CHAPTER XVIII.THE DARING OF PEGGY.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE DARING OF PEGGY.
By the time he had risen to his feet several of the officials of the track were seen approaching, and Fanning, with a scowl of deep disgust at our party, who paid little attention to him, shuffled off. At first Peggy thought that the officials had seen something of the trouble and would be angry. But it turned out that they were only coming to announce a few minor changes in the rules governing the race, and to distribute printed copies of the same.
As they passed on one of them turned and remarked casually:
“By the way, as the wind is so light we have decided to have the big contest an hour earlier than was announced, and eliminate the girls’ contest, so that everybody can get home from the grounds in good time for dinner.”
He hastened on to join his companions on their journey down the line of hangars, outside of which aeroplanes were sputtering and smoking, and excited aviators and mechanics hustling about.
All at once a big biplane was wheeled out and soared into the air. It carried a blue and gold streamer.
“That’s Steiner of the Agassiz High School in New York City,” explained Jimsy; “he’s confident of winning the big prize.”
Peggy made some reply. She didn’t know just what. Her mind was throbbing with the idea that Roy’s inexplicable absence meant that harm had come to him, and that even if he were safe the advancing of the hour of the race would put them out of it if he did not make haste.
“Look, there goes Banker of the Philadelphia Polytechnic, and Rayburn of the Boston Tech,” cried Jimsy the next instant as a biplane and a graceful white-winged monoplane shot aloft on trial trips, their motors exploding loudly and atail of blue smoke streaming out behind them. A slight cheer came from the grand stands, which were already beginning to fill, as the boy aviators shot upward.
“Oh, Roy! Roy, where are you?” sighed Peggy to herself, as she watched the young aspirants for aerial honors swinging around the course.
“I’m going over to the stand and ’phone to the police station,” said Jimsy presently; “they may have news of him over there by this time.”
“Oh, yes, please do,” cried Peggy, as Jimsy hastened off.
When he had gone the two girls turned troubled countenances to each other.
“You poor honey,” cried Jess, “I know how you are suffering. But don’t worry, Peggy, I’m sure it will come out all right.”
“Yes, but—but you don’t know what depends on Roy’s winning this race,” cried Peggy. “I am sure that some of our rivals in the race—Ineed not mention who—have something to do with his disappearance.”
“What do you mean by saying ‘a lot depends on it,’ girlie?” asked Jess, drawing Peggy’s arm within her own.
With brimming eyes Peggy told her friend frankly and fully what she had not before, namely, the exact circumstances of the Prescott family and the threat which old Harding held above their heads.
“So, you see, Jess,” she concluded sadly, “this could not have happened at a worse time for us.”
“I see that,” gently rejoined the other girl, “but listen, dear, you may have a chance to win it after all if you will trust to us to find Roy.”
“Trust to you?” repeated Peggy in a puzzled tone. “Trust to you to find Roy?”
“Yes, my dear, while you—go in and win the race!”
“Why, what are you talking about?” gasped Peggy.
“A brilliant idea that has just occurred to me.You are about Roy’s height, and if your hair was cut short you’d look enough like him to be his twin brother instead of his sister. But that doesn’t matter, for you wear goggles and a helmet in driving that thing, anyway, don’t you?”
“Yes. But,—oh, Jess, I couldn’t do that.”
“Not even for your aunt’s sake, Peggy, and to show those whom you suspect that they could not put a Prescott out of the race, however hard they tried? Come into the shed with me. I am going to persuade you, if I can, to do a brave thing.”
With their arms about each other’s waists the girls walked toward the hangar and entered it. As they did so the figure of Jukes Dade glided from a place of concealment close at hand, and slipping behind some low bushes he gained the rear of the Prescott shed unperceived. Once there he placed an ear to a crack in the structure, from within which could be heard the murmur of girlish voices.
Whatever he heard seemed to strike him withastonishment at first and then with a malicious glee.
“So,” he muttered, “that’s your scheme, is it? Well, I guess we’ll be able to head that off. That aeroplane of yours won’t go in that race if I can help it, and even if it did I know enough now to head you off from getting the big prize. That young Harding ought to pay me well for this.”
So saying, Jukes Dade shuffled off toward Fanning’s hangar, still chortling evilly to himself.
Jimsy returned to the shed without any good news. In fact, the doleful expression on his usually merry face would have told them that long before he opened his mouth. In the midst of the general gloom a merry face was suddenly obtruded through the swinging doors.
“Hullo! hullo! young folks, what’s the trouble? You look as if you were going to attend a funeral.”
They looked up to see the figure of Hal Homer, clad in white flannels, and with a checked cap on his curly head, standing in the doorway.
“Can I come in?” he asked, and without waiting for an answer in he came.
“Oh, Mr. Homer,” cried Jess, fairly pouncing on him, “we’re so glad you’ve come; we are in a dreadful fix.”
“A dreadful fix? Why, my dear young lady, I read in the local paper that I bought on my way from the depot that Roy’s machine, judging from the trials, was going to have things all her own way.”
“So much so,” struck in Jimsy, “that it looks as if some of Roy’s enemies have spirited him away.”
“What? I’m afraid I hardly understand.”
The aviation instructor looked at Jimsy in a puzzled way, rather as if he thought the youth might be having some fun with him.
“No, no, this is serious. I mean it,” spoke Jimsy quickly. “Roy has gone!”
“Gone!”
“Yes. He vanished last night. But sit down and we’ll tell you all about it. Maybe you can help us out.”
Absolutely “flabbergasted,” to use his own expression, the good-looking young flying man sank down on an upturned case, while Jimsy went on to relate all that had occurred, with Peggy every now and then striking in with additions and corrections.
Another ear also took in the conversation—that of Jukes Dade—who had seen the arrival of the well-dressed young aviator, and had instantly slipped back to his eavesdropping post to learn what the newcomer’s business might be.
It might have been an hour later that a chauffeur, summoned by ’phone from the grandstand, brought the Bancrofts’ car up to the hangar and Hal Homer, Jess and Jimsy emerged.
“Drive to the police station,” ordered Hal Homer as he stepped in, leaving Jess and Jimsy behind.
Jukes Dade, peering around a corner of the hangar, heard the order and grew pale.
“Looks bad,” he muttered as the car rolled off; “I wonder if they know anything. If they do, I’m off. This isn’t a healthy part of the country for Jukes Dade from the minute that kid is found. He didn’t recognize Gid or young Harding, but he knew me all right. I could tell it by the way he looked at me, and if he’s found the first man they’ll hunt for is me.”
With snake-like caution he glided behind the hangar once more.
It was not long after this that the Golden Butterfly was wheeled out by some of the mechanicians attached to the track, whose services were furnished free by the aviation officials.
Jess and Jimsy emerged from the hangar at the same time, in company with a boyish figure in aviator’s clothing, leather trousers cut very baggily, fur-lined leather coat and big helmet of leather, well padded, completely obscuring thefeatures. After a few words in a low tone with its companions, this figure clambered lightly into the aeroplane, leaned forward, adjusted some levers, and the next instant, amidst a shout from several hastily gathered onlookers, the Golden Butterfly skyrocketed upward, her engine roaring like an angry giant hornet.
All this was watched by Fanning Harding, Jukes Dade, and Gid Gibbons.
“A nice mess you’ve made of it,” growled Harding angrily to his companions. “You’ve succeeded in getting me suspected, and in trouble, while the boy is safe and sound and on the scene.”
“Wonder how he got back,” grunted Gid speculatively; “he must have looked a sight when he crawled out of that swamp.”
“Say, Dade, you’d better be off,” said Fanning suddenly; “you were the only one of us whose face wasn’t covered. He would swear to you.”
“Oh, I ain’t worrying yet,” grinned Dade easily.
“You’re not, eh? Well, you are a cool hand,” rejoined Gid admiringly. “If I were in your shoes I’d clear out before that aeroplane lands again.”
“You would, eh?” scoffed Dade. “Well, what would you say if I told you that that ain’t Roy Prescott in the Golden Butterfly at all?”
“That you were crazy with the heat,” was the prompt and impolite answer.
“Then you’d be crazy yourself. That’s his sister in that aeroplane, and if he don’t show up in time for the race she’s going to fly it herself and win it.”
If a bombshell had fallen at Fanning’s feet he could not have been more thunderstruck. But he recovered in an instant.
“If she does I’ll protest to the judges,” he said angrily; “they can’t prove that I know anything about her brother’s disappearance, and that Golden Butterfly won’t win this race if I can help it.”