"Course of Flight Training.
"Course of Flight Training.
I.Dual Instruction.
II.Elementary Solo Flying.
First solo: Five minute flight, necessary turns, one landing
First 5 hours: Take-offs, turns, landings
Instruction flight: Instruction as necessary, including spins; power stall landings (seaplanes only)
5 to 10 hours: Take-offs, turns, spirals, landings
Instruction flight: Instruction as necessary, including spins
10-15 hours: Same as 5 to 10 hours
III.Advanced Flying.
Instruction flight: Reverse control turns and spirals, side-slips, power spins
15-20 hours: Take-offs, turns, spirals, landings; reverse control turns and spirals
Instruction flight--Acrobatics
20-25 hours: Acrobatics, with 20 minutes of each hour on elementary work
Instruction flight: Precision landings, forced landings, figure-eight turns, wing-overs
25-30 hours: Precision landings, forced landings, figure-eight turns, wing-overs
Final instructions flight: Review; instruction as necessary."
"Looks pretty complicated to me," sighed Dorothy, handing back the paper. "Gee, but there's a lot to learn!"
"More than the average novice has any idea of. But don't imagine that this course will make you or anyone else an experienced pilot. Additional time must be spent in the air before you can get an interstate commercial pilot's license. But after the instruction I've outlined here, your knowledge of flying should be sufficient to enable you to go on with your training yourself."
"I hope so," said Dorothy, but there was little confidence in her tone.
Bill brought the car to a stop beside an open field.
"Cheer up!" he encouraged. "Flying is like anything else worth while--troublesome to learn, but easy enough when you know how. Hop out, kid. There's the N-9, with her new landing gear, over there. Frank will take the car back. We'll fly up to my place now and I'll give you your first real instruction over our own flying field!"
Chapter IXAIR TRAILS
Dorothy donned her overalls while Bill spoke to the mechanic who was waiting by the plane. Then the man got into a car and drove away, and Bill beckoned her to him.
"All set?"
"All set."
"Then we'll begin. First of all, you must know the names of the different parts of the plane. Some you know already, but we'll go over them just the same. That hinged movable auxiliary surface on the trailing edge of the wing is an aileron. Its primary function is to impress a rolling movement on the airplane. Got that?"
"Yes."
"Then repeat what I just said."
Dorothy did so.
"Good. Now this is a drag wire."
After twenty minutes of this kind of thing he asked her to point out an aileron and explain its use.
"K.O." he said at last. "We'll go over parts each day for a while and the book work you must do at home will help to refresh your memory. Now nip into the forward cockpit and I'll explain the working of the controls."
He gave Dorothy a hand up and when she was seated, swung himself on to the cowl of the cockpit.
"First of all--and let this become habit--" he ordered, "adjust your safety belt. Yes, that's the way. Now we'll go ahead. That's the stick there. Take hold of it. You'll notice it is pivoted at its base. Forward movement of the stick increases the angle of attack of the elevators and depresses the nose. Backward movement decreases angle and raises the nose. Lateral movement of the stick operates the ailerons, movement to the right depressing the right wing, and to the left, the left wing."
When she was sure she understood the functions of one thing he explained the next.
"Now tell me just what I have told you--" he commanded.
Fully an hour had gone by before he was satisfied that she understood thoroughly.
"Tired?" he asked at last.
"Not a bit," she smiled. "I'm afraid I'm kind of dumb--but all these gadgets, as you call them, are a little confusing at first."
"Oh, you're catching on in first rate order," he told her. "Nothing but practice will make you letter perfect. And that comes soon enough when you handle the plane yourself. Now I'll fly us home. All I want you to do is to fold your arms and listen. Keep your eyes in the cockpit and watch the movements of the stick and rudder bar. My cockpit aft is equipped with similar controls. When I move my stick--yours moves--and vice versa. All right?"
"You bet."
He reached in his pocket and drew forth a small leather-bound book which he handed her.
"Here's your Flight Log Book, Dorothy. Write it up after every flight. There are columns for the date, type of plane, duration and character of flight, passengers or crew carried (if any) and remarks. A commercial pilot should have his log book certified monthly by an official of the company. For a student it is a good thing to commence during training. Stick it in your pocket," he advised as she thanked him. "And put on this helmet. It's a Gosport, with phones in both ear flaps, connected by a voice tube to this mouthpiece. I'll use that end of it to coach you through during flight."
"But this helmet is hard and stiff," objected Dorothy. "I'll bet it isn't nearly as comfortable as that nice soft leather one you're wearing."
"Possibly not. But until you're through with your instruction I want you to wear a 'crash' helmet. They're a lot of protection for the head in case of minor accident. No instructor worth his salt permits a student to use a soft leather helmet until you've had a lot of experience."
"Oh, very well then," she said, adjusting her heavy headgear, "you're the boss!"
"You bet I am when it comes to this kind of thing. If I weren't sure you were willing to give me strict obedience, I'd never propose teaching you. And please remember that this isn't a joy hop. The more attentive you are to instruction--the quicker you'll learn."
"I'm your willing slave, sir," she mocked good-humoredly, and drew the helmet strap tight beneath her chin.
Then as the engine roared and the plane rolled forward she felt the same thrill she had experienced the afternoon before when she and Bill had taken off in the amphibian. The same tightening of her muscles and beating throb of the pulse in her neck. They were soaring upward now and the sensation of smoothness became apparent after the jars and bumps of taxiing over the rough field. The sting of the wind on her face was exhilarating, but her eyes were streaming. Realizing that she had forgot to adjust her goggles, she pulled them down from the front of her helmet.
"I've been wondering how long it would be before you did that," came Bill's voice through the headphones. "Never mind--it's a grand thrill while it lasts--you'll lose it soon enough."
Dorothy, for the first time in her life, found a retort impossible to make.
"Now that we've got enough air under us," Bill's voice continued, "I'm going to fly straight for home. Remember what I said about watching your stick and rudder bar. Also keep an eye on the bank-and-turn indicator as well as the fore and aft level indicator and inclinometer."
Dorothy shifted her gaze to the instrument board before her. Unconsciously she ticked off the other instruments. There were the two Bill had just mentioned; a magneto switch, oil pressure gauge, earth inductor, compass indicator, altimeter, 8-day clock, primary pump and tachometer. It pleased her that she could so readily recall their names and uses. Then she heard Bill's voice in her ear again:
"The reason that I keep pulling the stick back slightly so often, Dorothy, in level flight, is because the old bus is a bit nose heavy. You'll notice it when you handle her later on. It's nothing to worry about. Very few planes are perfectly balanced."
Dorothy turned her eyes guiltily on the stick again. She had been caught napping that time! One really needed half a dozen pairs of eyes for a job like this. And--how different Bill's manner aboard an airplane, she thought. He was certainly all business. But she respected and admired his knowledge and his ability as an airpilot which left no opening for argument.
"You can look overside now," came his voice again interrupting her thoughts. "We're going to land."
Below them she saw the Bolton's house. The nose of the plane dropped suddenly as the stick went forward and they shot down to land on the field near the Bolton's hangar.
Bill spoke again from the rear cockpit. "If you're ready for more flight instruction, hold up your right hand."
Dorothy held up her right hand.
"Good. Then we'll practice taxiing," came back the even voice. "Remember that a land plane with engine idling will remain at rest on the ground in winds of normal force. That means that all movement of the plane must be made by use of the engine. When your bus begins to move you control it primarily by using the rudder. In a wind as strong as the one blowing now, you'll notice the plane's tendency to turn into it. That's due to the effect on the tail. It tends to swing like a weathervane until the nose is headed directly toward the point of the compass from which the wind is blowing. Your experience in sailing is going to be a great help.
"Now, just one thing more and we'll shove off. While taxiing, you must hold the stick well back of neutral. That will prevent any tendency of the tail to rise and cause the plane to nose over. Grasp the stick lightly with your fingers. Never freeze onto anything. If you feel me wiggle the stick sharply--let go at once. I may or may not have my hands and feet on the controls, but you cannot know that. Act just as if you were alone in the plane. Got all that?"
Dorothy raised her hand again.
"Then snap on the ignition and get going."
For the next hour she taxied theN-9around the field while Bill issued commands from the rear cockpit. So interested was she in her lesson that it seemed no time at all before he told her to shut off the engine.
"Take off your helmet and get down," he said as the plane came to a stop. And he helped her overside.
"Gee, Bill, it's wonderful!" she cried, jumping lightly to the ground beside him.
"You did splendidly," he encouraged. "This field is pretty rough in spots--makes it bumpy going. How are you--stiff?"
"Not a bit!"
"You need a rest, just the same."
"But I'm not in the least tired. Can't I go up now?"
Bill looked at her and shook his head. "Nothing doing," he said with pretended sternness. "That is--not for the next fifteen minutes. Here comes Frank with something cold to drink on his tray--horse's neck, probably. There's nothing like iced ginger ale with a string of lemon peel in it when you're real thirsty!"
"My, you're thoughtful!"
"Don't thank me--it's all Frank's idea."
They sipped their drinks in the shade of the old barn that had been turned into a hangar for the Bolton's planes.
"While you're resting, I want you to study this paper, Dorothy. It's a routine I want you to follow in preparing for every flight you take--with me, or soloing," he explained, handing it over. "When you've got it by heart, repeat it to me and then we'll carry on. Your first job for the next hop will be to do exactly what I've written there."
For perhaps ten minutes both were silent and Bill closed his eyes and turned over on his back.
"Asleep?" asked Dorothy presently.
"No--just relaxing. Got that dope down pat?"
"Sure. I mean, yes, instructor."
"Give me back the paper then, and shoot!" he said, sitting up.
"Preparations for flight:" recited Dorothy. "First, inspect the plane and engine as necessary. Second, observe the wind direction. Third, observe the course direction (if a course is being flown). Fourth, set the altimeter. Fifth, see that helmet, goggles and cushions are properly adjusted. Sixth, see that cloth to wipe goggles is handy. Seventh, give the engine a ground test. Eighth, see that the gas valve is properly set. Ninth and last--Buckle the safety belt!"
"One hundred per cent! Good work, Dot. Now come over to the plane and show me how you do it."
He grinned, awaiting a quick retort--but Dorothy, intent on the business of learning to fly, walked at his side in a fit of concentration.
"She sure is keen," he said to himself. "I never got a rise--and 'Dot,' to Dorothy, is like waving the American flag at a Mexican bull!"
Dorothy continued to prove her aptitude for she went through the flight preparations with but one mistake. She entirely forgot the matter of the cloth to wipe her goggles!
Presently he took her up again and started in with his coaching.
"You now have thirty-five hundred feet registered on your altimeter," he announced through her phone. "Enough air below to get us out of trouble if we should happen to get into it. The higher one flies, the safer one is. Now you are going to get straight flight instruction. I am moving the stick backward--now forward--now backward--now forward. See how the nose of the plane rises and falls in response? Watch closely--I'm going to do it again. There, now--take the stick and do it yourself."
Dorothy did as he bade her. It was thrilling to feel the huge plane respond to her will.
Then followed instruction in moving the stick successively right and left by which means the right wing and then the left are correspondingly depressed. After that came rudder instruction. First Bill pushed the right and left sides of the rudder bar successively, forward, thereby swerving the nose first to the right and then to the left.
Dorothy, of course repeated these movements after him.
Then he explained that to hold a steady course, to fly straight, constant right rudder must be maintained to overcome the torque, or drag of the propeller blades tending to swing the nose to the left. While to fly level longitudinally, some point on the engine is kept in line with the horizon. That to fly level laterally, up aileron and opposite rudder are applied whenever a wing drops. He told her numerous other things, such as that when flying straight, the nose should frequently be dropped momentarily, or the course changed a few degrees in order to look ahead. Otherwise, an approaching plane may be hidden by the engine.
"Good night!" thought Dorothy as she strained her ears to catch every word, while she watched the controls and saw how the plane reacted to their manipulation by her instructor. "If it takes all this detail to fly straight and level, I'll get the heebie-jeebies when it comes to acrobatics!"
"Take over controls," came Bill's voice. "Fly straight for that white church tower on the horizon."
Dorothy's body stiffened, but she took hold of the stick again bravely enough, and placed her feet on the rudder bar at the same time. She could feel her temples throbbing, and her heart was beating faster than the clock on her instrument board. At last she was actually flying an airplane--all by herself. But was she? Suddenly there came a check in the forward speed of the plane and Dorothy felt it start to slew off sideways as the nose dropped.
Then before she knew exactly what was happening, the stick in her hand seemed to spring back, then to the right, while right rudder increased considerably without help from her foot. Up came the nose, followed by the left wing, and down went the right. The slewing stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Then she felt left aileron and left rudder being applied--and once more the N-9 was flying straight and level.
"Forgot what I said about checking a skid just now, didn't you?" said Bill's voice in her ear. "Here's the news again. Any swinging of the nose to the left can be promptly recognized and checked--but,--and here's where you went wrong--the nose cannot be swung back to the right without applying a small bank. Any attempt to do so will cause your plane to skid. That naturally results in a loss of flying speed forward and the heavier end drops. If not checked at once, it means going into a spin. Carry on again now, and please try to keep your wits about you. This is not a kiddie-car. Mistakes are apt to be costly!"
Dorothy bit her lips in anger. More than ever did she regret the lack of a mouth piece on her head phone. Her temper flared at his sharp tone, and what seemed to her unfair criticism so early in the game. But she took over again as he ordered and gradually her vexation disappeared in her effort to concentrate every faculty on the job of flying the plane and keeping to her course. She was gradually gaining confidence. She made the same maneuvers which had caused the skid before, and carried through perfectly.
Bill told her so in no stinted terms, and the last shreds of her anger disappeared.
"The man who putmeover the bumps," he added, "always said: 'when a student aviator makes a mistake, give him blazes--make him mad. He'll remember what he should have done all the better--and live longer!' That advice applies to either sex, Dorothy. Naturally, I hope you'll live to a ripe old age."
Dorothy liked him for this apology. She wanted to thank him but of course that was out of the question.
"I'll take her over now." She heard his even tones once more, above the engine's roar. "Time for lunch. This afternoon, if you like, we'll take up another end of this business. And you can get even by teaching me how to become an honest-to-goodness sleuthhound!"
Chapter XTHE MEETING
After lunch Dorothy and Bill established themselves comfortably in the shade of the terrace awning back of the Bolton's house, and Dorothy's ground training began.
"First of all," said her instructor, "you must learn the signals for maneuvers, such as when the stick is shaken laterally, one hand held up, it means control of the plane is resumed by the instructor. Opening the throttle in a glide means resume level flight. There are eight of these signals to memorize. Then there are eight correction signals as well."
"I'll get them down soon enough," his pupil assured him. "Is that all?"
"I should say not. That's just a starter. Your ground training will consist of three parts: theoretic training, which takes up principles of flight; aircraft construction, aviation engine construction; and the elements of meteorology. Next, practical training, which embraces the maintenance and repair of aircraft together with maintenance and repair of aviation engines. Then comes aviation procedure, which takes up air commerce regulations; instruction procedure (signals come under that) and precautions and general instructions."
"Whew!" whistled Dorothy in dismay. "Itisa business!"
Bill laughed at her forlorn expression. "Cheer up--the first hundred years are the hardest. But seriously, to become an efficient air pilot, it is essential to know thoroughly this ground work and all of the maneuvers I listed under elementary flying. None of them can be safely omitted. Of those I included under advanced flying, acrobatics are not required for a pilot's license, but they're a grand help in developing ability to handle a plane with confidence. Proficiency in reverse control flying, precision landings with power, forced landings and cross country flying is required for an interstate commercial license--and vital for every pilot."
"Isthatall?" asked Dorothy, with diminished enthusiasm.
"No. To become a real flyer, you must understand aerial navigation and pass off formation flying and night flying. It sounds like a lot--but it really isn't so difficult. Of course, if you don'twantto go the whole way--"
"Oh, but I do, Bill," she said earnestly. "It's only that I never dreamed there was so much to be learned. It kind of takes my breath away--"
"You mustn't let that bother you. I'm glad you're going to do the thing up right, though. It will take a lot of your time--but you'll find it worth your while. Let's get busy now. We'll start on signals. Then later this afternoon you can go up again if you feel like it."
For the next two weeks Dorothy worked daily with Bill. By the end of that time she had completed her elementary solo flying and was now engrossed in mastering the difficulties of reverse control.
Bill realized after giving her two or three lessons, that his pupil showed a high degree of aptitude for flying. Their trip home in the amphibian after the wreck of theScud, had proved pretty conclusively to him that this sixteen-year-old girl had an unusually cool and stable temperament. Ordinarily, flight training is inadvisable for anyone under eighteen years of age, and Bill knew that twenty years is preferable. For, ordinarily, the instinctive coordination between sensory organs and muscles, which is necessary toward the control of a plane in the air, does not develop earlier. An airplane must be kept moving or it will fall; and the processes of reason are far too slow to keep up with the exigencies of flight. Flying cannot be figured out like a problem in mathematics. Calculation won't do the trick--there isn't enough time for it.
Of course there are exceptions to this rule. Bill Bolton was one himself, and Dorothy, he knew, was another.
When Mr. Dixon questioned him as to Dorothy's progress, he gave him a list of the maneuvers that had already been mastered, and the approximate length of time she had taken to satisfy him in performance.
"But that doesn't mean a thing to me--" objected the older man. "Look here--I was talking to a friend of mine who is an old Royal Flying Corps man. He said that Dorothy should wait several years before training. How about it? I know your reputation as a flyer, and I've proved my confidence in you by trusting you with my daughter's life. Why is it better for her to start now, rather than later?"
"Do you play the violin, sir?"
"No ear for music." Mr. Dixon shook his head in reminiscence. "My father played well. It was his ambition that we play duets together. But after wasting money for two years on lessons for me, he gave it up. My! the sounds I made when I practiced! It must have been torture to him. I can't tell one note from another--but I remember how awful it was. But what hasthatgot to do with Dorothy's flying?"
"A good deal. You couldn't play the violin because you are not musical, and only a musical person can learn to play it well. In some respects, mastery of the violin and mastery of flying, have a common bond. With both the one fundamental requirement is natural or instinctive aptitude. Flying is an art, and without natural ability it is useless to attempt it. And if it isn't inherent, Mr. Dixon, it just can't be acquired. Moreover, the only way to find out if that aptitude exists, is by trial. If Dorothy had the natural ability for the violin that she has for flying, practice and experience would make her a second Kreisler!"
A smile crept along the corners of Mr. Dixon's mouth. "Ah, but Kreisler is aman!"
"I know, sir, but honestly, sex has nothing to do with it."
"So you think she should keep on with her flight training?"
"Iknowshe should, Mr. Dixon, if you want her to fly at all. She has all the qualifications that go toward making a reallygoodair pilot."
"Well, I'm glad to hear you say it, and glad you're so enthusiastic."
"Of course I am," declared Bill. "She's fearless and alert and she loves the work--she'll do well."
And so Dorothy continued her flight training.
She came down one afternoon from a solo flight and Bill, who had been watching her maneuvers from the shade of the hangar, walked over as the plane rolled to a stop.
"Not so good--" she called out as she sprang to the ground. "I nearly overshot my landing."
"So I noticed," returned her young instructor rather grimly. "Carelessness, you know, that's all. Keep your mind on the job. And here's something else. Remember, when you are making a flipper turn, the nose must first be dropped to level. Otherwise you'll get into serious trouble. Also don't forget that until the wings pass an angle of bank of 45 degrees your controls are not inverted and must be handled as in a normal turn."
"O.K. skipper," she sighed. "I'll remember in future."
"One thing more. Those two 360-degree spirals with an altitude loss of about 1000 feet were well done. But you must bring your plane out of reverse control spirals above 1500 feet altitude--Now we'll put your bus away and call it a day."
Work finished, they strolled over to the terrace where Frank as usual had iced drinks awaiting them.
"You've certainly taught me a lot in fourteen days," observed Dorothy after sipping her ginger ale. "But it's kind of put a crimp into our detective work. By the way, you never have told me what you had up your sleeve with regard to the robbery--something to do with an airplane coming in handy, wasn't it?"
"Your memory is better on the ground than in the air!"
"Pish! likewise, tush! You don't intend to wait till I finish training or anything like that, before coming across with that clue that will help us land those birds in jail?"
"Why should I?"
"I don't know. Thought maybe you might figure my interest in landing the gang would take my mind off flying--"
Bill took a long, refreshing drink of the iced liquid at his elbow. "You're on the wrong track. I'm simply biding my time and keeping a finger on the pulse of the robbery, as it were."
"Do you mean that?"
"I'm in deadly earnest," he assured her, although his eyes twinkled mischievously.
"Then all I can say," exclaimed Dorothy, "is that you're one up on everybody else who is working on the case."
"How come?"
"Why? you know as well as I do that when the Packard rolled out of the alley by the bank, in all probability carrying three people and the loot, it disappeared completely. And it's stayed that way ever since, hasn't it? That's two weeks ago tonight."
"Any new clues lately?"
"Nary a one. The police traced the red-headed girl's finger prints to Sarah Martinelli, better known as Staten Island Sadie. They sent Dad her record--I saw it--believe me, that lady is a ripe egg!"
"How beautifully expressive."
Dorothy raised her eyes from her compact's tiny mirror.
"Well, she must be!--Are you trying to kid me?"
Bill finished his ginger ale. "Come on, tell me the rest."
Dorothy grinned. "That's all there is, there isn't any more, my child. Don't imagine those police are efficient, do you? None of the missing bonds have been found, and as for the money, those chaps have probably spent it by this time. I feel awfully sorry for Daddy, though," she continued in a changed voice, "--that Mrs. Hamberfield is still raising the roof about her diamond necklace. Serves her right for being such a mutt, I say."
"Tough on both parties, I should think."
"Nothing of the kind. Daddy says that her husband, Stonington Hamberfield, made his coin profiteering during the war. What do you think his name really is?"
"You tell me."
"Steinburg Hammerfeld--isn't that a hot one?"
"A Hun, eh?"
"Well, if he isn't--I'm President Hindenburg, San Francisco Harbor and the Statue of Liberty all in one!"
Bill smiled appreciatively at this sally, then changed the subject. "Let's go to the movies this evening?"
"Can't. It's Pen and Pencil Club night."
"What on earth is that?"
"Oh, about a year ago, a bunch of us at high school, girls and fellows, started a club to write short stories. We meet every other Tuesday night at some member's house. Everybody has to write a story at least one a month, or they're fined a quarter. We read aloud and discuss them at the meeting. Come with me after supper and pay my quarter."
"Nothing doing. That kind of thing is my idea of a perfectly terrible evening."
Dorothy slipped the compact into a pocket of her jodhpurs and got to her feet.
"That's where you're all wrong, Bill. Noel Sainsbury, the writer, is our adviser. He makes it awfully interesting--we have lots of fun. He was a naval aviator during the war. You two should have lots in common. Do come along and meet him."
"Why I dined at his place, Little Windows, last night!"
"Oh, you do know him?"
"Naturally. Where would I be if it weren't for him? Look at the books he's written about me. Noel Sainsbury brought Dad and me to New Canaan. We're awfully fond of him and his wife and little girl."
"Yes, Winks is a darling and Mrs. Sainsbury is a peach--" Dorothy agreed. "She comes to our meetings, too. I'm named for her, you know."
"Really? That's interesting."
"You bet. Then you'll come tonight?"
"I'd like to, very much."
"All right. The meeting is at Betty Mayo's, in White Oak Shade. I'll be here about eight in my car and drive you down there."
"I'll be ready--so long!"
"So long!"
It was nearly quarter to nine before they got started, as things turned out. Mr. Dixon had gone to New York for the day on business, had been detained in town, and Dorothy waited dinner for him.
"Well, we won't have missed much," she explained to Bill as her car breasted the Marvin Ridge Road. "The first half hour is always taken up with the minutes of the last meeting and all that parliamentary stuff. I love driving in the twilight, anyway. Next place on the left is where we're bound. We'll be there in a jiffy."
They rounded a bend and came upon a Packard parked at the roadside. The hood was up and a man looked up from tinkering with the engine as their lights outlined his figure.
"Pull up! pull up!" Bill's tense whisper sounded in her ears. "Where are your eyes, girl?"
But Dorothy needed no second warning. She shot home the brake, for she too had seen the great, misshapen boot that the dapper little motorist wore on his left foot.
Chapter XIFOLLOW THE LEADER
"Need any help?" inquired Bill, as Dorothy drew up opposite the Packard.
"Thanks! This thing has got me stumped. I'm not much of a mechanician," returned the lame man ruefully. "Do you know anything about motors?"
"Making them behave is my long suit," was Bill's glib retort as he alighted from the car and crossed the road. "Let's see if I can locate your trouble. Got plenty of gas?"
"Lots of it. I just looked to see."
"Then let me have your flashlight while I give her the once over."
"Wait a minute--" called Dorothy, "I'll swing this car round and put my lights on the engine. There--is that better?" she ended, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice.
"Nothing could be sweeter!" sang out Bill without turning his head. "Hold her as you are."
Dorothy's offer had not been quite so altruistic as it sounded, for now her lights brilliantly illuminated the two figures bending over the Packard's engine. While Bill went over the motor with the sureness of an expert, keeping up a desultory conversation with the stranger, Dorothy used her eyes to good advantage.
But after a while she grew impatient. Why didn't Bill capture the man at once so they could haul him off to the police station? Why did he continue to go on with his pretended inspection of the engine? He couldn't really be in earnest, for if he found the trouble and fixed it, the lame man would simply get in his car and drive away. Could it be that Bill wasn't sure of his quarry? Of course, he was clean shaven, although Lizzie had described him as having a small mustache. Naturally, he'd shave it off. By this time he must know that his description had been broadcast. And so far as she could see the earrings were missing too. But that was to be expected. And he spoke good English with a slight Italian accent.
What was the matter with Bill! He was big enough to take care of the man with one hand, when all he did was tinker and jabber. What was the use of that?
"Your engine seems to be in A-1 condition," Bill was saying. "Doesn't look as if you'd been running the car lately."
"I haven't," replied the lame man. "She ran like a charm when I drove down here earlier this evening. Then all of a sudden she stops--and won't go on."
"Ah! here we are!" Bill exclaimed a moment later. "You've got a choked jet. I'll fix that in a jiffy."
"You are very kind," beamed the Italian. "Is that a serious trouble?"
"Not so bad. Buy better gas and have your carburetor well looked over. I'll fix it so the car will move, though."
"Do you think she will run fifty miles?"
"Sure--but there are plenty of garages nearer than that if you want to fix it."
"I'll wait until I reach home. My friend--he will give the engine a thorough going over. He understands very well such things."
"Good enough." Bill straightened his back and closed the hood. "You're O.K. now. She'll run."
"Then thank you so much. You have been very kind."
"Don't mention it." Bill waved farewell and crossed the road as the lame man climbed into his car and drove off in the direction of New Canaan village.
"What everisthe matter with you?" Dorothy broke out in a fever of angry disappointment. "Why didn't you nab him while you had the chance? Now he'll get away and--"
"Hush, sister! Likewise calm yourself," cut in Bill. "Move over. I'm going to drive. This business isn't finished by a long shot. It has only just begun."
Dorothy, flabbergasted by his high-handed manner, slid across the seat as he directed, and Bill sprang in behind the wheel. The tail light of the Packard disappeared around the bend of the road.
"What's the idea?" she fumed.
"Wait till we get going, Dot." Bill threw in the reverse and started to turn the car in the direction from which they had come a quarter of an hour before.
"Don'tcall me 'Dot'! You know I won't stand for it. Aren't you the limit--Going to try to trail him, I suppose, when you could have nailed him right here!"
"Don't get peeved!" Bill swung the little car onto the road and switching off his lights brought his foot down on the accelerator. "I know what I'm doing."
"Well, maybeyou do." Her voice was full of sarcasm. "But we might just as well go back to the Pen and Pencil meeting. You'll never catch up with his bus."
"Shan't try to. There's his tail light now!" They rounded the turn and Bill sent the car streaking along the black road like a terrified cat up a back alley. "There's no need to get snippy," he added. "You heard what our friend said abouthisfriend--who understands all about engines? On a bet, that's the lad who wore the chauffeur's cap and beaned the night watchman. He said he'd let him look over the carburetor when he got home, didn't he? And like as not that ripe egg lady--the one with the red head--will be there too!"
"Staten Island Sadie?"
"Sure thing."
"Perhaps," admitted Dorothy. "The lame manwasalone in his car. But you stand a good chance of losing him, even if he doesn't see us. We'll have to switch on the lights going through towns."
"But, you see, I'm pretty sure I know where he's bound for."
"You do?" Her surprise drove all petulance from her tone.
"That's what I've kept up my sleeve. If he takes the Ridgefield Road, out of New Canaan, then I'm certain of it."
"Better switch on the glims again," she advised. "We'll crash or get a ticket running without them in this South Main Street traffic--we're nearly in the village now. I can spot the Packard ahead there." Then, contritely, she continued: "Sorry I was peeved, Bill, old thing. I didn't understand. Forgive me--and let's hear all about it."
"Of course--hello!" he cried. "He's slowed down. Confound it, anyway. That comes of talking and not keeping my mind on the job. I'll bet he has his suspicions. Wants to see if we're following--nothing dumb about that bird. I shouldn't have driven so close. He'll tumble to a certainty if we slow up too."
"What are you going to do?"
"Give me time--" he answered grimly. "Confound again! There goes the red light on the Library corner! Now we're in for it."
"P'raps he won't notice us," said Dorothy hopefully as they drew up behind the Packard.
"Not a chance. But we'll fool him yet. Let me do the talking," he whispered as the lame man thrust his head out of the car and looked back at them.
"Hello, there!" cried Bill cheerfully. "I see you've got this far without another breakdown!"
"Good evening, my friend," replied the Italian. "This is a surprise. I thought you were going the other way."
"Oh, no. Just ran down there to leave a message." Bill's tone was affability itself. "You must have come pretty slowly. How's the car running?"
"Nicely, thank you."
"Don't be afraid to let her out. Well--there's the light. Excuse me if I pass you," he said airly. "We're in a hurry. So long."
"Au revoir ..." Dorothy added gaily and waved her hand as Bill swung to the left, then headed up Main Street in advance of the Packard.
"Aren't you smart! You'll get us into a heap of trouble yet with your 'au revoirs'!"
"Hey, there"--she cried. They were rolling swiftly up the hill past the bank.
"You should have turned right then left, for Ridgefield--back at the last corner!"
Bill laughed. "Old Angel Face did just as I figured," he informed her, still chuckling. "I spotted him making the turn, in the glass."
"Where are we going? Sure you haven't lost him?"
"Listen. That chap is heading for Ridgefield. From there he will run another ten miles up to Danbury. Unless I'm completely wet, his objective is a certain house in the hills on a back road, over toward the New York borderline about twenty-five miles north. It's a rough, wild stretch of country, with Pawling, N. Y., to the west and New Milford, Connecticut, on the east, that he's heading for. Nice riding too, dirt roads, mere trails that haven't had a scraper on them since the Revolution. That house I just told you about is a good ten miles from a railroad as a plane flies--probably twice as far by road."
"Interesting--but why are we heading this way?"
"Simply because it is too dangerous to follow that lad just now. He smells a rat and is sure to park in some dark spot along the way to make certain he's not being followed."
"Then whatarewe going to do?"
"I'm going to run west over to Bedford, New York. Then north from there through Golden Bridge and Croton Falls to Brewster. From Brewster I'll keep to the same state road north toward Pawling. But just before I get to Patterson, there's a dirt road that turns off into the hills to the northeast. That's the one I'll follow. Eventually, I'll get to the house. Angel Face's route is shorter--but I'll get there soon after he does, if he stops along the way to see if anyone's after him. First of all I'll drop you at your house and get myself a gat."
"You'd better get two--for I'm coming with you."
"Sorry, my girl--this is a man's job."
Dorothy turned and stared at him. "Well--of all the consummate nerve--" she began.
"Sorry, Dot--it just can't be. I've got no right to let you run the risk."
"Don't youdareto 'Dot' me again!" Miss Dixon was distinctly irritated. "And what's more, if you try to ditch me, I'll phone the police station and spill everything. They'll pick you up at Bedford and horn in, of course--and like as not, they'll gum it all."
"If you talk that way, I suppose I'll have to take you."
"Of course you will. Say, Bill, that was only a bluff, wasn't it?"
Bill smiled. "Perhaps. But it's a risky business."
"No worse than learning to fly, is it?"
"Fifty-fifty, I should say."
"That's settled, then. What I can't understand is why you didn't corral that gang long before this--or at least put the police on to them, if you knew where they were all the time."
"But that's just it--they haven't been in the house since the robbery. I've driven up there several times and reconnoitered from the air as well."
"Then what makes you think you'll corner the gang at the house now?"
The car turned in the Dixon's drive and came to a stop by the side entrance.
"You'll have to wait till the next chapter for that," he laughed. "Time is worth more than money now. I'll tell you all about it when we get going again. Beat it upstairs now and change that light dress for breeches and a dark sweater or coat. I'll run across the road for something more suitable and less conspicuous than white flannels."
"O.K." Dorothy sprang out of the car. "Don't forget our armory."
"Not a chance. Now forget the prinking and make it snappy," he sang out, backing down the driveway.