Rob and his old friend lost no time the next morning in getting down to the water-front to make inquiries about the captain's missing boat. To their astonishment, however, almost the first craft that caught their eyes as they arrived at the L wharf to begin their search was the old sailor's motor dory, to all appearances in exactly the same position she had occupied the preceding night when the captain moored her.
"Have I clapped deadlights on my optics, or am I gone plumb locoed?" bellowed the amazed captain, as he saw the little craft dancing lightly on the sunny waters.
"You are certainly not mistaken in supposing that is your boat. I'd know her among a thousand," Rob assured him. "Are you quite certain that she was not here last night, captain?"
"Just as sure as I am that yer and me is standin' here," rejoined the bewildered captain. "I've sailed the seven seas in my day, and man and boy seen many queer things; but if this don't beat cock fightin', I'm an inky Senegambian!"
The captain's voice had risen to a perfect roar as he uttered the last words, and a sort of jack-of-all-trades about the wharf, whose name was Hi Higgins, came shuffling up, asking what was the trouble.
"Trouble," roared the hermit of Topsail Island. "Trouble enough fer all hands and some left over fer the cat! Say, shipmate, yer hangs about this here L wharf a lot. Did yer see any piratical humans monkeyin' around my boat last night?"
"Why, what d'yer mean, cap'n," sniffled Hi Higgins. "I seen yer tie up here, and there yer boat is now. What d'yer mean by pira-pirawell, them parties yer mentioned? Yer mean some one took it?"
"Took it—yes, yer hornswoggled longshore lubber!" bellowed the captain. "I thought yer was hired as a sort uv watchman on this wharf. A find watchman yer are!"
"Well, yer see, cap'n," returned Hi Higgins, really alarmed at the captain's truculent tone, "I ain't here much after nine at night or before five in the morning."
"Well, was my boat here at five this mornin'?" demanded the captain.
"Sure it was," rejoined Hi Higgins, with a sniffle; "the fust boat I seen."
"Rob, my boy, I'm goin' crazy in my old age!" gasped the captain. "I'm as certain as I can be that the boat wasn't here when I came down to the wharf last midnight, but the pre-pon-der-ance of evidence is against me."
The captain shook his head gravely as he spoke. It was evident that he was sorely puzzled and half inclined to doubt the evidence of his own senses.
"Douse my toplights," he kept muttering, "if this don't beat a flying Dutchman on wheels and with whiskers!"
"I certainly don't believe that your eyes deceived you, captain," put in Rob, in the midst of the captain's rumbling outbursts. "It looks to me as if somebody really did borrow your boat last night, and that the decoy note supposed to be from me had something to do with it."
"By the great horn spoon, yer've got it, my boy!" roared the captain. "And now yer come ter speak uv it, my mind misgives me that all ain 't right at the island. I didn't tell yer, but I left a tidy sum uv money in that old iron safe off the Sarah Jane, the last ship I commanded, and all this what's puzzled us so may be part uv some thievish scheme.
"I'm going ter hurry over ter the island and make certain sure," he went on the next minute. "The more I think uv it, the more signs uv foul weather I see. Good-by, my lad, and good luck. Will yer be out ter see me soon? The bluefish are running fine."
"We may be out this afternoon, captain," responded Rob. "I am curious myself to see if any mischief has been done on your island. If there has been," he added earnestly, "you can count on the Eagle Patrol to help you out."
"Thanks, my boy!" exclaimed the old man, who was bending over his gasoline tank. "Hullo!" he shouted suddenly. "I wasn't crazy! This boat was took out last night. See here!"
He held up the gasoline measuring stick which he had grabbed up and plunged into the tank. The instrument was almost dry. The receptacle for fuel was nearly empty.
"And I filled her before I started out!" thundered the captain. "Whoever took my boat must have run her a long ways."
Fresh fuel was soon obtained, and the captain, after more shouted farewells, started for the island to try to obtain some clue to the mysterious happenings of the night.
Rob, after watching him for a few moments, as he sped down the blue waters of the sunlit inlet, turned away to return to his home, just recollecting that, in their eagerness to search for the boat, both he and the captain had entirely forgotten about breakfast. He was in the middle of the meal, and eagerly explaining to his interested parents the strange incidents of the missing boat and the decoy note, when Merritt Crawford burst into the room unannounced.
"Oh, I beg your pardon!" he apologized, abashed. "I didn't know you were at breakfast. But, Mr. Blake—Rob—something has happened that I just had to come and tell you about at once."
"Good gracious! More mysteries," Mr. Blake was beginning in a jocular way, when the serious look on the boy's face checked him. "What is it? What has happened, Merritt?" he asked soberly, while Rob regarded the spectacle of his usually placid corporal's excitement with round eyes.
"The uniforms are all gone!" burst out Merritt.
"What uniforms?"
"Ours—the Eagle Patrols'."
"What! Stolen?"
"That's right," hurried on Merritt. "I met old Mrs. Jones in a terrible state of mind. You know, Mr. Blake, she's the old woman who scrubs out the place in the morning. I asked what was the matter, and she told me that when she went to the armory early to-day, she found the lock forced and all the lockers broken open and the uniforms gone!"
"Have you seen the place?" asked Mr. Blake.
"Yes, I followed her up. The room was turned upside down. The locks had been ripped right off and the lockers rifled of everything. Who can have done it?"
"I'll bet anything Jack Curtiss and his gang had something to do with it, just as I believe they put up some crooked job on the captain!" burst out Rob, greatly excited and his breakfast entirely forgotten.
"Be careful how you make such a grave accusation," warned his father.
"I know it's a tough thing to say," admitted Rob; "but you don't know that bunch like we do. They'd—"
He was about to explain more of the characteristics of the bully and his cronies when a fresh interruption occurred. This time it was Hiram Nelson. He was almost as abashed as Merritt had been when he found that his excitement had carried him into what seemed a family conference.
"It's all right, Hiram. Come right in," said Mr. Blake cheerfully. "Come on out with your news, for I can see you can hardly keep it to yourself."
"It's going round the town like wildfire!" responded the panting boy. The others nodded. "I see you know it already," he went on. "Well, I think I've got a clue."
"You have! Come on, let's hear it quick," cried Rob.
"Well, I was up late with Paul Perkins last night, talking over the aeroplane model competition, and didn't start home till about midnight. As I was approaching the armory I thought I saw a light in one of the windows. I couldn't be certain, however, and I put it down to a trick that my eyes had played me."
"Well, that's all right as far as it goes," burst out Rob. "It probably was a light. I wish you'd investigated."
"Wait a minute, Rob," said his father, noting Hiram's anxious face. "There's more to come, isn't there, Hiram?"
"You bet! The most exciting part of it—the most important, I mean," went on young Hiram, with an important air.
"Oh, well, get down to it," urged the impatient Rob. "What was it?"
"Why, right after I'd seen the light," went on Hiram, "I thought I saw a dark figure slip around the corner into that dark street."
"A dark figure! Hum! Sounds like one of those old yellow—back novels," remarked Mr. Blake, with a smile.
"But this was a figure I recognized, sir," exclaimed Hiram. "It was Bill Bender!"
"Jack Curtiss' chum! They're as thick as two thieves," burst out Merritt.
"And I believe they are two thieves," solemnly put in Rob.
"Well," went on Hiram, "the next minute Bill Bender came walking round the corner as fast as if he were coming from somewhere in a great hurry, and was hastening home. He told me he had been to a birthday party at his aunt's."
"At his aunt's," echoed Mr. Blake. "Well, that's an important point, for I happen to know that his aunt, Mrs. Graves, is out of town. She visited the bank yesterday morning and drew some money for her traveling expenses. She informed me that she expected to be gone a week or more."
"I knew it, I knew it!" shouted Rob. "That fellow ought to be in jail. He'll land there yet."
"Softly, softly, my boy," said Mr. Blake. "This is a grave affair, and we cannot jump at conclusions."
"I'd jump him," declared Rob, "if I only knew for certain that he was the thief!"
"I will inform the police myself and have an investigation made," Mr. Blake promised. "We will leave no stone unturned to find out who has been guilty of such an outrage."
"And in the meantime the Eagle Patrol will carry on an investigation of its own," declared Rob sturdily. "What do you say, boys?"
"I'll bet every boy in the corps is with you on that," rejoined Merritt heartily.
"Same here," chimed in Hiram.
"The first step is to take a run to Topsail Island and see if all the queer things that happened last night have not some connecting link between them," suggested Mr. Blake. "I am inclined, after what you boys have told me, to think that they have."
"I am sure of it," echoed Rob.
Seldom had the Flying Fish been urged to greater speed than she was a short time after the discovery of the looting of the scouts' armory. She fairly flew across the smooth waters of the inlet and out on to the Atlantic swells, leaving a clean, sweeping bow-wave as she cut her way along. Her four young occupants, for Tubby had been called on and notified of the occurrences of the night, were, however, wrapped in slickers borrowed from the yacht club, so that the showers of spray which fell about them had little effect on them.
The run to Topsail Island was made in record time, and as they drew near the little hummock of tree and shrub-covered land the boys could perceive that something unusual had happened. A figure which even at a distance they recognized as that of Captain job Hudgins was down on the little wharf, and had apparently been on the lookout there for some time. A closer view revealed the captain waving frantically.
"Something's up, all right," remarked Tubby, above the roar of the motor-boat's engine.
The others said nothing, but kept their gaze riveted on the captain's figure. With the skill of a veteran boatman, Rob brought the Flying Fish round in a graceful curve and ran her cleanly up to the wharf without the slightest jolt or jar.
"Ahoy, lads, I'm glad yer've come!" exclaimed the captain, as he caught the painter line thrown out to him by Merritt, and skillfully made the boat fast.
"Why, what has happened?" demanded Rob, as he sprang on to the wharf, followed by the others.
"Happened?" repeated the captain. "Well, in a manner of speakin', about twenty things has happened at once. Lads, my spirits and emotions are in a fair Chinese tornado—every which way at once. In the first place, I'm seventy-five dollars poorer than I was last night; in the second, poor old Skipper's been given some kind av poison that's made him so sick I doubt he'll get over it."
"You've been robbed?" gasped Merritt.
"That's it, my lad. That's the word. My poor old safe's been scuttled and her hold overhauled. But I don't mind that so much—it's poor old Skipper I'm worried about. But come on up ter the house, lads, and see fer yerselves."
Followed by the sympathetic four, the old man hobbled up from his little wharf to a small eminence on which stood his neatly whitewashed hut. He opened the door and invited them in. A first glance discovered nothing much the matter, but a second look showed the boys poor old Skipper lying on the floor in front of the open fireplace which was filled with fresh green boughs—and evidently a very sick dog indeed. He gave the boys a pathetic glance of recognition as they came in, and with a feeble wag or two of his tail tried to show them he was glad to see them; but this done, he seemed to be completely exhausted, and once more laid his head between his forepaws and seemed to doze.
"Poor old dog," said the captain, shaking his head. "I doubt if he'll ever get about again."
The safe now engaged the boys' attention. It is true that it was a rickety old contrivance which might well have been forced open with an ordinary poker, but to the captain, up to this day, it had been a repository as safe and secure as a big Wall Street trust company's vaults.
"Look at that, boys!" cried the captain, with tragic emphasis, pointing to the door, which had been forced clear off its rusty hinges. "Just busted open like yer'd taken the crust off'n a pie! Ah, if I could lay my hands on the fellers that done this, I'd run 'em tip ter the yardarm afore a foc'sle hand could say 'Hard tack'!"
"Why, we think that—" began Tubby, when Rob checked him. The captain, who had been bending over his dog, didn't hear the remark, and Rob hastily whispered to Tubby:
"Don't breathe a word to anyone of our suspicions. Our only chance to get hold of the real culprits is to not give them any idea that we suspect them."
After a little more time spent on the island, the boys took their leave, promising to come back soon again. First, however, Rob and his corporal made a brief expedition to see if they could make out the tracks of the marauders of the previous evening. Whoever they had been, however—and the boys, as we know, had a shrewd guess at their identity—they had been too cunning to take the path, but had apparently, judging from the absence of all footmarks, made their way to the house through the coarse grass that grew on each side of the way.
"Well, what are we going to do about it?" Tubby inquired, as they speeded back toward home.
"Just what I said," rejoined Rob. "Keep quiet and not let Jack or his chums know that we suspect a thing. Give them enough rope, and we'll get them in time. I'm certain of it."
How true his words were to prove, Rob at that time little imagined, although he felt the wisdom of the course he had advised.
As they neared the inlet, Rob, who was at the wheel and scanning the channel pretty closely, for the tide was now running out, gave a sudden shout and pointed ahead. As the others raised their eyes and gazed in the direction their leader indicated they, too, uttered a cry of astonishment. From the mouth of the inlet there had stolen a long, low, black craft, gliding through the water at tremendous speed.
In the strange craft the boy scouts had little difficulty in recognizing Sam Redding's hydroplane.
"So he's got her back," exclaimed Merritt, recovering from his first astonishment.
"Yes, and she seems little the worse for her experience," remarked Tubby. "It doesn't appear, though, that they are going to profit by their lesson of the other day, for there they go out to sea again."
"Probably consulted the glass this time," remarked Rob. "It read 'set fair' when we started out."
"Well, that's the only kind of weather for them," commented Merritt; "though as both Jack and Bill can swim, I wouldn't mind seeing them get a good ducking."
"I suppose the coincidence has struck you fellows, too?" remarked Rob suddenly, as he skillfully twisted and turned the dancing Flying Fish through the devious ways of the channel at low water.
"What on earth are you talking about?" demanded Merritt.
"Why, that it seems rather queer that Sam, who was round town desperately trying to raise money with which to get his boat out of pawn suddenly manages to redeem her, and that on the very day after the robbery of Captain Hudgins hut."
"By hookey, that's right!" shouted Tubby. "I'll bet your guess was correct, Rob—that gang of Jack's robbed the old captain."
"And stole our uniforms," put in Merritt.
"Yes; but how are we going to prove it?" was Rob's "cold water" comment which silenced further speculation for the time being. Each boy, however, determined then and there to do his share in running down the persons responsible for the vandalism.
By the time they got back to Hampton the news had spread among the entire Eagle Patrol, and an indignation meeting was called in the devastated armory. Mr. Blake entered in the midst of it, and offered, in conjunction with the rest of the local council, to furnish new uniforms. On the matter being put to a vote, however, the lads all agreed that it would be better not to accept such an offer till they had made a determined effort to run down the plunderers.
"Very well," said Mr. Blake; "your spirit does you great credit, and if you need any help, don't fail to call upon me at any time."
"Three cheers for Mr. Blake and the members of the council!" shouted Merritt, jumping on a chair.
They were given with such roof-raising effect, that people outside in the street, many of whom knew of the robbery, began to think that the uniforms must have been recovered.
As the lads surged out of the armory, all talking at once about the robbery and its likely results, whom should they encounter on the street but Jack Curtiss and his two chums, evidently, from the fact that they carried waterproof garments over their arms, just back from their trip in Sam's newly-recovered hydroplane.
It might have been fancy, but as the eyes of the Boy Scouts met those of the three lads who would have so much liked to belong to the organization, Rob thought that a look of embarrassment spread over Jack Curtiss' heavy features, and that even Bill Bender's brazen face took on a shade of pallor. If this were so, however, it could have been only momentary, for the next minute Jack, with what seemed very much overdone cordiality, came forward with:
"Why, hullo, boys. I just heard about your loss. Any news?"
"No, not a word," chirped little Joe Digby, one of the few lads in the Eagle Patrol who had never run afoul of the bully.
"Well," went on Jack, affecting not to notice the silence with which his advances had been greeted, "I hope you find the fellows who did it, whoever they were."
"Same here," chimed in Bill Bender, now quite at his ease, "although, at that, I guess it was only a joke, and you'll get 'em back again before long."
"Do you think so, Bill?" asked Merritt, looking the bully's crony steadily in the eye. "I hope so, I'm sure. By the way, Hiram Nelson here says that he saw you hurrying up Main Street at just about the time the robbery must have taken place. You didn't hear any unusual sounds or see anything out of the way, did you?"
"I—why, no—I—you see, I was on my way home from my aunt's home," stuttered Bill, seemingly taken off his guard.
"Yes; your aunt, who left home yesterday afternoon to be gone a week," shot out Merritt.
"Queer that she should have changed her mind and come home in such a hurry."
"Oh, come on, Bill," stuck in Sam, seeing that things were getting very unpleasant. "We've got to hurry up if we're to get out to Jack's in time."
Without another word, the three hurried off, seemingly not at all unrelieved to escape from what Merritt was pretty sure were embarrassing questions.
The day which was to witness the tests of the aeroplane models for the prizes offered by the professor of aeronautics dawned still and fair. It followed several days of storm, in which the boys had been unable to make any excursions in their motor boat, or into the country, or, indeed, even to devote any time to the engrossing subject of tracing the theft of the uniforms to its source.
Early in the morning a small field in the rear of Mr. Blake's house was well filled with boys of all ages and sizes, watching the contestants in the model contest trying out their craft. The models were of all sorts and sizes. Some were freak craft that had been constructed in a hurry from pictures, without any attention being paid to scale or proportions, while others were carefully made bits of mechanism.
Among the latter class were Paul Perkins' monoplane—Silver Arrow, he called it,—Hiram Nelson's two models, the monoplane of Tom Maloney, a lad of about sixteen, and Ed River's little duplicate of a Curtiss biplane. The contest was to take place on the Main Street of the town, in front of the bank, and in the middle of the course two poles had been erected, one on each side of the street, between which a brightly colored tape had then been strung, forming a sort of aerial hurdle. The tape was fifty feet above the ground, and to qualify at all it would be necessary for the contesting models to clear it.
The lecture which took place in the village hall came first and was well attended, most of the young folks of Hampton being there. If the truth must be told, however, while the lecturer was expounding his subject, illustrating it on the blackboard with chalk drawings, the majority of his young hearers were wishing that it was over and the contest really begun.
Especially was this true of the boys of the Eagle Patrol, who were every one of them anxious to see what kind of aeroplanes Jack Curtiss and Bill Bender would have produced. The lecture, however, at last came to an end, and the gentlemen on the platform shook hands with the professor and the professor shook hands with them, and somebody called for three cheers for "Hampton's distinguished son."
Everybody then lost no time in filing out into the afternoon sunlight, where they found quite a crowd already on the streets, and a small wooden grand stand, which had been erected near what was expected to be the finishing line, seating several guests. The committee and the professor, led by the Hampton brass band, blaring away at patriotic airs, made their way to the front seats in the structure, and everybody was requested to line up on each side of the street, so as to make a clear lane for the models to fly in.
The starting line was about a hundred yards from the red tape, and the contestants were compelled to stand back of this. Mr. Wingate, the president of the yacht club and member of the Boy Scout Council, had already shuffled the numbers of the contestants in a hat, and they were to fly their models in the order in which they drew their figures.
Up to this time there had been no sign of Jack Curtiss or Bill Bender, but the boys now saw them hastening up to a member of the committee and whispering to him. A moment later a man, with a megaphone boomed out from the grand stand:
"William Bender announces that he has withdrawn from the contest."
"Aha! I'll bet Jack's got cold feet, too," whispered Hiram, nudging Paul, who was kneeling down and winding up the long rubber bands which drove the propellers of the Silver Arrow, an Antoinette model.
But a short interval showed him to be mistaken, for Jack, with his usual confident air, repaired to the buggy in which he had driven into town from his father's farm, and speedily produced a model that caused loud sighs of "Ohs!" and "Ahs!" to circulate through the juvenile portion of the crowd.
However he had managed to accomplish it, the bully had certainly produced a beautiful model. It was of the Bleriot type, and finished perfectly down to the minutest detail. Every wire and brace on it was silvered with aluminum paint, and it even bore a small figure at its steering wheel. Beside it the other models looked almost clumsy.
The faces of the Boy Scouts fell.
"If that machine can fly as well as she looks," said Rob to Merritt, "she wins the first prize."
"Not a doubt of it," was Merritt's reply.
"Oh, well," put in Tubby, for the three inseparables were standing together, "if he can win the prize fairly, don't knock him. He certainly has built a beautiful machine. You've got to give him credit for that."
And now, as Jack, with a triumphant smile at the glances of admiration his model excited, strode to the starting point, elbowing small boys aside, and drew from the hat, the man with the megaphone once more arose. He held in his hand the result of the drawing and the order in which the models would fly.
"The f-i-r-s-t model to com-pete for the big p-r-ize," he bellowed, "will be that of Thomas Maloney—a Bler-i-ot!"
Poor Tom might have called his machine a Bleriot, but it is doubtful if the designer of the original machine of that name would have recognized the model as having any more than a distant relationship to the famous type of monoplane. It was provided with a large tin propeller, however, and seemed capable of at least accomplishing a flight. In fact, at the trials in the morning it had flown well, and by some of the lads was regarded as a sort of "dark horse." As Tom was on the village team, as opposed to the Boy Scout contingent, he was greeted with loud cheers and whistles by his friends as he stepped to the starting line, and, holding his already wound up machine in his hand, made ready to launch it.
"Crack!" went the pistol.
At the same instant Tom, with a thrusting motion, released his model; but, alas! instead of darting forward like the Sparrow Hawk it was named after, the craft ingloriously wobbled about eccentrically, and finally alighted on an old lady's bonnet, causing her to exclaim as the propeller whizzed round and entangled itself in her hair:
"No good'll ever come of teaching lads to meddle with these here contraptions."
The model having finally been extricated, amid much laughter, and poor Tom having offered mortified apologies, the announcer made known that Hiram Nelson's Doodlebug monoplane would essay a flight.
As the pistol sounded, Hiram launched his craft, and amid cheers from the crowd it soared up, and, just clearing the red tape, settled gracefully down a few feet the other side of the two hundred foot line.
"Good for you, Hiram!" exclaimed Ernest Thompson, the bike scout, who was acting as a patrol on the course. "Whose turn next?"
"You kids wait till I get my Bleriot started," sneered Jack. Several small boys near him, who were mortally afraid of the big fellow and rather admired him as being "manly," set up a cheer at this.
"Wait for Jack's dandy model to fly!" they cried.
"Edward Rivers—model of a Curtiss biplane!" came the next announcement through, the megaphone.
Another cheer greeted this, as young Rivers was also on the "town team."
The little Curtiss darted into the air at the pistol crack and flew straight as an arrow for the red tape. It cleared it easily and skimmed on down past the grand stand, and alighted, fluttering like a tired butterfly, beyond Hiram's model.
"Three hundred feet!" cried the announcer, amid a buzz of approval, after the measurers of the course had done their work.
"Paul Perkins—Bleriot!" was the next announcement.
A hum of excitement went through the crowds that lined the track. It began to look as if the record of Ed Rivers' machine would be hard to beat, but from the determined look on his face and his gritted teeth it was evident that Paul meant to try hard.
Before the report of the pistol had died out, the yellow-winged Dragonfly soared upward from Paul's hand and darted like a streak across the red tape, clearing it at the highest altitude yet achieved by any of the models.
"Hurrah!" yelled the crowd.
On and on sped the little Bleriot, while Paul watched it with pride-flushed cheeks. It was evident that it was going to out-distance the record made by Ed Rivers' machine. The Boy Scouts set up their Patrol cry:
"Kr-ee-ee-ee-ee!"
As the little machine settled to the ground, far beyond the grand stand, the officials ran out with their tapes, and presently the announcement came blaring down the packed ranks of the onlookers:
"Three hundred and fifty feet!"
What a cheer went up then.
"I guess you've got it won. Congratulations!" said Ed Rivers, pressing forward to Paul's side.
"Thanks, Ed," returned the other; "but 'there's many a slip,' you know, and there are several others to be flown yet."
Now came in rapid succession several of the smaller models and freak designs. Some of these wobbled through the air and landed in the crowd. Others sailed blithely up toward the red tape and just fell short of clearing it. Another landed right on the tape and hung there, the target of irreverent remarks from the crowd.
While this was going on, Bill Bender, Jack Curtiss and Sam were in close consultation.
"Remember, you promised that if you won the prize you'd give that money back," Sam whispered to Jack, "and for goodness' sake, don't forget it. I half believe that those boys suspect us already."
"Nonsense," returned the bully. "And what if they do? We covered up our tracks too well for them to have anything on us. They can't prove anything, can they?"
"I—I—I don't know," stammered Sam, and was about to say more, but the clarion voice of the announcer was heard informing the crowd that:
"John Curtiss' Bleriot model will now make a flight for the great prize."
With a confident smile on his face, Jack stepped forward and held his model ready. The murmur of admiration that had greeted its first appearance was repeated as he held it high in the sunlight and the afternoon rays glinted and shimmered on its fittings and wings.
"That's the model for my money," remarked a man in the crowd.
"It's going to win, too," said Jack confidently.
Just at that moment the pistol cracked, and Jack released his much-admired air craft.
Its flight showed that it was as capable of making as beautiful a soaring excursion as its graceful outlines and careful finish seemed to indicate. In a long, sweeping glide, it arose and cleared the red tape by a greater margin than had Paul Perkins' model.
"Jack Curtiss wins!" yelled the crowd, as the machine soared right on and did not begin its downward swoop for some distance. After it had alighted and the measurers had laid their tapes on the course, the announcer megaphoned, amid a perfect tornado of roars and cheers:
"The last flight, ladies and gentlemen—and apparently the winning one—accomplished the remarkable distance of four hundred and fifty feet—four hundred and fifty feet."
"Three cheers for Jack Curtiss!" shouted Bill Bender, slapping Jack heartily on the back and giving most of the cheers himself.
"I guess those cubs won't be quite so stuck up now," commented Sam, shaking Jack's hand warmly.
"I was pretty sure I'd win," modestly remarked the bully, as he began shouldering his way through the press toward the judges' stand. He was closely followed by the boys, as it looked as if Paul Perkins might have won the second prize and Ed Rivers the third.
Urged by Bill Bender, the band began puffing away at "See, the Conquering Hero Comes," and Jack, nothing averse to appearing in such a role, bowed gracefully right and left to the admiring throngs.
The professor shook hands warmly with the victorious Jack, and remarked:
"You are to be congratulated, young man. I have rarely seen a better model, and your skill does you great credit. Are you thinking of taking up aeronautics seriously?"
The bully, his face very red, stammered that he had entertained some such thoughts.
The professor was about to reply, when there came a sudden sound of confusion among that portion of the crowd which had surrounded the delegates deputed to pick up the aeroplanes and bring them to the stand. This was in order that they might be exhibited as each prize was awarded. A small boy with a very excited face was seen struggling to get through the mass, and he finally gained the judges' stand. As he faced the congratulatory professor he stuttered out:
"Please, sir, there's something wrong about Jack Curtiss' machine."
"What do you mean, you impudent young shaver!" shouted the bully, turning white, nevertheless.
"Let the lad speak," said Mr. Blake, who as one of the committee was standing beside the professor. "What is it, my boy? Let me see. You're Joe Digby, of the Eagle Patrol, aren't you."
"Yes, sir; and I live out on a farm near Jack Curtiss. I was watching him fly his machine this morning, from behind a hedge, and I heard them saying something about 'their store-made machine beating any country boy's model.'"
"He's a young liar! Pay no attention to him," stammered Jack, licking his dry lips.
"Silence, sir!" said Mr. Blake gravely. "Let us listen to what this boy has to say. If he is not speaking the truth, you can easily disprove it. Go on, my boy."
"Well, I guess that's about all I know about it: but I thought I ought to tell you, sir," confusedly concluded the small lad.
"You young runt, I'll half kill you if I catch you alone!" breathed Jack, under his breath, as the lad sped off to join his companions.
"Of course, you are not going to pay any attention to that kid's—I mean boy's—story," demanded Jack, addressing the professor. "It's made out of whole cloth, I assure you."
In the meantime the machines had been brought to the grand stand and were being examined. Naturally, after young Digby's statement, Jack's was one of the first to be scrutinized. The committee turned it over and over, and were about to pass on it, when Mr. Wingate, who had been bending attentively over the bully's model, gave a sudden exclamation.
"Look here, gentlemen," he cried, pointing to a small tag which Jack had evidently forgotten to remove, "I think this is conclusive evidence. Here is the label of the 'Manhattan Model Works' pasted right under this wing."
"Somebody must have put it there. It's a job those Boy Scouts put up on me," protested Tack. "I made that model every bit myself."
"I regret to say that we must regard the price tag as conclusive evidence that this machine comes from a store," said the professor sternly, handing Jack his unlucky model. "You are disqualified for entering a machine not of your own workmanship.
"Stand back, please," he went on, as Jack tried to protest. "I want to say," he went on in a loud tone, holding up his hand to command attention, "that there has been a grave mistake made. The machine which actually flew the longest distance is disqualified, as it was made at a New York model factory. The first prize of fifty dollars, therefore, goes to Paul Perkins, of the Boy Scouts, the second to Edward Rivers, of Hampton, and the third to Hiram Green, also of the Boy Scouts.
"Hold on one minute," he shouted, as the crowd began to cheer and hoot. "There is an additional announcement to be made. The committee has decided to offer a further reward of five dollars to Thomas Maloney, whose model shows evidence of praiseworthy and painstaking work."
As the cheers broke loose once more, Jack Curtiss and his cronies slunk off through the crowd, and having placed the rejected model in the buggy, drove off into the country in no very amiable or enviable frame of mind.
"Well, you made a fine mess of it," grumbled Bill Bender savagely. "I told you to look carefully and see that all the tags were off it."
"It's no more my fault than yours," grated out Jack, lashing the horse savagely, to work off some of his rage. "It's all the fault of those young cubs of Rob Blake's. Let them look out, though, for I'll get even with them before long, and in a way that will make them sit up and take notice."
"Don't forget that young mischief maker, Joe Digby," suggested Bill Bender. "It was all his fault—the young spy!"
"Oh, I'll attend to him," Jack assured his chum, with a grating laugh that boded no good for the youngest member of the Eagle Patrol.
"Want to go fishing?" Rob inquired over the telephone of Merritt Crawford a few days later.
"Sure," was the response.
"We can run into Topsail Island and get a site for the camp picked at the same time," suggested Rob.
"Bully! I'll meet you at the wharf. Going to bring Tubby?"
"You bet! We'll be there in ten minutes."
"All right. Good-by."
At the time set the three boys met on the wharf of the yacht club, and were speedily ready to start on their trip. Rob brought along bluefish squids and lines, and Tubby—never at a loss to scare up a hurried lunch—had a basket full of good things to eat.
The run to the island was made without incident, and the boys were glad to see that, contrary to the captain's fears, his dog Skipper was all right again, for the animal came bounding and barking down the wharf as they drew near, in token of his gladness to see them.
Attracted by his dog's barking, the old captain, who was at work in a small potato patch he cultivated, came hobbling to meet the boys as they tied up and disembarked.
"Well, well, boys; come ter stay?" he cheerily remarked, as the three lads shook hands.
"No, we're off after 'blues,"' said Rob; "but we thought we'd drop in and see how things are coming along with you, and if you have heard any news yet concerning the robbery."
"Not a thing, boys, not a thing," said the old man. "In fact, I haven't left the island since my old safe was busted open. Skipper, as yer see, got over his sickness. It's my belief that them fellers fed him poisoned meat or something."
"I shouldn't wonder," remarked Rob dryly. "It would be quite in their line."
"By the way," exclaimed the old man suddenly, "a queer thing happened the other day. Skipper had been a-skirmishin' round the other side uv the island after rabbits and critters, and he brought home this— Wait a minute and I'll show it to yer."
After some fumbling in his pocket, the old man produced a torn strip of yellow material with a brass button attached to it.
"I wonder where that come from," he remarked, as he handed the fragment to Rob for his inspection.
"Why, it's khaki," exclaimed Rob, as he felt it. "And, by hokey!" he ejaculated the next instant, "it's a piece of a Boy Scout uniform!"
Old Skipper was jumping about in great excitement, and endeavoring to sniff the bit of torn material as Rob examined it, and a sudden idea struck the boy.
"I wonder if Skipper could pilot us to where he found this bit of material."
"Are you sure it's a bit of uniform?" asked Tubby doubtfully.
"Certain of it. No one else wears khaki in these parts. Hey, Skipper, hey, good dog! Sic 'em, sic 'em!" cried Rob, holding up the khaki for the intelligent creature to see.
The animal seemed to be greatly excited and gave short, quick barks as he danced about the boys.
"Well, we might try and see if he will lead us anywhere." remarked Merritt somewhat dubiously. "At any rate, there's no harm done, except wasting a little time; and if we can get on the track of our uniforms, it's not such a much of a waste, after all."
"He sure wants ter be off somewhere," observed the old captain, watching the antics of his dog, whom he regarded in the light of a human being. "He never acts nor talks that way unless he's got suthin' on his mind. Yer boys follow him, and I'll bet he'll lead yer ter suthin'. It may be nothin' more than a dead rabbit, and it may be what ye think. I'll stay here an' dig my pertaters, fer my rheumatiz is powerful bad today."
"Very well, captain. We shan't be long," rejoined Rob, calling to the dog. "Hey, Skipper, hey, old boy! After 'em, Skipper—after 'em!"
The dog bounded on ahead of the three boys, occasionally looking back to see if they were following and then plunging on again.
"As the Captain said, he 'sure has got suthin' on his mind'!" laughed Merritt.
After traversing about a mile of beach, the dog suddenly bounded into a thicket overhanging the shore and began barking furiously.
"He's treed something, all right," remarked Rob, pushing the branches aside.
The next minute he gave a loud shout of triumph.
"Look there, boys! Old Skipper sure did 'have suthin' on his mind'!"
Peering over Rob's shoulder, the other two were able to make out two hidden sacks, the mouth of one of which had been torn open, evidently by the investigating Skipper.
From the aperture appeared the torn sleeve of a Boy Scout's uniform, and a brief searching of the sacks after they had been lugged out on the beach revealed the entire stolen equipment.
"Bones for you, Skipper, for the rest of your life!" promised Tubby, as the dog, evidently well pleased with the petting he received and the admiration showered upon him, pranced about on the beach and indulged in a hundred antics.
The only one of the uniforms damaged was the one that Skipper had torn. The others were all intact, but badly crumpled, having been hastily thrust into the sacks, and, as it appeared, tamped down to make them fit more compactly.
"Well, what do you know about that?" was Merritt's astonished exclamation, as one by one Rob drew forth the regimentals and laid them on the beach.
"You mean what does Jack Curtiss and Company know about that," seriously returned Rob.
"However, we found them—that's one thing to be enthusiastic over," observed Tubby sagely.
"I'd like just as well almost to find out exactly who hid them there," was Merritt's reply.
"The same folks that stole the old captain's seventy-five dollars, I guess," returned Rob, thrusting the garments back into the sacks preparatory to carrying them to the boat. "Here, Tubby, you carry this one—it'll take some of that fat off you to do a hike along the beach with it. I'll shoulder this one."
"Well, boys, yer certainly made a haul, thanks ter old Skipper here," declared Captain Job, after the delighted boys had made known their discovery. "He's a smart one, I tell yer. No better dog ever lived."
"That's what we think," agreed Merritt warmly, patting old Skipper's black and white head.
The recovery of the uniforms had quite put all thoughts of blue or any other fishing out of the boys' heads, and after bidding farewell to the captain, who promised to point out to them a good site for a camp on their next visit, they made their best speed back to Hampton. On their way to the armory they spread the news of their discovery broadcast, so that in a short time the town was buzzing with the information that the Boy Scouts' lost uniforms had been found under most surprising circumstances; and the editor of the Hampton News, who was just going to press, held his paper up till he could get in an item about it.
It was this item that caught Jack Curtiss' eye, the next morning as he and Bill Bender and Sam were seated in Bill's "club room."
"Confound those brats, they seem always to be putting a spike in our schemes!" muttered Jack, as he handed the paper to Bill for that worthy's perusal. "Which reminds me," he went on, "that we haven't attended to the case of that young Digby yet."
"I wish you'd leave those kids alone for a while, Jack," objected Sam, in his usual whining tones. "You've had your fun with them. They've had to do without their uniforms for a long time. Now let up on them, won't you?"
"Oh, you're feeling friendly toward 'em, now, are you?" sneered Jack.
"Oh, no, it isn't that," Sam hastened to assure him; "nothing of the kind. What I mean is that we are liable to get into serious trouble if we keep on this way. I saw Hank Handcraft the other day, and I can tell you he's in no very amiable mood. He wants his money for the other night, he says, and he intimated that if he didn't get it he'd make things hot for us."
"He'd better not," glowered Bill Bender, looking up from his paper. "We know a few things about friend Hank."
"Yes, and he knows a good deal about us that wouldn't look well in print," retorted Sam gloomily. "I wish I'd never gone into that thing the other night."
"Pshaw, it was just borrowing a little money from the old man, wasn't it?" snorted Jack. "We'll pay it back some time."
"When we get it," rejoined Sam more gloomily than ever; "and I don't see much immediate chance of that."
"Oh, well, cheer up; we'll get it all right somehow," Jack assured him. "And in connection with that I've got a scheme. Why shouldn't we three fellows go camping after the motor-boat races?"
"Go camping—where?" asked Bill, looking up surprised.
"Well, I would have suggested Topsail Island, but those pestiferous kids are going there, I hear. However, there are plenty of other islands right inside the Upper Inlet. What's the matter with our taking possession of one of those?"
The Upper Inlet was a sort of narrow and shallow bay a short distance above Topsail Island, and was well known to both Bill and Jack, who had been there in the winter on frequent ducking expeditions.
"We might as well do something like that before school opens," said Sam. "I think that Jack's suggestion is a pretty good one."
"I don't know that it's so bad myself," patronizingly admitted Bill; "but what connection has that with your scheme for getting money, Jack?"
"A whole lot," replied the bully. "I'm going to get even with that young Digby if it takes me a year. He cost me the fifty-dollar prize, and, beside that, all the kids in the village now call me 'cheater,' and hardly anybody will have anything to do with me."
"Well, how do you propose to get even by going camping?" inquired Bill.
"I plan to take that Digby kid with me," rejoined Jack calmly.
"You're crazy!" exclaimed Bill. "Why, we'd have the whole country after us for kidnapping."
"Oh, I've got a better plan than that," laughed Jack coolly, "and we won't need to be mixed up in it at all. It'll all come back on Hank Handcraft, I owe him a grudge for bothering me about money, anyhow, the old beach-combing nuisance!"
"But where do we come in to get any benefit out of it?" demanded Sam.
"I'll explain that to you later," said Jack grandiloquently. "I haven't quite worked out all the details yet; but if you'll meet me here this evening I'll have them all hot and smoking for you."