“I sincerely hope so,” answered the other, a little doubtfully.
In fairness to the contestants, Mr. Clavering had arranged that the planes start from different places, so that they would not have to wait long in turn for their take-offs. Linda and Ralph were to go early to the Green Falls airport to fly their autogiros up the shore, to wait until ten o’clock, the appointed time. Tom Hulbert and Frank Lawlor were to motor to a town a short distance from Green Falls, where their planes were in readiness, while Joe Elliston, Dot Crowley, and Bert Keen were all to leave from the Green Falls airport.
These last three pilots, with their passengers, were waiting at the airport when Linda, Ralph, and Amy drove over about half-past nine.
“Hurry up and get those windmills out of the way!” ordered Joe Elliston. “They clutter up the place.”
“And be sure you don’t cheat!” remarked Sarah Wheeler. “Wait till ten o’clock before you start.”
“As if five or ten minutes would make any difference,” replied Ralph. “The victor will probably win by hours, not minutes.”
“I hope there won’t be a thunderstorm,” observed Madge Keen, who was flying with her husband. “It certainly is hot.”
“I’m dropping out if anything like that happens,” said Sarah flatly. “I’m not taking chances.”
Joe looked a little doubtfully at the sky, although the sun was shining brightly. But, being an amateur, he was nervous, although he had been lucky enough to secure a Fleet, which was the kind of plane he had used for his lessons.
Linda put Amy into the autogiro, and started her motor. How smoothly it was running! Yesterday’s work was worthwhile.
“Good-by, everybody! See you all in Milwaukee!” she called. They had been given instructions to fly to the airport in that city, and there to ask for directions.
Ralph took off a few minutes later, not quite so gracefully as Linda, but nevertheless without any mishaps.
Fifteen minutes later they waved to each other as they came down along the shore of the lake, a short distance from each other, to wait for ten o’clock to arrive.
“Are you going straight across the lake?” Ralph asked Linda.
“No,” she replied. “If I fly southwest, I can reach Milwaukee a lot faster. If we went directly across the lake from here, we’d have over thirty miles to fly down the western shore of Lake Michigan.”
The young man looked dubious.
“I guess I’m a fool, but I believe I’ll take the longer route. I’m kind of afraid of that lake. I’d hate to have to swim it.”
Linda smiled, but not in contempt. She admired him all the more for his cautiousness in handling his new autogiro.
They waited together until two minutes of ten, then, with a handclasp and a mutual expression of hope for good luck, they walked back to their machines and gave them the gun.
Like Linda, Amy was in high spirits, and she thoroughly enjoyed the beautiful flight over the water. It was lovely and cool in the sky, so different from the hot atmosphere below. Linda watched her compass carefully and reached Milwaukee without any deviation.
Looking about cautiously, to make sure that none of the other planes was making a landing at the same time, she brought her “Ladybug” down on the runway and climbed out.
A smiling mechanic came towards her, congratulating her upon her success thus far, and handing her a typewritten message.
“Fly to Columbus airport,” she read. “And there receive further directions.”
“How far is Columbus?” she asked the mechanic. “Fifty miles?”
“A little over, perhaps. Want an inspection, or some gas?”
Linda glanced at the indicator. “I don’t believe so,” she answered. Then, turning to her companion, she asked, “Are you hungry, Amy?”
“No! No!” cried the girl. “Let’s not take the time to eat. Let’s have a drink of water, and get on our way. We just have to win!”
Linda smiled and nodded in agreement, and the mechanic brought them some water.
“Have you any news of the other flyers in our race?” she asked him. “How many have been here so far?”
“Two—Lt. Hulbert and a Mr. Lawlor, I believe. About fifteen minutes ago—the lieutenant was the first. And I heard that one fellow couldn’t get his plane into the air at all, and that he had to drop out before he even started.”
“That must have been Joe Elliston!” exclaimed Linda, immediately. “He was scared, anyway.”
“Yes, I believe that was the name, though the message wasn’t very clear. His plane is a Fleet?”
“Yes. Poor kid!” remarked Linda, sympathetically. “I wish we could help him.”
“Come on, Linda, we must go!” urged Amy, impatiently.
“Now you’re going to taste some speed, Amy,” Linda said, as they climbed into the cockpits. “I’m going to let her out to the limit. I want to reach Columbus in half an hour—I’m very hungry!”
Scarcely had they made their ascent when they spotted another plane approaching the airport. Though they could not see the pilot, Linda identified it as an Avian, the plane which Dot Crowley had selected for the hunt.
“Step on it! Step on it!” cried Amy, clapping her hands. “Go on, Linda!”
Thrilled with the excitement of the race, Linda urged her “Ladybug” to her greatest speed. What fun it was to know that you were safe, and yet to fly along at more than a hundred miles an hour! And how glad she was that she had brought Amy! The child was having the time of her life.
Clouds, deep piles of heavy white clouds were gathering above them when Linda brought her autogiro down at the Columbus airport. Again a mechanic came out with a typewritten message, but this time a warning was also issued.
“We are advising all pilots in the hunt to wait until the storm is over,” he said. “The sky looks bad, and the weather report is unfavorable.”
Linda frowned and opened the lunch box which Anna had packed.
“You really think it is dangerous?” she asked, looking up at the clouds.
“We certainly do. Those clouds mean a thunderstorm.”
“Oh, what do we care?” demanded Amy, as she hastily ate a sandwich. “It didn’t stop the others, did it?”
“No. But they were here a little earlier, before the skies were so black.”
“How many?” inquired Linda.
“Three. Two Moths and an Avian.”
“Tom Hulbert and Frank Lawlor—and—and Dot!” cried Linda. So Dot Crowley had caught up to them and had beaten them! Funny, they hadn’t seen her plane go past. But perhaps she was flying higher.
“Then we’ll have to go, too,” Linda decided, rather recklessly for her. “We’ll eat while you put in some gas.”
She opened the paper and read the directions. This time they were more difficult. This was to be the finish!
“Fly northwest, past Beaver Dam to Fox River. Follow the river, west, then north, to Lake Waupin. Continue about ten miles, looking for a large old house of gray plaster, with a flat roof and a tower. Land in a field behind this, and search the barn. Treasure is hidden in the barn. It is in bright red wrapping.”
Reading the words over her shoulder, Amy gasped in excitement.
“Those words are familiar, Linda. I—I know the Fox River! I’m sure I do.”
Linda, who had completely forgotten the mystery about the girl in the excitement of the morning, gazed at her in surprise.
“But you are supposed to come from Montana,” she said. “You couldn’t have come this far.”
“I don’t know,” replied the perplexed girl. “But I do know these names are familiar.”
All the while the skies grew darker than before, the thunder sounded nearer and nearer, and Linda became more fearful. Was she acting foolishly, in defiance of her aunt’s dearest wishes? But how she hated to give up, now that she had come this far!
Suddenly another plane swooped down from the skies with an awful speed that sent a shiver through Linda’s body. It was going to crash, she felt sure; the pilot could not control it. She pulled Amy back into the hangar, and watched her autogiro nervously. Would it be hit by that speeding plane, hit and dashed to pieces, too?
But miraculously the descending plane passed over the “Ladybug” and hit the ground with a thump, bouncing high into the air—seeming to hover a breathless second—then turning a pancake. It was all Linda could do to restrain a scream, and Amy cried out in fright.
But a second later a woman crept smilingly from the upturned plane, and dragged a man after her. It was Madge Keen and her husband.
“Thank Heaven!” cried Linda, dashing breathlessly to their side. “You’re not hurt?”
“No, only bruised a lot,” replied Madge. “It was a wonderful escape. I guess Bert was in too much of a hurry—we were frightened of the storm. Doesn’t it look black?”
“It certainly does,” Linda admitted. “But I guess I’ll try it.”
Madge seized the other girl’s hand and pleaded with her to wait.
“It’s certain death!” she said. “You’ll never make it, Linda!”
“I thought maybe I could get above the clouds,” replied the other. “And my autogiro’s so safe, compared to ordinary planes.”
“Nothing’s safe in a storm like this,” remarked Madge. “We’re going to wait here for Ralph, and take a taxi to a hotel. We saw him in Milwaukee, and we agreed to do that if the storm came on—that all three of us would drop out of the race. We’d have to now, anyhow,” she added, pointing to the wrecked plane.
“Well, so long, then,” answered Linda, hurrying Amy into the autogiro.
They had scarcely left the ground when the rain came in torrents and the thunder and lightning grew sharper and sharper, until the terrific claps seemed to be breaking right about them, almost into their ears. With stoic courage Linda made for the heights. But she could not get out of the storm by climbing, so wisely she directed her plane as best she could away from its direction, going almost exactly west.
Though well protected with their slickers and helmets, the rain poured into the girls’ faces, making it impossible for Linda to see anything. With the clouds and the rain all about her, the earth was entirely invisible, and she had to depend solely upon her instruments.
“We’re getting away from it!” cried Amy, who had been pretty well frightened for a while. Indeed, they did seem to be making progress, for the thunder seemed a little more distant.
The pilot could not take time to bother with the speaking tube, so she made no reply. She was afraid that she would come upon another plane in this semi-darkness, and that there would ensue one of those crashes which her Aunt Emily so dreaded.
But it was over soon—they had evidently passed through it, and the skies were lighter, with blue patches appearing here and there. With a deep sigh of thankfulness, Linda dipped her autogiro lower, that they might study the landscape, for she felt sure that they were now off their course.
It was ten minutes later, and the sun was shining, when they came to a river, a broad, beautiful stream that seemed almost too wide to be the Fox River, as Linda had pictured it.
“I don’t think this is it!” she shouted to Amy. “But look for a gray stone house with a tower.”
“There are too many houses,” replied Amy. “The one we want is supposed to be all alone.”
Linda flew still lower, along the bank of the river. Suddenly Amy spied a tower.
“That must be it!” cried Linda, in excited joy. “And there’s a good big field—” Abruptly all her delight died. For there were already three planes standing in that field! She must have lost the treasure hunt!
“We’re too late!” she wailed.
“Don’t land!” shouted Amy, with intense excitement. “There isn’t any barn around here. Besides, I know—I’m sure—this isn’t the Fox River! It’s the Wisconsin.”
“Then those pilots are wrong?”
“They must be.”
“Amy, are you sure?”
“Yes, positive. Go on, Linda! We’ll beat ’em yet. Fly north! This is somehow familiar ground to me!”
Linda directed her plane upward and consulted her map. If Amy was right, and this was the Wisconsin River, there was still a chance of getting that prize. If the girl was wrong, it would be too late anyhow, for one of those three pilots would certainly have found the treasure by this time. In which case it would be better for Linda to fly directly to Lake Winnebago.
Assuming that Amy was right, and this was the Wisconsin and not the Fox River, she turned her plane to the northeast. Unfortunately, however, this act headed her right back into the storm.
Fresh clouds seemed to be gathering everywhere; it was impossible to climb above them, or to pass through them. The wind was blowing fiercely, sending the rotor blades about at a terrific speed. The autogiro seemed to sway; she felt herself suddenly in the grip of a whirlwind. Amy, frightened at last, held on to the sides of the cockpit with a deadly grip. Neither girl wore a safety belt; it seemed any moment as if they would both be dashed over the sides of the plane.
“Be ready to jump, Amy, if I give a signal!” Linda shouted through the speaking tube to her companion. Her face was white and her lips tense with fear; the autogiro was out of her control entirely. She could only wait, and trust grimly to the rotors.
Had it been any other plane than an autogiro, Linda realized that it would long ago have been hurled mercilessly through space, probably upside down. But the little “Ladybug” was gallantly battling the winds, and Linda prayed fervently that she might get it under control.
Again it rocked violently, and with a shiver of agony, she turned to the tube to tell Amy to step off. Perhaps, she thought, she could stay with it herself a little longer. Just as she was about to speak, the autogiro righted itself again and the rain began to fall in torrents, wetting them thoroughly, but dispelling the worst of the cloud. A moment later the joy stick responded to Linda’s touch; the plane made headway out of the grip of the wind. The young aviatrix breathed a prayer of thanksgiving.
They continued to fly onward amid the driving rain for some distance until the storm was spent at last, and Linda came low to take a look at the landscape. It was Amy who first spotted the river.
“There it is, Linda!” she cried joyously, as one who sees a familiar sight after a long sojourn in a foreign country. “The Fox River! I know it! I’m positive of it! Keep right on—past Lake—Lake—I forget the name.”
“Lake Waupin?” shouted Linda, consulting her map.
“Yes! Yes! How did you know?”
“By my map. How did you?”
“It’s where I lived. I’m sure.”
“Of course!” cried Linda. “This is somewhere near the spot where you met with your accident. I remember Dot and I flew over Lake Waupin, though we didn’t know its name then. But where is there any house around here? It looks so desolate.”
“Keep on going—follow the river. I’ll watch for a tower.”
Linda’s excitement was intense; even if she didn’t succeed in finding the treasure, she must be on the way to clearing up the mystery of Amy’s past life. She pressed forward eagerly, watching the river, and looking for signs of a house.
A few miles farther on Amy spotted it, and almost rose in her seat.
“There it is, Linda!” she called. “And it’s sort of familiar to me. Oh, can it be my home?”
“It seems reasonable,” replied Linda, although it certainly did not fit in with Mrs. Fishberry’s theory that Amy lived in Montana.
Just as Mr. Clavering had said, there was a field beyond, large enough for any kind of plane to land. Linda, however, did not bother with this; she selected a small spot behind the barn and brought the “Ladybug” to earth.
Wild with excitement the two girls jumped out and ran hand in hand to the barn. The big doors stood partially open; the place was empty and deserted. Amy peered inside.
Almost immediately Linda spotted the treasure. A soap box conspicuously painted red was reposing in the corner of the barn, where it could easily be seen at a glance. With a scream of delight she darted forward and made a motion to drag it out to the light to examine its contents. But it was no effort at all; the box was evidently empty.
“Don’t you s’pose there’s anything in it?” she gasped, as she set it down at the door, and began to pull out the newspaper packing. “Or is the box itself supposed to be the prize?”
Amy laughed.
“I don’t know what you could use it for, except as an ash box,” she replied. “It wouldn’t make a very good parlor ornament.”
Linda continued to pull out the papers, thrusting them aside in haste, until at last her hands touched a candy box. But as she lifted that out, she realized that it, too, was empty!
She held it over to Amy, and the girl’s eyes grew angry, as she took hold of the box.
“If it’s a trick—after all we went through—” she began.
“Well, we’ll have to be good sports,” replied Linda, taking the box back and untying the red ribbon. “But before I open it, Amy, I want to say that if there is anything valuable in it, it’s to be half yours. I’d never have found it if it hadn’t been for you.”
“That’s sweet of you, Linda dear,” replied the younger girl. “And I’ll agree—provided it’s something that can be divided. But if it should be a watch or a bracelet, or something like that, you have to consent to keep it.”
“O.K.,” answered Linda, and the girls clasped hands solemnly on the agreement; then laughed at themselves for taking so seriously what might prove to be only a joke.
Linda opened it at last, and found an envelope inside addressed to
“The Winner of the Treasure Hunt.”
She guessed now what the prize must be: money, of course! That would be something which either a man or a girl could use, no matter which one won it. But she was not prepared for the amount which greeted her, as she slit the envelope, and drew out the long green paper inside. A check of one thousand dollars, payable to the winner of the hunt, with a space left for the proper name to be filled in, and with the signature of R. W. Clavering at the bottom!
“What is it?” inquired Amy gazing at the odd piece of paper, without any understanding. “Does it mean you will get a thousand dollars?”
“It is a thousand dollars!” replied Linda. “Surely, Amy, you have seen checks before?”
The girl solemnly shook her head.
“Never,” she asserted.
“Well, it’s all right! And you have to take five hundred!” cried Linda, in delight. “That will pay your way at a business college, Amy—so that you never have to go back to that horrid Mrs. Fishberry! Oh, isn’t it just too good to be true!” She gave the girl a joyous hug. “Now let’s start back, Amy.”
Her companion hesitated.
“I’d love to see that house,” she said. “It—it is somehow familiar to me.”
Linda consulted her watch.
“We might as well,” she agreed. “It’s early. And we can easily make Lake Winnebago in an hour. All right, come on.”
“But suppose somebody lives there——”
“Then we’ll just make up an excuse and go away. Or—Amy—suppose it were your real family!”
“Oh, Linda, suppose!” The tears came to Amy’s eyes, and she added, wistfully, “Isn’t it strange that I can’t remember a thing about Mrs. Fishberry, or anybody else?”
“You will soon,” Linda insisted optimistically. “Things are coming back gradually. Come on, let’s knock at the back door.”
Hand in hand, the girls ran across the field of tall grass and weeds which separated the house from the barn and came to the kitchen, which was built out from the house as a separate wing, two stories in height. But the door was closed and barred, and all the windows apparently were locked up. There seemed to be little doubt that the place was deserted.
“Do you remember it, Amy?” asked Linda, anxiously.
“Yes—but only like something that happened in a dream,” she replied. “It seems to me that I ran barefoot through the fields—and—and—I can sort of remember drowning in the Fox River, and nobody helping me— Yes, it must have been here.”
“Let’s go around front,” suggested Linda, watching Amy’s face all the while.
“Yes, let’s. It’s an ugly house, isn’t it, Linda? So big and gloomy—and—ugh!” A shiver ran through the girl’s body, and she clung to Linda wretchedly. Another memory flashed into her brain.
“Linda,” she sobbed, “there’s a ghost in that tower.”
Linda stepped back and looked up at the roof of the house. As Mr. Clavering had said, there was a tower by which the pilots could identify the house. It rose straight from the flat mansard roof, about two stories in height. It was square, with a small window on each side, but from the ground where the girls stood, it was impossible to see within.
“How do you know?” asked Linda.
“I know it because I could see it at night from my bed-room window. I slept over the kitchen, in that wing, and I could see the tower. Oh, Linda, I’m afraid! We’re here all alone!”
“Don’t, don’t, dear!” pleaded Linda. “But we’ll go back to the autogiro unless you want to go around front. There can’t be anybody at home now——”
She stopped suddenly, for she heard a queer noise inside, as if someone were moving about.
“Do you hear that?” whispered Amy, as if she were afraid to speak aloud.
“Yes. Let’s go see if we can get in!”
Amy held back, but Linda went over to the nearest window and peered in. She saw only a dreary room, with dark, ugly furniture—a room which looked as if no one had recently lived in it.
“That wasn’t anybody real, Linda,” protested Amy. “It was the ghost. It often made queer noises at night. Oh, please let’s get away before anything happens!”
“All right. But I would love to investigate. I’m going to make Dot come over with me on Monday, if we have to climb in a window. I don’t believe in ghosts, Amy!”
“Oh, you mustn’t do that, Linda! The house is evil—I know now that I’m lucky never to have to go back to it. I don’t ever want to see it again!”
Anxious to get the girl away from her morbid thoughts, Linda challenged her to a race back to the autogiro, and they reached it together in a couple of minutes.
They climbed into the cockpits and Linda went through the usual motions of starting the engine. But, though the self-starter responded to her efforts, the motor refused to take hold. There would be a little spurt, then silence again. Patiently Linda tried over and over; each time the engine failed to respond.
With a greater sense of fear than Amy had experienced even in that terrific whirlwind, she clung desperately to the sides of the cockpit.
“Linda, what’s the matter?” she gasped, hoarsely.
“Only a faulty spark plug, I think,” responded the other, cheerfully. “I can easily fix it.”
“No, no,” said the other girl, with assurance. “I know what it is—it’s that evil spirit—that ghost in the tower!”
“Now Amy, be sensible,” returned Linda, lightly. But when she glanced at the girl’s white, drawn face, she realized how intensely she was suffering, and a real fear took possession of her, too—a deadly fear that the child would lose her reason as well as her memory.
“Linda, you don’t know! You can’t know!” Amy leaned over and gripped her companion’s hand. “If we stay here after dark, something dreadful will happen to us!”
“Well, we’re not going to stay here that long,” Linda assured her, with a great effort to keep her voice calm and natural. “Now jump out and help me.”
As fast as she could, Linda went to work to locate and replace the missing spark plug, and all the while she tried to keep Amy occupied with little jobs to help her. But it was pitiful to watch the young girl’s trembling hands, her white face, her shaking body. She was more of a hindrance than a help, yet Linda worked on as fast as she could, desperately hoping that nothing else would prove to be wrong.
The tests and the work took longer than any job Linda had done since she had taken her course at the ground school, and it was after six o’clock when the engine finally responded. Linda heaved a deep sigh of relief, as she turned to announce the good news to Amy.
But the girl was not listening; her eyes were fixed upon the figure of a woman hurrying towards them.
“Who is it?” demanded Linda, excitedly, hopefully. Oh, if this should only prove to be the girl’s mother! “Do you recognize her?”
“Yes,” replied Amy, stepping back and clutching Linda’s arm. “It’s the Fish!”
At the same moment Linda too identified the woman who had come to her house that week to claim the young girl as her niece.
Mrs. Fishberry advanced triumphantly.
“I’m glad to find you here, Helen,” she said. “Though why you trust yourself with a person who almost killed you, is beyond me.”
“What do you mean?” demanded the girl, angrily.
“You know what I mean. And I have a witness, Miss Carlton, to prove that you—and not a car—knocked Helen down— But never mind that now. I have a picture of you, Helen, and here is your baptism certificate, and your mother’s Bible. Now will you come with me?”
“No! No!” cried the girl. “I don’t ever want to see you again.”
Mrs. Fishberry held out the Bible and the family album for Linda to examine. At the same time she grasped Amy firmly by the arm.
“Do I have to go?” implored the girl. “I’ll die if I ever have to live in that house again.”
Mrs. Fishberry’s eyes narrowed.
“So you remember it, do you?” she demanded.
“Only faintly—it—seems to me that I did live there. Was there a ghost?”
“Of course not,” replied Mrs. Fishberry. “You lived here with your old grandfather and when he died, maybe you imagined you saw his ghost— But come along. I’m taking you to Chicago with me. I promise you won’t have to live there again.”
Amy looked reassured.
“All right,” she agreed. “I’ll go. But please give Miss Carlton our address, so that she can write to me, and can send me my pretty clothes.”
“Miss Carlton will hear from me soon,” replied the woman with a knowing smile. “Just now I can’t give any address, for we’ll go to a hotel in Chicago. Now come. I have a taxi down the road.”
Tearfully Amy kissed Linda good-by, as if she were her only real friend in the world, and the aviatrix returned to her autogiro. But she was despondent; all the joy of finding the treasure was lost in the grief of the parting with Amy.
She climbed into the cockpit and started her engine. As the “Ladybug” rose into the air, and reached the height of the tower, Linda remembered the ghost and could not restrain her impulse to circle back around the house, to take a glimpse for herself through the windows. Luckily there were no large trees close to the walls; she believed that she could pass the place on the side, and with the use of her field glasses, peer into the very window which had been visible to Amy if she had really slept in that wing over the kitchen, as she believed.
Turning the autogiro about, Linda dipped it to the proper height, and directed it back towards the tower. She decreased her speed to the lowest that she dared, and passed slowly by the tower, her glasses at her eyes.
The sight which Linda saw through the dusty window almost brought a scream of horror to her lips. It was unreal! Uncanny! Unbelievable! There, as clear as the tower itself, was a horrible dark figure, crouching against the pane of glass, with a face so thin that it seemed nothing but bones. Yet it was not a dead skeleton, for two evil, gleaming eyes stared vacantly at Linda. And, as the plane passed by, a deadly white hand was raised from the figure’s dark cloak, and seemed to point with menace at the young pilot.
Dumb with horror, Linda continued to stare at the apparition, forgetful of the autogiro she was piloting. Then abruptly she realized that she was dropping to the ground, and with a jerk she pulled back the joy stick.
Wiping the cold beads of sweat from her forehead, she put on all possible speed, and made a record flight to Lake Winnebago. Yet the ghastly vision haunted her all the way to her destination; never in her life was she more thankful for a safe landing than when she finally brought the “Ladybug” to earth on the field near the Inn, where Mr. Clavering’s party had already gathered.
The older people who had gone by boat and taxicab to the Inn at Lake Winnebago arrived early on Saturday afternoon. What was their surprise to be met at the door by Joe Elliston and Sarah Wheeler!
“How did you get here so soon?” demanded Mr. Clavering in amazement. “And did you find the prize?”
The young man flushed.
“No, sir, we never even got started. One of my wheels dug into a sand bank at the take-off, and was slightly damaged. There didn’t seem to be much use waiting to have it fixed, while the others got all that start. So I went back and got my car, and Sarah and I drove.”
Miss Carlton nodded approvingly.
“You certainly showed good sense, Joe,” she remarked. “I have been terribly nervous and worried all afternoon, on account of that frightful storm.”
“Oh, you can be sure that Linda is equal to any kind of weather,” put in Sarah, reassuringly. “If there’s one aviatrix in the world who knows what she’s doing, it’s your niece!”
“I hope so,” commented the older woman. “But it isn’t only Linda I’m worried about—it’s everybody. I shan’t have a happy minute until all seven planes arrive.”
“Then you’ll never have a happy moment, Miss Carlton,” remarked Joe, teasingly. “Because our plane can’t arrive!”
“Well then, six planes,” corrected the other, smiling.
“It’s possible,” observed Mrs. Crowley, “that they may all have been forced down on account of that storm. So they may not get here till morning. I don’t intend to worry until I hear bad news.”
“That’s the idea!” approved Mr. Clavering. “Now how about some iced drinks, and some sandwiches. What’ll it be?”
The whole group, composed of half a dozen older people and the young couple, seated themselves on the beautiful porch overlooking the lake and sipped the cooling drinks with which the maids supplied them at Mr. Clavering’s orders. They had scarcely finished when a taxicab drew up to the Inn and Ralph and the two Keens got out.
“What luck?” demanded everybody at once.
Madge Keen laughingly told the story.
“The only prize we got was a lot of bruises at Columbus, trying to make a landing in too great a hurry, to get out of the storm. Bert smashed the plane, Mr. Clavering.”
“Don’t worry about that,” replied the latter, reassuringly. “The insurance will take care of any damage. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“Positive.”
“And you, Ralph?”
“I left my autogiro at the Columbus airport,” replied the young man; “because I didn’t want to risk the storm. I knew if I waited it would be too late, for the other four planes had already gone when I arrived.”
“Then Linda and Dot were both flying through that dreadful thunderstorm!” cried Miss Carlton, woefully.
“And Kit and Sue!” added Mr. Clavering.
The party separated to go to their respective rooms to unpack, and half an hour later the young people gathered at the lake in their bathing suits. The storm had completely passed and the sun was shining brightly. Several of the older people joined the group, but both Mr. Clavering and Miss Carlton preferred to wait at the Inn for news of the missing flyers.
It was still early, however—too early to worry about their arrival—and Mr. Clavering was rewarded about five o’clock by the sight of two planes flying one behind the other. Both passed over the Inn, and the passengers leaned out and waved. Although neither Mr. Clavering nor Miss Carlton could make out who they were, the latter knew that neither was Linda. She did not know much about airplanes, but at least she could identify an autogiro when she saw it.
Both planes landed some distance from the Inn, and Mr. Clavering decided to go after the flyers in his car.
“I was afraid there weren’t going to be any planes here at all,” he remarked to Miss Carlton as he left the porch. “It would have been humiliating to have all the pilots come over in cars.”
“Humiliating, perhaps, but very sensible,” returned the other. She watched the sky all the while he was gone and kept looking at her watch. Why, oh, why, must her precious child be the last to arrive?
Kit and Tom Hulbert, Sue Emery and Frank Lawlor returned with Mr. Clavering in a few minutes. They were all in high spirits, obviously unharmed by the storm, but they announced immediately that they had not found the treasure.
“Linda got it, of course,” said Kit. “But she deserves it, and I’m glad.”
Miss Carlton’s face lighted up with joy, not because her niece had won the prize, but because she believed she was safe.
“You have seen Linda?” she asked, eagerly.
Kit shook her head.
“No, Miss Carlton, we haven’t. Nobody has seen her since the storm. But we four got on the wrong track, and got lost, and Dot Crowley did the same thing. We all landed beside a river, where there was a house with the tower, but it wasn’t the right house.”
“Where is Dot?” inquired Miss Carlton.
“Coming. And you see that accounts for everybody except Linda, because Dad told me that the others have already arrived. So Linda must have the prize.”
Miss Carlton groaned.
“I don’t agree with you, Kitty dear,” she said. “It’s more likely that Linda has crashed during that storm, and is stranded—possibly hurt—in some lonely place.”
“Now please don’t worry, Miss Carlton,” urged Kitty, sympathetically. “It’s only six o’clock, and you know Linda is the best flyer of all. Besides, the ‘Ladybug’ is safer than an ordinary plane.”
Mr. Clavering had given orders that the dinner be moved on to seven-thirty, in the hope that Linda might arrive in time. At exactly five minutes after the hour the “Ladybug” came roaring through the skies, and to the amusement of everyone, landed right on the front lawn of the Inn. Trying to smile gayly in spite of her encounter with Mrs. Fishberry and her vision of the strange ghost in the tower, Linda Carlton stepped out.
Everybody ran down the steps to greet her, and her aunt kissed her as if she had never expected to see her again.
“You’re safe!” she cried, with intense relief.
“Get the treasure?” demanded Dot, excitedly.
“Yes,” replied Linda, smiling. “And it’s wonderful, Mr. Clavering!” She dug into her pocket and displayed the thousand dollar check to everyone’s view.
“Whew!” exclaimed Jim Valier. “Congratulations, Linda! And can I go with you next time?”
At his joking words everybody all at once remembered Amy. “What has happened to the child?” demanded several of them at the same time.
Linda looked serious.
“She’s all right,” she hastened to inform them. “But the queerest thing happened. That house must have been her old home, and Mrs. Fishberry was there. She took her away with her.”
Mr. Clavering nodded.
“That isn’t so strange as you might think,” he said. “When I picked out the spot to hide the treasure, I was flying over the country where Dot Crowley said the accident must have occurred. And I selected that house because the tower was so easily visible from the skies.”
“And did you meet Mrs. Fishberry when you hid the treasure?” inquired Linda.
“No. The house was locked up and deserted. So I went to the barn. I thought if anyone should happen along to steal it, that a check like that wouldn’t be of any use to them. I gave my bank a list of the people who might be entitled to cash it, with strict orders to refuse anyone else.”
The banquet and the dance that followed were a huge success; even Miss Carlton had to admit that the treasure hunt had ended wonderfully, without a single real mishap. Moreover, there was no jealousy regarding Linda’s triumph; they all thought that she deserved her good fortune and rejoiced with her. Strangely enough, she herself was the only member of the party who was not entirely happy. She was worried about Amy, and still haunted by the dreadful apparition which she had seen.
She could not bring herself to confide her experiences and her fears to her aunt, who was so timid about everything, but the following day, when the party had scattered for swimming and for golf, she sought Dot Crowley, and took her down to a bench beside the lake, where they could be alone.
She told the other girl of her mistrust of Mrs. Fishberry, and of her dread of what might happen to Amy, in the keeping of that woman. Then she concluded by describing the ghost in the tower.
Dot’s eyes opened wide in amazement.
“It must be a fake, Linda,” she said.
“It can’t be,” replied the other. “Because itmoved. I saw the hands move, and I’m almost positive the eyes followed me!”
“No wonder the poor girl was so terrified. Remember that first night in the hospital?”
“Yes. The thing frightened me, I can assure you, Dot. And yet I feel that I’ve got to get to the bottom of it all. It fascinates, too, but it terrifies me.”
“What terrifies you, Miss Carlton?” asked a voice behind them.