench, suddenly nudged his companion.
“There’s a beauty,” he remarked and Hiram lifted his rather gloomy glance to inspect a speck of activity cutting the air like a swift yacht on a clear water course.
Far to the south the stranger was evidently making a bee-line direct for the center field. Other eyes than those of the boys began to inspect the approaching biplane. As it came nearer its graceful outlines, its perfectly true maneuvers, caused attention and speculation among expert airmen about the stand. The Valdec crowd had become interested. Then the strained gaze of Hiram Dobbs wavered and he burst forth with the characteristic outbreak:
“Hold me Bruce—I’m seeing things!”
Then in a sort of delirious transport he allowed his equally excited comrade to drag him towards the center field with the ringing announcement that:
“Everything has come out all right at last!”
As they hurried along Hiram stripped off his coat. It revealed him in flight trim, neat and natty, for he had prepared for his very best appearance, not knowing what might turn up. He threw the garment to Bruce with the words: “Take care of it.” Then: “Dave!—Dave!—Dave!” he shouted, tumbled over a rope, and, regaining his feet, stood still, for others had gathered about theAriel II.
“Everything’s fixed!” gloated Hiram, eager with delight. “Oh, but this is grand!”
Mr. Brackett had suddenly appeared from among the crowd. With him was the manager of the meet, and two other officials. Hiram fancied that the manufacturer was dilating on the points of the new machine, for he moved his hand about, making a sweeping movement over this and that portion of the beautiful mechanism.
Hiram fixed a look upon the chum of whom he had such good reason to feel proud. Never had the young aviator looked so completely at his best. Dave’s eye was bright, his face bronzed with sunburn. He wore an entirely new outfit. He was paying respectful but intelligent attention to the questions of those about him.
“I wonder,” breathed Hiram suddenly. He turned squarely around. It was in the direction of the Syndicate airship. They had named it theWhirlwind. Its pilot had just alighted.
Valdec stood holding to one of the wings, as if spellbound. His lower jaw had fallen, his face was a picture of amazement and discomfiture. To Hiram his usually sneering lips seemed drawn and white as he put some question to Worthington, who stood at his side.
The latter muttered something. Then his head went forward until his big, full neck showed. It was something like a mastiff baffled of its prey. Hiram Dobbs laughed, he could not help it—a joyous, boyish, delighted laugh, and those about theWhirlwindheard him. He received a menacing glance from Valdec. Worthington scowled darkly and showed his teeth.
“Dave!” cried Hiram again, watching his chance, and bolting past several persons engaged in admiring inspection of the newAriel.
His chum leaped from his seat and their hands met. Their eyes also. In those of his tutor, and close friend, Hiram read nerve and courage. Somehow, he had a sure conviction that Dave Dashaway had come upon the scene at the last moment determined to win.
Not a word passed between them. Too many were listening, and Hiram had sense enough to copy the pleasing composure of his leader. The signal for clearing the field was given from the judges’ stand. Hiram waved a hand joyously at his chum, and got under the ropes. He made out Mr. Brackett and hurried after him, to find Bruce at his heels. The latter did not have the professional badge which had admitted the others to the field.
“Ah, Dobbs!” greeted the big manufacturer, as Hiram crowded up to his side. “And you too, Beresford? Taken care of everything, of course?”
“Just followed orders—sure!” replied Hiram, nodding energetically.
“It paid; didn’t it?” intimated Mr. Brackett, with a wave of his hand towards the new machine and its pilot.
“I should say it did!” cried the impetuous young airman. “Oh, how did you ever bring it all about?”
“Through one of the friends you and Dashaway seem to have the faculty of gaining everywhere you go,” answered the manufacturer.
“Was Dave shut up bad—or long?”
“No. Within twenty-four hours of his capture he was at our plant and has been practicing every day since. As to the oldAriel—what do you think ofAriel II?”
Hiram was satisfied for the present with the brief explanation made. In his own mind he could readily reason out that Borden had, in some way, been instrumental in the escape of Dave.
“They’re getting ready,” broke in Bruce. He was bubbling over with excitement and exultation. Mr. Brackett had led them to a section in the rows just back of the big stand. He had seated himself comfortably, but his two young guests were unable to keep still, and stood up and moved about, buoyant and expectant.
“Plain sailing,” announced some one from the next section, reading the programme, and a smile of satisfaction showed on the face of the big aeroplane manufacturer.
There were twelve entries for this number, for it was a free-for-all, purposely allowed to give air craft builders a chance to show their machines. Hiram and Bruce had eyes only for Dave and the newAriel. It left the ground at the signal, smoothly and promptly.
“Self-starter,” spoke the complacent manufacturer to his young allies. “For grace, lightness and accuracy we back this, our latest machine, against the world.”
Even to Hiram, daily in the past the companion of Dave Dashaway in his marvelous cloud-work, the aspect of the new machine was a revelation. Its progress was noiseless, its sweep sure and scientific.Within five minutes after the general ascent was made the boys had but to listen to the comments going on about them, to realize that on a popular voteAriel IIwould be awarded the prize.
Some of the contesting pilots could not sustain a protracted flight, some of the machines did not work smoothly. The contest narrowed down to six, then to three. TheWhirlwindshowed great rapidity, but was erratic and shifty at volplane work and drift. Finally Valdec descended. Dave’s last competitor followed his example. TheArielfloated to anchor, buoyant as a swan gliding to rest.
Fifteen minutes later the official marker ascended the little platform on which rested a great ruled-off blackboard. He set at work on event number one.
Hiram’s eyes were snapping. Mr. Brackett drew a long breath of mingled assurance and suspense.
“Hurrah!” yelled Bruce Beresford irrepressibly. Hiram flung his cap up in the air. Mr. Brackett beamed on everybody, and the crowd went wild.
“Event No. 1—Winner, Machine number five,” the man wrote. That was the awarded numeral of the Brackett entry. “Pilot—Dashaway. Points—thirty.”
Thus read the chronicle of the initial event on the big programme, awarding to Dave Dashaway the first victory of the meet.
BEATEN
BEATEN
BEATEN
Hiram Dobbs was whistling like a nightingale, Bruce Beresford was polishing up the brass work of the newArielfor the fifth or sixth time, when suddenly Hiram made a derisive sweep with his handful of cotton waste towards two passers-by—Valdec and one of his crowd.
“Hah!” uttered Dave Dashaway’s assistant—“you’ve had your claws cut short this time!”
Safe and sound, more than hopeful, and very happy felt the young pilot of theScout. Hiram could defy all his foes now. Day and night, half a dozen men from the aero plant formed a perfect cordon around the hangar which housed the almost sure winner of the International, as Hiram insisted on putting it.
There had been a sort of jollification conference the evening before in a room at the grounds clubhouse, where the manufacturer and his three friends felt free to discuss affairs in general without the fear of intruders or listeners. It was therethat Dave explained his recent adventure at the sand dunes. His capture and the destruction of the oldArielhad been the result of a well laid plot on the part of the Syndicate crowd and their allies.
It was Borden who had saved the day. Hiram’s heart warmed anew towards the tramp artist as he realized how loyally the latter had repaid the slight kindness they had shown a homeless wanderer at the Midlothian grounds.
“Mr. Borden warned you too late, Hiram,” explained Dave, “but he found a way, a little later, to be doubly useful in our interests. The men who made me a prisoner at the sand dunes and burned up the oldArielI had never seen before. I was taken perhaps thirty miles in a closed wagon, tied hand and foot, and guarded by a balking fellow, so I kept pretty still.”
“Where did they take you, Mr. Dashaway?” the interested Bruce had asked.
“To an old building in a big town over the state line. It must have been a factory, at some time or other. It had all gone to ruin, and they kept me in a room in the boiler house, with a heavy iron door to it. The Syndicate crowd sent Mr. Borden down to help their man guard me. I don’t know how he managed it, but he got entire charge of me, and let his supposed fellow watchman lay around the town. The first night he got a wire to Mr. Brackettwho came down for me. Since then I have been practicing near the Aero Company’s plant, and watching our new beauty of a biplane grow into the finest craft of its class in the world.”
“And Mr. Borden?” pressed Hiram curiously.
“I don’t think the Syndicate crowd had the least idea that I was free until I showed up on the grounds here,” declared Dave.
“What’ll they do when they find out he’s hocussed them?” asked Bruce.
“I have supplied our good friend, Mr. Borden, with the means of going about where he pleases,” observed Mr. Brackett with a smile. “They won’t find him unless he wants to be found, you may rest assured of that fact.”
“And are those fellows to be allowed to go scot free after all they’ve done!” cried the indignant Hiram.
“I hardly think we will disturb them if they leave us alone—at least for the present,” replied the manufacturer. “You see, Hiram, we might not be able to fasten the plot directly upon them. It is still my opinion that Vernon, our old time enemy, is the main actor in all these outrages, although he has pretty cleverly covered up his tracks.”
“Well, so far—everything is fine!” declared the volatile Hiram. “Oh, Dave, if you only win the altitude contest to-morrow!”
“The newArielcan do its share,” insisted Mr. Brackett.
“I shall try to do mine,” added the young aviator modestly.
“Fifty points!” murmured Hiram. “Score that and you are sure of the big prize,” and Hiram had a vision of that official blackboard marker giving to his chum the second award in the International contest.
Four machines besides their own were listed for the altitude contest and theWhirlwindwas among them. The first thing the observant Hiram noticed as they reached the center field was that Valdec wore his ordinary sailing jacket. Dave was fully prepared for any cold he might run into. Besides that, at his side, was a light, round tank with a coil of rubber hose running from it.
“We’re testing an emergency oxygen supply, if the air gets too rarefied,” Dave explained to Hiram. “It may work in quite well when we get up above ten thousand feet.”
“Oh, Dave, you can’t hope to do that!” exclaimed his young assistant.
The manager and a helper visited the five machines while the rules of the contest were being read by his secretary. The barograph of each biplane was examined, sealed up and put in place. Three hours was the time limit allowed, the pilots to select their own course.
There was some cloudiness, but no wind, and the five machines made a splendid initial rise. TheWhirlwindwas all for speed. Dave took it more slowly. Within fifteen minutes the five crafts were scattered to all points of the compass. They became mere specks as a lower strata of cloud haze obscured them. Then they vanished from view as a denser upper cumulus enveloped them.
At eleven o’clock one of the contestants came back to the grounds because of a break in the control. A comrade competitor gave up the contest a quarter of an hour later. Number three reported itself out of the race at noon.
“It’s theArieland theWhirlwind,” went the rounds of the stand. Everybody was wrought up to a great pitch of doubt and suspense. The clouds still obscured all sight of the clear sky.
“There’s one of them!” burst out a voice and there was great excitement as an air craft came sailing swiftly into view.
“TheWhirlwind,” spoke a man with a pair of field glasses.
The Syndicate machine came to anchor as Worthington and his allies rushed toward it. Valdec stepped out of the biplane smiling and profuse in his bows. He joked and laughed as the expert removed the barograph, hastened to the judges’ stand and then placed it in a strong tin box and locked it in.
“Here’s the other!” The shout announced theAriel. In about twenty minutes the boys and Mr. Brackett were crowding about it. The machine was dripping with moisture, and as it touched the ground its pilot removed his head gear, and fell over to one side, gasping for breath.
“He’s collapsed!” exclaimed an attendant and ran for water. They lifted Dave out of the machine. Mr. Brackett and Hiram supported him. The expert had removed the barograph. They made Dave swallow some water, rubbed his hands, and finally he opened his eyes. He smiled vaguely.
“I made it,” he spoke with difficulty. “Nearly went under, but I had set my mark—over eleven thousand feet.”
“You couldn’t! It’s ahead of any record! He’s dreaming!” blurted out Hiram.
“The barograph says so—I’ve won. I knew I should,” murmured Dave. “Get me somewhere to lie down. I’m weak and dizzy.”
“What’s that!” suddenly spoke Hiram, turning sharply as they were leading Dave over to the club house.
They were at a point where they could not see the blackboard. Hiram noticed a great crowd about it. Cheers rent the air. A man bolted from themass, bareheaded, excited, rushing down the road wildly. Hiram recognized him as one of the Syndicate hangers-on.
“What is it?” was demanded of him by an inquisitive pedestrian.
“Record smashed!” came the breathless but triumphant reply. “Valdec has won—12,350 feet!”
“FIFTY POINTS”
“FIFTY POINTS”
“FIFTY POINTS”
“You’ve got something on your mind, Bruce! What is it?” challenged Hiram Dobbs.
“Oh, just thinking,” answered Bruce in a way meant to be off-handed, but palpably evasive and embarrassed.
“You can’t fool me!” insisted Hiram in his persistent fashion. “Ever since you took those diamonds back to the police you’ve been mooning. You don’t mean to tell me you’ve caught the detective-fever?”
“Me!” laughed Bruce. “No more chance of that than of running an airship. I’d better correct one false impression you’ve got, though, Hiram.”
“And what is that?”
“I didn’t take those diamonds to the police at all.”
“Didn’t? Well, that’s news!” declared Hiram wonderingly.
“You see, you were all so busy here I didn’t want to bother you about a little thing like that. I took the diamonds back to the people who lost them. I’ve had an idea about those diamonds for some time.”
“You have some good ideas, Bruce—what’s this one?”
“Why, I have felt satisfied all along that the thief had those diamonds when he was escaping in theScout.”
“We all believe that. What of it?” inquired the young pilot of the craft in question.
“So, I’ve dreamed—only dreamed, mind you—of maybe some time going and looking for them.”
“Ho! ho!” laughed Hiram. “I guess you have no idea of what hunting around the place where the thief landed might mean. If he really had them and lost them, or hid them, or threw them away, there’s half a mile of thicket, gully and creek to go over, with about one chance in a thousand of hitting the right spot. You never ran across such a mixed up place.”
“It’s because I was once right in it all for a week or more that I got interested,” explained Bruce.
“Well, there may be something in your idea, Bruce,” admitted Hiram. “Just now, though, we’ve got more important business on hand. We must add twenty points to our thirty before sundown, you know.”
“Oh, I hope you make it!” said Bruce ardently. “I’ve been worried ever since the Syndicate crowd beat in the altitude work.”
“Beat! who’s—beat! what?” almost shouted Hiram, becoming vociferous, and looking wrathful. “Mr. Brackett and Dave are saying little and thinking a good deal. They may talk out when the governing committee passes on the prizes. I’m doing some guessing myself, and I’d give all I’m worth to see one man for just one minute, and that’s Mr. Borden.”
“Aha!” cried Bruce—“got a secret yourself, have you?”
“Never mind if I have. It isn’t the time to talk about it just yet,” retorted Hiram mysteriously. “I’ve got some common sense, though, and lots of confidence in the word of Dave Dashaway. You heard what he told us about that altitude climate. It nearly finished him, even with that new oxygen device aboard. He was soaked, frozen, exhausted when he landed, wasn’t he? And Valdec wasn’t even damp! Again, Dave says he never caught sight of theWhirlwindover the 7,000 foot level. There’s another county to hear from!” concluded Hiram, “and I’ve got something under my hat.”
“What, Hiram?” asked Bruce, but his comrade only laughed, and walked off to greet Mr. Brackett and Dave, who, at that moment, approached the hangar.
The mail bag delivery contest was one of several set for that day. There were only five entries, theScoutbeing among the number. Neither Dave nor Valdec were listed as principals, but one of the Syndicate machines had been entered.
It was in theScoutthat its pilot had done his practicing and theArielwas not called into service. A crew of two was apportioned to each machine competing and Dave of course was to take charge of the wheel.
“Looks like a game of basket ball,” remarked Hiram as they drove theScoutover to center field.
The grounds had a two mile circular track, being used on other occasions for motor contests. Around this, and at each corner of the grounds, poles twenty feet high had been set up. At the top of the poles were woven baskets about two feet deep and double that width at their flanging tops.
Poles and baskets were painted white and were conspicuous to the eye for a long distance. There were some twenty-five of these improvised postal stations. That number of bags was put in the cockpit of each machine. Each set was marked with a numeral, those on theScoutbearing the Brackett entrant number, which was five.
The bags had been furnished by the city post office people, were about two by four feet and filled each with twenty pounds of newspapers and old envelopes. The time limit on the stunt was one hour.
“It’s going to be interesting,” Mr. Brackett remarked to Bruce Beresford, who with him occupied an advantageous stall near the central stand.
“The crowd seems to think so,” replied Bruce. “It’s something new, and nearly everybody has a score card.”
Bruce himself was prepared to keep “tab” on the mail deliveries. One, three, five, nine and eleven were in commission, and the machines were sufficiently varied in construction and appearance to enable even a novice to identify them separately when in operation. There was valor and confidence in Hiram’s last hand wave.
“I hope the lad makes his points,” spoke Mr. Brackett.
“It will break his heart if he doesn’t,” declared Bruce. “Why shouldn’t he, though? He’s ahead of the rest of them on practicing, and he’s got an expert pilot in his machine.”
“There’s a hit!” cried a voice near them, and necks were craned and eyes strained to watch a leather bag go tumbling over the edge of aeroplane number three. It landed directly on the basket aimed at—and the crowds yelled at this first sample of a new feature in aviatics.
“What’s wrong?” inquired a curious voice.
The guard stationed under the basket where the mail bag had fallen had stepped slightly away from his post. He had unfurled and was waving a blue flag.
“It doesn’t count,” guessed Bruce readily. “The machine must have been under the low level.”
A great laugh next swept the mob of onlookers. The Syndicate biplane had sent down a bag aimed at another basket. It went so far wide of its mark that it landed on the shoulders of a “White Wings” man thirty feet away, knocking off his hat and sending him scampering as though a bomb had struck him.
“Hiram—good—one!” suddenly yelled Bruce.
“You mean two,” remarked Mr. Brackett quietly a minute later, but with a slight chuckle of satisfaction.
TheScouthad made two deliveries into different baskets true as a die. Unlike any of the others, the little machine sailed high, and as it approached a delivery point described a swift swoop. So true were the calculations of Dave Dashaway, that, directly at the turn of the volplane Hiram let loose the mail bag, counting on a forward sway of several feet in the descent.
“Ah—missed! but it hit the edge of the basket,” reported Bruce. Then the fourth one landed directly within its intended receptacle.
There were generally cheers for theScout, even when Hiram missed on three deliveries. These, however, never dropped more than five feet away from the base of the pole, while some of the other contestants saw their mail bags go half a hundred feet from the goal.
“Seventy mail bags delivered, only thirteen not gone foul, and theScoutscores seven of them,” cried Bruce, half an hour later. “There’s a dive for you—oh, grand!”
Three of the contestants with a decidedly poor showing retired from the field, among them the Syndicate entrant. Nine kept aloft, with three deliveries to its score.
It seemed as though Dave and Hiram were husbanding their strength for a final brilliant exploit. TheScouttook a backward swing of nearly a mile. Then at full speed its pilot headed it down the last side of the long track.
“Eight, nine and ten—oh, they’ve made it!” shouted the delighted Bruce Beresford. “Thirty and twenty are fifty. Mr. Brackett, we’re even now with theWhirlwindpeople!”
QUEER PROCEEDINGS
QUEER PROCEEDINGS
QUEER PROCEEDINGS
Hiram and Bruce talked of many matters the rest of that day. The former was proud and elated over his success, and Bruce would not discount the greatness of his friend’s feat.
“You beat them all put together,” he told Hiram. “I heard two men talking with one of the committee near the grand stand. I think they had something to do with the government postal service.”
“They can’t hire me away from Dave,” observed Hiram with a wink and a laugh.
“Well, they asked the committee man for the names of the crew of theScoutand took them down.”
“Oh, it wasn’t much,” insisted Hiram. “All I’m glad for is that it gives us twenty more points. I feel safe now.”
“What with the big event, the long distance stunt, ahead?”
“There hasn’t been a second that Mr. Brackett and Dave have not counted on theArielwinning that particular event,” declared Hiram.
“It’s to-morrow; isn’t it?” asked Bruce. “I hope we have a fine day.”
The conversation took place just before dusk. Then Mr. Brackett and Dave called Hiram into the little office of the hangar to go over some details of the morrow’s race. Bruce got through with some cleaning work about theScout, put on his coat and passed by the hangar entrance.
“Say, you go down to the restaurant and wait for me,” spoke Hiram, appearing in the doorway. “I’ll be along in about fifteen minutes.”
“All right,” assented Bruce, and he started across the grounds, whistling cheerily.
It was wonderful the change that had taken place in the appearance and fortunes of the orphan lad, since his first chance acquaintance with Hiram Dobbs, and later with Dave Dashaway. As he proceeded to the restaurant, free, well dressed, with money in his pocket and all worry about his little sister Lois gone, Bruce felt like a new being.
“If ever a fellow was grateful I am!” he soliloquized. “Those two friends have not only asked me to stay with them, but really want me to do it. Even Mr. Brackett has taken a liking to me. He told Mr. Dashaway to put me on the pay roll at ten dollars a week, and I’m a part of all this great bustle and excitement going on here. And that scheme of mine—the diamonds!”
The speaker’s eyes sparkled. He had not told Hiram everything about them—an interruption had diverted into business channels a conversation they were holding. Then the winning of the mail bag contest had put everything else out of the head of the proud young pilot of theScoutfor the time being.
Bruce had not taken the diamond stick pins found in the little biplane to the police. He had ferreted around and had located the people from whom they were stolen. The robbery had taken place at a large jewelry store. Bruce had called upon its proprietor.
The latter regarded him at first with some suspicion, for Bruce was guarded, and felt his way cautiously. He produced the diamonds he had found, and told his story.
“Why—I’ve come to you, is because I’m willing to give some time to hunting for the rest of those diamonds if you say the word,” he had told the jeweler. “I’ve got some ideas. Maybe they’re no good, but I’m pretty well acquainted around Wayville, the town where the robber was hurt, and I might stumble across something.”
The jeweler became eager. He was dissatisfied with the police, he said. He encouraged Bruce in every way he could. He even offered to pay a reward for the recovery of the stick pins. This Brucedeclined. However, when he left the store it was with a springy step and great hopes—and the promise of a reward if he found the robber’s booty thrilled him.
“Why, I’d be rich!” he told himself breathlessly. “I’d have money enough to fight old Martin Dawson through the courts to the last finish. Oh, yes—as soon as the meet here is over, I’m going to go to Wayville. There’s something I know that the police didn’t know, and it may lead to big results.”
Bruce reached the restaurant dwelling on excited anticipations over the diamonds, and filled with pleasant thoughts as to his new environment generally. His mind was fully occupied for about a quarter of an hour. Then he began to get hungry and impatient for Hiram to arrive. A man came in rather hurriedly, and went over to a table in a shadowed corner of the room. Bruce, studying everything going on to pass the time away, noticed something peculiar about the newcomer.
The latter wore a light overcoat with a well turned up collar. He had a very dark beard, and wore colored goggles.
“I’ll wager that man doesn’t want to be noticed much,” thought Bruce, as the man took a seat with his back turned to those at the other tables.
The newcomer ordered a light lunch. He did not seem to enjoy it much. He ate it rapidly. Then he kept looking at his watch as if impatient for some certain minute to arrive. He drew the bill of fare towards him, fumbled it over, took a pencil from his pocket and began aimlessly to scribble on its reverse blank surface.
Finally he arose, and, pulling his cap well down over his eyes, proceeded to the cashier’s desk to pay his check. Just then Hiram came in at a side door. He slipped into the seat opposite Bruce and fixed his eyes upon his face.
“Don’t make any suspicious move,” he spoke under his breath and rapidly. “You noticed the man who sat at the table over in the corner yonder?”
“The one just paying his check? Why, yes, I’ve been watching him for the last half hour. He’s leaving the restaurant now.”
“Go after him, don’t delay,” urged Hiram excitedly. “I’ve been watching him, too—through the window. Follow him, and see where he goes and get word to me as quick as you can.”
“Why, Hiram——”
“Don’t waste time!” interrupted Hiram almost sharply. “I may be mistaken—I think not, and this is important.”
Bruce questioned no further. He was used to obeying his friend implicitly and he had a firm belief that, impetuous as he sometimes was, Hiram generally knew what he was about.
The minute Bruce was gone Hiram glided over to the table recently occupied by the stranger. His point of immediate interest was the bill of fare upon which the man had just been scribbling—Hiram scanned its surface eagerly. His eyes brightened from surmise to conviction.
“Aha!” he almost cried out. “I was right. It’s Mr. Borden.”
What that might mean to them all Hiram did not know. Why Borden had appeared on the scene in disguise he did not know, either. All Hiram considered at that moment was that the tramp artist had proven a good friend in the past. He had not come to them of late, and probably had a reason for it. He would scarcely venture in the vicinity of the Syndicate crowd unless he had another reason.
Borden might have been a tramp once, but he presented that appearance no longer. Artist he still was, for he had idly sketched many faces upon the bill of fare because it was natural for him to do it.
Hiram had been nearing the restaurant when he saw the man enter it. Something in the free, careless swing of the stranger had reminded him of their old friend of the Midlothian grounds. He had watched him through the window. Now he had verified his suspicions.
“What is it going to lead to?” he meditated impatiently and sat drumming his finger tips nervously on the table, waiting for his friend and messenger to show up.
Worthington, Valdec and three others of the Syndicate crowd strolled noisily into the restaurant. The coincidence of their arrival made the thoughtful Hiram wonder if Borden had been timing their movements.
In about twenty minutes he saw Bruce enter the doorway, so Hiram arose quickly and jostled him back into the street.
“Never mind supper for a bit,” he said, leading his companion to a distance from the restaurant. “The Worthington crowd are in there and they might be snooping around if we got to talking. The man you followed—what about him?”
“He slipped away from me,” reported Bruce with some perturbation, “in the most remarkable way.”
“Where did he go?” pressed Hiram.
“To the Syndicate hangar. Most of that crowd were getting ready for supper. The man you sent me to follow went in around the camp in a sly, slinking way as if he knew his bearings pretty well.”
“He did, indeed!” murmured Hiram.
“I thought,” narrated Bruce, “that he had got away from me, when he came bolting out from the big hangar. I hadn’t seen him go in. He had something in one hand wrapped up in a piece of cloth, a bag I took it to be. He ran straight for the fence. I got behind a tool shed and watched him.”
“Go on,” urged Hiram eagerly.
“Well, one of the electric lights shone pretty bright just there. The man put his parcel on the ground. Then he took something from his pocket and slipped it across one ankle. I took it to be a band with a hook to it. He must have had another hook in his hand for he ran up that fence and vanished over the top of it like a monkey.”
“But the package he brought from theWhirlwindhangar?” asked Hiram.
“Oh, yes—I came near forgetting that. When he set it on the ground the wrapping fell away from it and I saw what it was.”
“And what was it?” asked Hiram.
“A barograph, just like the one you have in theAriel.”
“Are you sure?” eagerly asked Hiram. “A barograph, you say?”
“Yes,” repeated Bruce, wondering at the earnest, excited manner of his comrade. “Even at the distance I was I could see the record reel and the metal recorder, and—why, what are you grabbing my arm that way for?” inquired Bruce in surprise. “And you’re trembling all over.”
“Should think I would!” declared Hiram Dobbs, his tones quivering with the satisfaction of some great discovery—“I see the light at last!”