The Mystery Crash 🚗💥 | A Gripping Detective Story 🕵️‍♂️

🚨 **The Mystery Crash** – A Thrilling Detective Mystery 🚨

Step into the world of suspense, secrets, and unexpected twists with **’The Mystery Crash’**. In this gripping tale, an ordinary crash sparks an investigation that uncovers shocking truths and mysteries. Will the detective solve the case, or will the crash remain a baffling enigma? 💡 Follow the detective as he pieces together the puzzle, one clue at a time. Can you guess the outcome before it’s revealed? 🕵️‍♂️🔍

🌟 **Story Highlights**:
• A mysterious crash with hidden motives 🚗💥
• A brilliant detective on the trail of truth 🧠🕵️‍♂️
• Secrets unraveling one by one 🔓
• Unexpected twists that keep you on the edge of your seat! 😱

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Welcome to Classic Detective Mysteries. Today we dive into The Mystery Crash, a gripping tale by Arthur J. Ree. In this thrilling story, a mysterious crash sets off a series of puzzling events that challenge the sharpest minds. With twists and turns, we follow our detective as he unravels clues and confronts a dark web of secrets. Prepare yourself for a journey of suspense and intrigue in this early 20th century classic. Let’s step into the world of the mystery crash chapter 1. The deserted airplane. See that? Look, there’s our mystery. Bob Wright pointed from the cabin window of the monoplane. Al, his younger brother, peered toward the ground. What? Where? Show me any mystery. To make himself understood above the roar of the engine, Bob put his lips close to Al’s ear while Kurt, Bob’s closest friend, also a passenger, bent close to catch his words. It’s a mystery, all right, but you can’t see from here. It was in that cornfield we passed over. What’s the mystery? Curtis Brown’s eyes snapped with eagerness. Why did you say our mystery? Al asked at the same instant. Bob answered both at once. The mystery is why is an airplane hidden in the grove at the edge of a cornfield? Our mystery because we discovered it and because ever since we helped father solve his detective cases and took an interest in aviation, we have wanted to solve something that connects up puzzles and planes. A crate al stared out. I don’t see it. Bob was not there to reply. He moved up to the pilot, Langley Wright, his cousin, who was test pilot for the Treadway Aircraft Corporation, and who was giving this beautiful job its final test and check. Flight Lang, he said, I saw an airplane in the grove at the edge of that last field we crossed. Circle back, won’t you? As Lang turned from jotting down some data, Bob added, “The ship hasn’t crashed. It’s in among the trees backed in.” I caught a glimpse of it and then the trees hid it. I’d like to have another look. Surest thing you know. Lang, 21 and an expert flyer, grinned at his 16-year-old cousin, dipped Aileron’s kicked rudder and with a good bank as the craft swung its nose around. He deafly counteracted a tendency of the ship to go into a sides slip, jotted down some information on his data board and then looked out of his window. There’s the field, he said. I don’t see a crate there. That’s why I told Alan Kurt. It’s a mystery, Bob replied. The ship has been hidden. Its tail is in between trees and the wings are under trees with high branches. I don’t believe it could be seen from the highway that runs by the field. I know it wouldn’t be noticed from the air, except by chance. Granted Langley. I’ve heard of hidden treasure, but this is the first hidden plane there. Bob pointed past Lang’s face. I see it. Lang continued to circle in order to get another sight of the mysteriously hidden ship. As they came around again, Al and Kurt located it also. It staked down. Al, although he was the youngest, not much past 13, had the quickest eyes of the group. I saw the stakes and rope over the wing tips. The engine was covered over, added Kurt Lang spiral down to pass as close as the trees would allow. They saw nothing more, however, and after Lang had refused Al’s impulsive request to set down in the small field, the party flew on to the landing field of the aircraft corporation, where Lang had some alterations to report in the adjustment of the ship’s balance before it could be delivered to its purchaser. Let’s get our bicycles and ride out to the field,” urged Al. As the trio of comrades ellighted beyond the aircraft plant, they pedled the three mi in record time. “I was right,” commented Bob, as they left the wheels beside the highway and climbed over the high rail fence, enclosing the stubble, where corn had recently been cut down. “You can’t see the airplane from any place along the highway.” “Unless it’s gone,” interrupted Al. “No.” Curt was a little ahead. He waved his arm. There she is. They crossed the rough field toward the mysterious silent object of interest. I can see from here it hasn’t cracked up, Kurt declared. Not a scratch on it, and the landing gear is perfect. Whoever flew it must be clever, declared Bob. Look at the narrow strip of open smooth ground he had to set down on. If he hadn’t been able to shoot the field so as to get in on that long smooth side with only a few feet clearance, he’d have come down in rough stubble. Yes, he must have been good, agreed Al. And it proves that he was forced down. Any sane pilot would have gone on to a better spot. They reached the airplane, a two-winged model with a radial motor and small wings. It was a speed ship, trim and mystifying with its dark brown body and air foils freshly done. Curtis, whose age was midway between Al’s 13 and Bob 16, clambered onto a landing wheel and observed the instruments on the dash. Plenty of gas and oil, he remarked. Then his companion saw his face change. Look, as he called, he leaped from his perch so that Bob could occupy it. Al was up on the other side, and it took no explaining to show what had caused Curt’s exclamation. Both youths saw the small square of paper pinned to the folded parachute on the seat. “Dare we look?” questioned Bob. “I can read it from here,” Al said and reported. “It says, everything okay, crookedy Christmas,” Kurt resorted to his favorite expression, “Everything okay.” Then it wasn’t a forced landing. No, agreed Bob. It didn’t seem like one. Somehow the ship is too carefully tucked away. And now this note. Who is it to? Who put it there? Does it mean the ship is all right or something else? I was right when I said there’s our mystery. You were, admitted Kurt. But what can we do about it? Objected Al. Take turns watching. Wait to see who comes back and what he does. I think not, counseledled Kurt. It may be a mystery why the crate is here and all that, but it isn’t any of our business, is it? No, admitted Bob. Let’s go home and see what father thinks of it. There is probably some easy explanation we haven’t thought of. All right, we can ride out here first thing early tomorrow. They could not consult the private detective whose success had been so pronounced that cases came to him from distant cities. He was out of town that night. When they rode out to the field the next day at sunrise, looking for the mysteriously deserted airplane, it was gone. Where is your mystery now? Kurt was inclined to poke a little fun at Bob. As the slight of hand performers say, “Now you see it, now you don’t.” Anyway, Al, who was poking about in the grass under the trees, bent, and then exhibited a damp, crumpled paper. Here is the note. Now, what do you say if we have a session of the old master sleuths and see what we can deduce from this paper? A year before, asked to do a little investigating for Mr. Wright, when he was handling a case where youth would be least likely to arouse suspicion by shadowing, the trio had become intensely interested in detective work and had termed themselves the master sleuths, more in fun than in earnest. However, when they had become airminded, the term had been dropped. Al reviving it won a grin from Bob. “All right,” Bob agreed. “The paper is damp. It has been out in the dew under the trees. It would take a good while for it to get as soggy as it is. The writing has smudged. It’s sort of purple.” “It was written with an indelible pencil,” remarked Curt. Then all we have to do is to find a man with an Al was not allowed to finish. Bob broke in as older brothers like to do. Yes, get the man in the gray suit. How many indelible pencils do you suppose there are in this country? All right. Al took the matter good humorly. Anyhow, if a man wrote it and a man read it and threw it away, two hands have handled it. He put it carefully in his pocket. There may be fingerprints. What good will they do? asked Curt. The mystery is all done with. No, it isn’t, cried Bob, holding up his hand. Listen. From above came the drone of an airplane engine. Chapter 2. A T Rocky Lake. I hear it, exclaimed Al. He ran out onto the turf that had been used as a runway probably when the airplane took off. So do I, agreed Kurt, following him. But I don’t locate it. Bob, craning his neck, staring up toward the great banks of clouds which the early sun was painting with rosy fire, looked puzzled. “Come to think of it,” he said. “We ought not to hear it at all.” “Why not?” demanded Curt. He ought to be too far away. How do you make that out? Al was incredulous. Easy. Lang came home a little before daybreak. He had been at the airplane plant all night with the mechs because Mr. The treadway wanted to get that silver flash ready for delivery in a rush. I didn’t go to sleep again. I got up and dressed and went out to tighten the handlebar on my bicycle. I glanced up just as day broke at the little wind sock I have on our roof. The wind was directly. I don’t see, began Al. But Kurt, wetting the back of his hand, tested the air in various directions. You use your head, Bob, he said admiringly. The breeze is pretty strong and it has shifted around to south straight from the equator. Are you two trying to be mysterious? Al was a little bit annoyed. I thought you wanted to be a master sleuth last year, remarked Curt. Use your eyes and your brains. Um um the airplane must be gone a long time because the wind was west and now it’s south. Um um Oh. Aha! cried Shaw. Bob mocked, twisting the famous Hawkshore title as he made fun of his brother. This turf runs east and west. Al ignored Bob’s mockery. That biplane was a speed model, and it would have to get up higher speed than the average to take off. The runway is too short to give it a good run, so it couldn’t very well have hopped off in time to get over the trees unless it took full advantage of the wind. Isn’t that it, Bob? That’s it. The wind changed about the time we left our meeting point with Kurt. So that airplane ought to be well on its way wherever its way leads. But this engine is getting louder, stated Kurt. There it is, cried Al, pointing toward the south. It’s only a speck, but you see it, don’t you, Kurt? Yes, so do I, added Bob. It looks as if it is spiraling down. Yes, it is. And it isn’t the biplane we saw here at all. Bob said, “Kurt, do you know what?” Yes, it’s the very plane we were in yesterday with Lang. He gave it a final checkup and said if they worked on it all night, it would be ready to take off today. That’s it. All righty. The biplane was brown. And this is the silver flash. I can see it glisten against that dark cloud, added Al. I think it’s coming down. It’s diving. No, cried Bob. It’s out of control. It’s falling. Right over Rocky Lake, shouted Curt. Come on, urged Al, scrambling over the short stubble in the field in haste to reach his bicycle and pedal toward the picnic grounds, less than a quarter of a mile away, in which Rocky Lake was situated. “Wait,” counseledled Bob. “No, come on,” Kurt agreed with Al. “The airplane was out of control. It was diving straight toward the amusement ground around the lake. It’s a crackup. There it goes. Behind the trees, out of sight, like a silver streak, a comet. The airplane fell. Three hearts went cold as the ship was lost to view behind the foliage. While they could not see the craft strike, any spot in Rocky Lake Park was bad for a landing. dense trees, whole groves alternated with stands, pavilions, and the deep boulderstudded water of Rocky Lake and the rivullet which fed it. Three mines worked as one. Three pairs of legs tumbled their owners over the style, onto the roadside turf, up to the bicycles. Pedalling like madmen, they made short time of the trip to the edge of the amusement spot. I think it was directly over Rocky Lake. Curt in the lead called over his shoulder. Dropping their wheels by the roadside. They ran winded but determined towards the picnic grounds. There in the lake, gasped Bob. It crashed. All right, panted Curt. It’s half buried in the water. Al puffed along a little to the rear. I hope the pilot It wasn’t Lang, was it? No, Bob responded to Curt’s question. It must have been some other pilot. I can’t think who, though. Hurry, urged Al. Hello. Hello, he called, passing the pavilions. Is anybody around? Wake up somebody. Help. Help. A plane has cracked up in Rocky Lake. See anything of the pilot? Bob turned to Kurt, gasping for breath. They had reached the shore of the lake by a small wararf where rowboats were hired during the day. Kurt scanned the surface of the lake. quite near the shore and on the rocks with one crumpled wing and with her nose and cabin buried in soft oozy mud. The smashed monoplane lay with its pitifully useless tail assembly sticking up into the air. The flippers had carried way with the impact and hung by the control cables. Bob turned a serious face toward his companion. I hope I wonder he could not finish. The thought flitted through his mind that unless the pilot had been extremely quick and very clever, he could not have gotten out of the cabin in time. The falling craft had been close enough so that had any figure leaped, especially with a parachute. They should have seen it clearly. No such figure had leaped in time. Maybe he crawled out when it struck, said Kurt hopefully. Anyhow, let’s get a boat and try to get to it. Al called Curt. Stop calling for help. There isn’t anybody here. Run to the farmhouse across the road. No, that’s empty. Ride back down the road till you see an automobile and send it to town for help. If you don’t meet one, stop at the first house and telephone. Al, for all his natural eagerness to be at the scene, to share in their experiences, saluted without a word of remmonstrance, and hurried away. Meanwhile, Bob, realizing that the oes for the boats were locked in the small pavilion on the warf, determined to break in, feeling that the emergency removed any taint of robbery or pillage from the act. Fortunately, he found the old rusted lock not caught, he slipped the rusty padlock, slipped the free, and ran back to the dock where Kurt had a boat untied and ready. In this, pushing off, they rode out to the airplane. The weight of its engine was very slowly driving its nose deeper into the soft ooze of the marshy ground at that end of the lake. “Hurry,” begged Kurt, as Bob bent to his task. Suddenly, Bob rested on his oars. “What’s the matter?” cried Kurt, and as he saw the expression of Bob’s face, he too became intent. “There it is again,” panted Bob. “A call, a call for help,” he questioned. “I don’t know, but row,” Bob wrote. “Chapter 3. a greater mystery. “There comes the call again,” whispered Curt. “It was help.” Bob sent the boat through the mirror-like water. He headed for the immersed nose of the airplane, and as they rounded the cabin, part of it sticking up for Lonely. Kurt lifted a hand to point. “Look, there is the parachute, partly inflated, floating on the water. It looks as though the pilot tried to get out of the cabin and either pulled his rip cord too soon, or else some part of the harness caught and held him until too late. Sobered and worried, wondering just what to do and who had called, they sent their eyes questing here and there into as much of the cabin as they could see from the window just under the transparent surface of Rocky Lake, but without result. I thought he might be caught in the cabin, said Bob. But I can’t see any. There he is. See, out on the lake, Kurt pointed. He’s swimming. Bob pushed away from the fuselage of the sinking craft and with a sweep brought the bow of their boat around. Oh. He caught sight of a head bobbing in the water. Oh, Kurt, I’m so glad. Rowing hard, he sent the boat toward the swimmer. So am I. Curt’s voice was relieved. The pilot escaped. But it can’t be the pilot, Kurt. Why not? He has been swimming toward the plane from out in the lake. I know, Bob, but he may have seen us. But he’d have part of the parachute harness on. Bob objected. Probably he slashed it off. Maybe he saw it was too late to get out, that the chute was too low, and he slashed himself free and started to swim across the water. No, he’d have come to this closer shore and landed on the warf. They watched the man treading water as he saw them coming. Across the water, a call floated clearly to them. “Did you hear a call for help?” “We thought we did,” Bob called back. And as they came closer, the man spoke less loudly. “I don’t see anybody.” “Then you aren’t the pilot.” “He can’t be,” Kurt commented when the man failed to reply, being busy clearing water from his eyes to look around the lake again. Haven’t seen anybody at all. The man spoke as he caught the gunwell and pulled himself up and into the boat with Curt’s aid. Heard a shout though. Roback boys to that thing. They went back over the course. The stranger studying the aircraft seemed very much disturbed and worried. He had a hand ready to catch the struts of a wing as they swung under the tilted air foil. While Bob stowed the needless ore on that side, he drew the boat forward. We didn’t see anything in the cabin. We looked before, Bob explained. Untie that painter, the stranger ordered. I’m going down under the nose, and the mud might hold me. So, if I signal, you pull. As Curt unnotted the tying rope and threw it to him, the man looped an end under his arms, knotting it swiftly, flung the short coil to Bob, and lowered himself. disappearing into the water. His descent stirred up mud, moiling the water. Down he went, hidden almost at once in the murky disturbance. Paying out the rope until it grew slack, Bob took a turn around a rollock, and they waited breathlessly. Some bubbles floated up and broke. Then came a tug on the rope. Kurt, who had already come to the midship section, helped Bob tug and haul in the wet manila strands. The stranger came up through the murky water, emerged, shook himself free of the liquid, caught the boat, and shook his head. Not in the cabin. Only thing I can think of is if he tried to jump and got under the thing. Very soberly, the youths helped him back into the boat. People were arriving on the bank, shouting to one another, calling for information. Shipping oes in boats. Al, having met several motorists, had spread the alarm and then had ridden on to telephone the police and to report the crash. Al, having returned, was in the second boat to arrive by the slowly sinking craft. Bob gave him a concise report while they pushed away from the place to enable a deputy sheriff to take command and to jot down the strangers. Explanation and their own from Kurt. I wish you boys would row me across the little bayou here, the man said. Al had transferred to their boat by that time. Take me to that point over there, the man added. It’s closest to where I dropped my motorcycle when I saw the thing happen. Bob nodded. The presence of the motorcycle beyond the lake where it was nearest to the road, explained why they had seen the man swimming toward them. He must have heard and seen the airplane, watched its descent, and then rushed to see what he could do. But won’t the police want you to testify or whatever it is? Asked Al. The man shook his head. No, he replied. If they do, they can find me soon enough. I’m off to get into dry duds. I didn’t waste time riding around the end of the lake. I dropped my motorcycle and ran in to see what I could see. He smiled sadly. I guess I was too late even at that. thanking them as he climbed onto the rocky shore. He pushed the bow of their boat into the stream again and watched them turn in the still water. “You can tell the police I didn’t think they’d need me right away,” he called. “I’m passing through this section, and I don’t want to be held up and kept here for any sort of investigation. You saw as much as I did.” “Well, goodbye.” He turned and as they heard the crash bus arriving from the airport in a nearby city of which they lived in the suburbs, Bob rode his two young companions back toward the airplane. The police came and many others with them and after them. Preparations were made to drag under the craft and to lift it if tackle could be gotten into suitable position to see if any trace of the missing pilot could be discovered. Nothing further developed, however, and one of the mechs with the airport bus told Bob it would be afternoon before they got the monoplane out. The three comrades had given the police lieutenant all the information they could. There was a healthy appetite making itself felt among them. Let’s go home, Bob suggested. Wait, all of you, urged the reporter for a small suburban daily. I’ll make heroes of you yet. Protesting that they had done nothing heroic and that they did not want to be put in the paper for doing their duty. Kurt and Bob refused to answer any questions. The police, Bob said, might not want information published. He did not know, but he would prefer not to talk. Oh, I see there is a mystery then, the reporter declared. Well, if you won’t talk, he began to write swiftly. If we won’t talk, Bob commented as the trio walked toward their bicycles. He’ll write something anyhow. It’s clear that there isn’t any trace of the pilot. Al’s mind returned to the tragic part of the crash. Maybe he jumped clear, got away, and went into the water and then coming up got to land. He may be on shore somewhere, hurt or too weak to make himself known. Curt’s explanation renewed their hope. Let’s hope it’s that way, said Bob. Well, we’ve got a long road to breakfast. Mother will be just about wild. I left a note, but she will worry about Al and me just the same. If we go to the ballpark and don’t get home within half an hour after the game, she frets. Excuse me, boys. A pleasant voice behind them caused the three to wheel around. They saw a pleasantfaced man beside an automobile parked close to the bicycles they were disentangling. If you want to get home in a hurry, pile the bicycles in that little comfort station over there and tell the attendant Barney said to look out for them. I’m from the aircraft plant, and as long as I can’t do anything here, if you’ll hop into my car, I’ll ride you home while you give me the facts as well as you know them about this smash. It’s a bad thing, and I want to get as straight as I can what happened. They were very grateful to Barney, who neglected to furnish any other name. He waited until they had stowed away the bicycles, and while he drove them toward the village, he questioned them rapidly. “I think you are all very brave and quick and fine,” he commented after they had in turn recited their adventures. “You acted splendidly, and I thank you very much.” Al looked surprised. “We did our duty,” he replied. “But why are you thanking us? I know it was one of the Treadway airplanes because we were in it with Lang yesterday on checkup, but who was in it and what do you think happened really? The owner of the manufacturing plant was in it, said Barney very soberly and sadly. Mr. Treadway was flying it himself. He wanted to deliver it in person for a reason. For a reason? Bob repeated inquiringly. Yes, said Barney. There is a mystery behind that crackup. It’s more likely it’s a wash out. Anyhow, there is something behind the smash and I’ve heard there is a private detective a Mr. Wright at 41 Elm. If you can tell me the quickest way to get there, I’ll appreciate it. I want to consult him on this case. Bob, Curt, and Al stared. That’s father, said Al. Indeed. Then I’m glad I offered you a lift. They directed him, and eventually he drew up the car before the neat, cozy cottage. Curtis, accepting the invitation to stay for their somewhat belated breakfast, sat with Bob and Al in the cheerful breakfast room, finishing up a stack of pancakes thickly syruped, when Bob was sent for returning. After a few minutes, he showed his younger brother and his best friend a face of elation. “There is a mystery, Allighty,” he declared. “And you’re to come with me.” “Why?” asked Curt. Because, retorted Bob, we’re in on it. As the others jumped up, he added, “Father’s home and he’s taken a real air mystery case.” Chapter 4. The Sky Squad is formed. Entering Mr. Wright’s library, which the detective used as a reception room for clients, Bob Curtis, and Al could hardly repress their excitement. to share in the possible solution of a real mystery of the airlines was more than they had really dared to hope for. Seated opposite Mr. Wright, smiling pleasantly, was the man who had given no other name than Barney. Good morning, Mr. Wright. Curtis Brown greeted the quiet but cordial father of his two chums. Al added a salute to his father. “Sit down,” suggested the detective. Bob, Kurt, and Al ranged themselves along the leather upholstered Davenport at the side where the light was on their faces. Mr. Wright had his room so arranged that only his own place beside the desk enabled him to keep his face in the shadow. Clients and other visitors had to show every expression in the light from the two sunny windows. While Mr. Wright seemed to be deciding how to disclose his plans, Kurt compared the two men. They were of very distinct types. Fred Wright would make anybody think of an ordinary everyday businessman. Fairly prosperous, quiet in his manner, affable and cordial in his speech. His calm, serious face was neither severe nor too soft, and while its steel gray eyes were kindly, they could look through a person, it seemed, and find out almost what that one was thinking, or perhaps trying to conceal. Barney, on the other hand, made one think of a working man who had risen to a position of prosperity and influence without being able entirely to shake off his surviile, unpolished manner. Although his clothes were expertly tailored, he seemed a little ill at ease in them. What was more, he gave the impression that he knew it. He was a trifle blustery to cover his feeling of inferiority, Kurt decided, and he had a habit of interrupting when another person was speaking. However, this might be due to excitement, Kurt thought charitably. Glancing sideways, he sensed that much the same comparisons were passing through Bob’s mind. Al gave no thought to character. His whole attention was bent on the possibility of action. Kurt, who liked to look for good points more than for the other sort, checked up Barney’s dark eyes, almost black, and decided that they were only serious because of the gravity of the situation. They could twinkle with fun, he guessed. Also, the mouth was so shaped that Bob admitted to himself that Barney smiled often than he scowlled. I have told Mr. Horton about you three young aviation enthusiasts, Fred Wright began. Also, I have explained that you used to be very fond of detecting in a decidedly amateur-ish way, of course. He smiled across the desk toward Barney, whose face broke into a broadpleased grin, immediately suppressed because of the seriousness of his errand. I’ll say we were amateur-ish, chuckled Bob. Why, Mr. Horton? Call me Barney, just Barney, the visitor interrupted. If you say so, sir. Well, Barney, then we were crazy to be great detectives because father is one. He paid the compliment wholeheartedly, and only his father smiled and shook his head deprecatingly. But we let our enthusiasm take the place of brains, Bob added. I was not much help because I let vanity get the best of cool common sense. I was a failure because I am too impulsive, contributed Al. I was so shortsighted in my mind that I forgot to look at the whole of a case and pin my nose down onto every little clue, Kurt grinned sheepishly. So I kept going around in circles all the same. Mr. Wright looked over at Barney. In such work as boys could do, they were a few years younger than these three helped me a great deal in handling two quite important cases. The trio lowered their heads modestly. However, the detective continued, they turned from being master sleuths, as they termed themselves, to aviation. Air boys, chuckled Barney. Why, yes, that is an apt expression. But we didn’t give up wanting to be detectives. Really, exclaimed Al earnestly. We were looking for a way to mix the aviation with the detecting. Only we haven’t gotten into either one. Then here’s your chance. Barney said it very seriously. How? Barney has brought me a very baffling case. Mr. Wright explained. Unfortunately, I am so deeply involved in another matter that I cannot drop it. But you can give some time to this. You said Barney was earnest. Not personally. That is I shall be able to investigate in person, the detective replied. That is where our three assistants will figure and be air boys and master sleuths both at the one time. Barney interrupted. Hooray. Al clapped his hand to his knee, unable to restrain his enthusiasm. Mr. Wright, although with a tolerant, if brief smile, shook his head at his younger son. This will be a serious affair, he stated forcefully. Al immediately became sobered. How can we combine aviation and detective work? Asked Kurt, the most practical of the chums. By going to the aircraft plant to work as mechanics helpers, or whatever positions Barney sees fit to put you in. Mr. Wright told them, “That takes care of the detective work because you will have to keep eyes and ears open and without appearing to do so. We can do that easily, said Bob. That takes no effort at all, agreed Al. His father, knowing Al’s expressive face to be easily read, made no comment. While you are at the aircraft plant, Barney took up the explanation. You will be working in and around the crates we are building, and you will learn a whole lot about how an airplane is put together, what the parts are for, and how they are assembled. That’s the aviation part. He emphasized the first syllable, making it aviation. What do you say? Hooray. Al was irrepressible. Just show us the jobs, added Bob. Of course, we will be glad to learn. Kurt was more sober. That ought to be one of the first things for anybody to do who means to be a pilot. Mr. Wright nodded, and Kurt proceeded. A good grounding in airplane construction will be fine, but for the detective part, I think we ought to be very serious and consider it carefully. Indeed, you should, agreed Mr. Wright. There is a deeper mystery to be solved than appears on the surface. I see that, agreed Curt, and we must be sure that we will be a help and not a hindrance to you. Fine, lad, broke in Barney. Oh, we won’t be a hindrance. Al was almost bouncing on the divine springs in his eagerness. We’ll watch and catch whoever you want caught. Maybe learn to fly a crate and hop off and fly after him and ride him down and force him to land and there you are. All the party laughed. Al, realizing his childish lapse into silly chatter, laughed finally himself a little rofily. “I see what Kurt meant now,” he said more quietly, but his excitement was hard to hold. But anyhow, Mr. Barney, anyhow, Barney, we will try to help. We can learn about airplane construction, and that will be fine. But we will give all our minds to watching and listening and doing whatever is wanted of us. We ought to form some kind of club or order. So, we would have a head to get orders from father, especially if he is too busy to take part himself. That’s sensible, even if it does seem boy-like to want to have a secret association, said the older detective. Then let’s call ourselves what Barney called us the airboys. I don’t like that very much, objected Bob. Well, then you pick a name. I think the game is more important than the name, observed the older detective. Oh, but with a good name for our band and a chief, we can know where we are, urged Al. All right, said Kurt. Let’s humor the youngster. Al grimaced at him, but subsided as Curt went on. We are detectives as well as airplane enthusiasts. Why not combine the two in the name of the order we are to form something about the sky and something about a police detective squad? You’ve hit it? Barney interrupted. Hit it? How? Sky Squad. Crickety Christmas. Kurt was as enthusiastic as Bob and Al became on hearing the words. That’s it. Very well. Mr. Wright was patient but a little annoyed. That being settled, we can take up the important matter of the case. Chapter 5, a double puzzle. Barney stood up and looked at his watch also. He frowned a little. I wish we didn’t have to waste the time, he objected. I’ve went through it all with you, Mr. Wright, and I wanted to take these lads along back to the plant in my car. I wanted to make it look like I just happened on them at the accident the well the accident and found they were interested in aviation and brought them back to fill a couple of places in the plant. But how can we solve a case if we don’t know what it is? Bob to that Kurt nodded and Al bobbed his head rapidly. As a matter of fact, Barney turned to Bob. I think you would do a whole heap better if you went into it blind. Sort of. If you know all about it, you’ll go out to the plant all serious and acting like judges or detectives. If you take it the way our youngest friend Al does, as a sort of lark, you won’t be suspected so quick. There is something in that, Mr. Wright admitted. Al’s face is apt to give him away if he thinks it is really serious, perhaps. But all the same, Father, Bob declared, How will we know what to watch for? How will we know what to report? Watch anything you see. Listen to whatever you hear. Report the whole business, Barney exclaimed. That does seem wise, Mr. Wright agreed, rising also. Boys, let’s emphasize the sky part of your order and let the squad side rest a while. Barney wants to get back to the plant. He is the manager, I meant to explain. He ought to be at the end of a telephone wire. Let’s say only this. There is a double mystery. First of all, valuable parts have been missed from time to time from the plant. That is a minor matter at present. But your first puzzle is where have the missing parts gone and who took them. But as I said, that is a minor affair because somebody has tampered with some of the finished crates broken Barney. Why? And who? That’s the second puzzle. Suppose you take that as enough for the present, suggested Mr. Wright. He turned to Barney. Now these three young lads are alert, obedient, and they will follow instructions to the letter if you give orders, he explained. You have already seen how how quick they are in emergencies. Yes, Siri. All right. I know I can depend on them. Sorry you can’t investigate in person, Mr. Wright. But maybe this way will work out best. Anyhow, nobody at the plant will get suspicious of these boys. They won’t have the brains of older men like you and me, but they will have quick eyes and wide ears. He laughed and beckoned. Come on, lads. A little disappointed, feeling that there was more behind the mystery than Mr. Writer disclosed, but accepting his lead, Bob, Allen, Kurt caught up their caps from the hall rack and followed Barney into the car. as he drove toward the large manufacturing buildings, the administration offices, and the assembling rooms, dope rooms, and testing field that formed the Treadway Aircraft Corporation plant. Barney kept away from talk about the mysteries. Instead, he questioned them about the plan for their new organization, suggested secret codes, urged them to elect a boss pilot, and really fired their imaginations to such a point that when they came in sight of the aircraft plant, they had almost forgotten their disappointment at not being taken fully into his confidence. “Well,” he said, when they turned in at the gateway in the highboard fence that kept curious wanderers out of the grounds. Here we are, Sky Squad. Ready to begin to learn how a crate is started, what the design means, and why certain things have to be planned for, and then what goes into construction, and why, how she’s put together, and then how to fly the finished crate. Sensing from his tone that he wanted them to concentrate at least outwardly on airplane construction and to let the other part of their activity be kept quiet, the three comrades agreed by assuming an interest that was by no means hard to pretend when he took them into the offices, introduced them to some of the men working there, and explained that he was going to put them to work to learn to build crates from the prop to the tail skid. Barney on the way had learned their special interests. Therefore, he put Bob into the engine assembling division where he could learn more about radial engines and the experiments being conducted with oil burning types. Kurt, who was methodical, cool, and careful, was assigned to work, at least for a while, in the wing assembling rooms. Al, being rather young for too much technical understanding, was assigned as helper to a rigger, who had been grumbling for some time at the laziness of his present assistant. Everything was so new and so interesting that the trio forgot the seriousness with which Mr. Wright had assembled them that morning. But as they rode their bicycles toward home at lunchtime, Bob imparted information that both startled them and turned their minds back to the serious business really underlying their work. “I heard some talk this morning,” Bob told his brother and Kurt. “It’s serious, fellows. Missing parts aren’t half the puzzle, and tampering with airplanes isn’t all the rest.” “What is then?” demanded Al. They think in the wing assembling room Kurt put in that the airplane fell this morning because something went wrong with Mr. Treadway. The plant owner was delivering that craft himself. They all argue that he must have had a heart attack or something of the sort because the airplane was tested and gone over thoroughly. They say he must have been taken sick and lost control. Is that what you mean? I heard some mechs saying they think he deliberately made away with himself because of money trouble or something they don’t know about. Added Al. Maybe trouble with his family. One says that isn’t it? Bob said soberly. What is the talk in the engine plant was that some enemy deliberately tampered with that airplane because because he knew the owner was to fly it. But Kurt was astounded. But Bob, that would be Yes, admitted Bob very gravely. Yes, it would. That makes the puzzle about missing parts and the rest unimportant, Kurt commented thoughtfully. But it still gives us two puzzles to solve, Al began. Well, corrected Kurt. Not two separate puzzles, but a double puzzle all the same. A double puzzle? I don’t quite see. It’s all one problem, Bob explained to his younger brother. But it has two sections. First, was the airplane tampered with as an act against the aircraft corporation or against Mr. Treadway in person? And second, Al did not let Kurt complete his deduction. Al had one of his own. And second, who did it? Chapter 6. Suspicion and suspense. Full of their horrifying suspicions, Kurt and Bob rode on. Al turned off on a side street to deliver a parcel at the home of his new boss, Sandy Jim Bailey. the rigger. Al wanted to make himself solid with the sandyhaired man whom he already liked and whose grumbling was over now that he had, as he said, a willing and brainy helper. Kurt ate lunch with Bob. Both were disappointed when Bob’s mother told them that his father had been called out of town on his case except earlier riding back to rejoin Al who was waiting at the gate of the plant ground. Bob accosted his brother in some surprise. Aren’t you going to have lunch?” he asked. “I had it,” Al told Bob and Kurt. “I delivered that package for Mr. Bailey and met his son, Jimmy Jr., he’s just about my age.” “And an awfully nice fellow. He invited me, so I stayed.” He dismounted and set his wheel inside the enclosure. “You ought to see the model airplanes he builds. They’re great.” “Well, we can’t stop to talk about them now.” Mr. Barney Horton left word with the gateman. We are to come into the administration offices to see him. Bob led the way as he gave the information. It will give us a chance to look over the office staff, Kurt explained. Be careful, Al, his brother warned him. See that you don’t let anybody guess that you see any suspicious things. You show everything on your face, you know. All right. Barney greeted them in his private office and introduced them to Mr. Treadway’s partner, Mr. Parsons, who was there. If his manner was somewhat abrupt and his mind preoccupied, Bob made allowances for that. The man was overcome by the mishap and its sinister outcome. His restless, seemingly uneasy, and almost furtive actions, however, were not so easy to account for. He seemed unable to meet the eyes of the comrades directly, and appeared to be nervous even more than the circumstances justified, Bob thought. Almost on top of the introductions, he hurried out to get out there where the airplane cracked up and see what’s what, he explained. He takes it mighty hard, he does, Barney told the youths. No wonder he’s Mr. Treadway’s partner. But there isn’t any real certainty that anything terrible happened to Mr. Treadway, asserted Kurt. He might have jumped clear. Yes, and maybe he was hurt and managed to swim off to some part of the shore and wasn’t able to go any further. They haven’t searched every possible spot, have they? Al was hopeful. I’m afraid they have, Bonnie replied. Furthermore, there are so many soft, muddy sink holes in Rocky Lake. Do you agree with what the people in the plant are saying? Al asked. I don’t know, my lad. You see, it’s a good idea having you here. When I’m around, the people shut their mouths. But you hear things. What are they saying? They think it’s something worse than missing parts and damage done to the crates. Al answered and explained, calling on Kurt and Bob for their versions of the talk. Well, Al, I think if I were you, I wouldn’t listen to the talk around the plant too hard. Pick it up, of course, but don’t go making any theories of your own out of it. Barney explained that people buzzed like a lot of flies every time anything happened, and that many of the less sensible ones, liking to be in the limelight, worked up almost idiotic theories. Usually, if they were accepted, they led to unjust suspicions, he argued. “Those scatter brains only want an audience to listen to them,” he declared. I’d advise you to listen and let it go out the other ear. Otherwise, you may get off onto the wrong notion. Better watch out for suspicious actions and leave the theories to Mr. Wright. But he’s away, argued Al. Only temporary, I guess. Anyhow, you can tell me what you hear and see, and let it go at that. I’ll communicate with Mr. Wright, and if he thinks there is anything as bad as you say, I can tell you how to go on. All right, agreed Kurt. Bob and Al added their own agreement to the suggestion. The designer and the engineering staff were introduced and several hours were devoted to discussions between them for the benefit of the trio about airplane design and the things that had to be taken into consideration. If my young friends are going to learn airplane building, Barney asserted, it will be better if they know how important it is to figure stresses, safety margins, stability, and so on before ever a design gets on paper. I thought all those things came out in the tests after the airplanes are built, Al contributed. Oh, no. The designer said, “The tests show us how well we figured and how good the designs are that we created. But we work everything out up here before ever an engine part is cast. A fuselage built or a wing assembled. Any other way would be hit or miss,” Bob agreed. While they learn the many sections into which an airplane design is divided and how carefully every curve streamline distribution of weight, lift of wing and drag of body must be calculated, Bob decided that no one in the office, at least no one with whom he came in contact was acting in any suspicious manner. Able to do nothing about the accident, the staff went on with its accustomed work, sadly, more seriously, to be sure, but steadily. However, when Bob returned to his engine assembling work, he met a new character, and one of whom he at once formed an unsatisfactory opinion. By association of ideas, Griff Parsons fell under his suspicion because the youth, about 18 or 19, was the son of the man Bob had seen in Barney’s office, Mr. Parsons. Griff, whose hand clasp was flabby, whose eyes were even more shifty, whose manner was still more uneasy than his father’s had been, did not impress Bob favorably at all. “He had something on his mind,” Bob decided. Assigned by the engine department foreman to help Griff fit piston rings onto the small pistons to fit the piston assembly into the cylinders before the final assembly was made. Bob learned much, and somewhat more about Griff than about the nice adjustments of machinery. If he turned suddenly, Griff almost jumped, having hard work to control his muscles. When he spoke of the morning’s accident, Griff, with a scowl, told him to keep your mind on what you’re doing. That other ain’t any of your business. Bob had hard work not to show his antagonism to the gruff, snappish young man. He was grateful when a summons took him out into the yard. “I think it is a good idea to have you fellows treated as though all you are here for is to learn about airplanes.” Barney greeted him. “Your cousin Langley is going to take up the sisterhip to the cracked up Silver Flash this afternoon, and I’m sending all three of you with him. It will give you a chance to understand what the designer told you about how carefully he had estimated the shape and weight of the new type longerons and how some mistake that he hasn’t been able to figure out yet makes the new crate tend to slip off sideways too easily. Langley will show you how he checks and reports, and then you will understand how every one of us works in harmony with every other one to build our ships airworthy, safe, and steady. When they joined Lang, who was busy checking his dashboard instruments as the engine warmed up on the line, Bob, Curt, and Al did not hook safety belts on. They had every confidence in Langs ability to handle the ship, and they were more anxious to be near him so they could talk than to sit along the cabin sides, unable to communicate their news to him over the roar of the engine. As soon as Lang sent the powerful engine into speed, racing down the runway into the wind, lifting the elevators to catch the propeller blast and tip up with the nose, then flying level just above the ground for those essential few seconds in which flying speed was regained before the climb. Al opened the conversation. Lang, he cried, pitching his voice to offset the noise about them. Did you know what they are saying about the accident? Langley nodded. This seems to be a test flight, he said. But I’m really flying over to the airport in the city suburbs. Barney wants you along to scatter and pick up talk there. What’s the airport got to do with the mystery? Barney thinks that mysterious crate we saw in the field might have something to do with it. Lang responded to Curt’s question. But Barney told us not to go building theories. Bob objected. He’s older and better able to see things clearly, Lang reminded him. So, we will climb pretty high. As if for test dives and slips and skids and barrel rolls. You’d better be sure to snap your safety belts. Not right now, though. This crate slips pretty sharp. But I think we’re wasting time, declared Bob, flying to the airport. Why? Asked Lang. In the first place, the airplane was carefully hidden. No one at the airport would know anything about it. In the second place, I can’t see how it could link in with the crash. Unless its pilot was higher than Mr. Treadway, and flew over him and forced him down. Al was excited at his deduction. He felt puffed up. We would have seen him, objected Curt, crushing Al’s inflated vanity. By the way, Bob broke in. Let’s talk about something else. If Barney sent you for information, that’s that. Never mind what we think. What I want to do is to get a line on that fellow named Griff Griff Parsons. Why? Lang swung in his seat, catching the shift of the crate with almost automatic movements of stick and rudder bar. What about him? He’s the son of the superintendent, isn’t he? Asked Kurt. Yes, Al broke in. And what’s more, I suspect that’s super. He looks like the sort who could do tricky things. Did you see his eyes? Yes, agreed Curt. Lang cut the motor and glided gently to hear better. But what has that to do with Griff? Bob, surprised at the sharpness of Lang’s tone, frowned. He looks like the same type as his father, same shifty eyes, same restlessness, firtiveness. Say, see here. Lang became suddenly angry. You let that young man alone and keep your unfair suspicions off him. Is that so? Al was angry too, all at once. Who are you to give us orders? I’ll let you know who I am if you go on suspecting innocent people. What’s more, I’ll have Uncle Fred yank you out of there so quick. What makes you so hot under the collar? Demanded Bob. What is it to you if we suspect Griff? Is he an angel that we have to keep our minds off him? He’s a mighty good friend of mine, snapped Langley. All of them were angry. Kurt, not related to the others, felt that he ought to intervene between the quarreling cousins. But something in the unreasoning fury of Lang’s next words stopped him. See here. Lang forgot he was piloting an airplane and swung around on his seat, his face working. If you keep on, if you bother Griff or try to trail him or anything, I’ll have Uncle Fred yank you out of there so quick. Oh, look out. forgotten. The airplane with no guide answered automatically to the thrust of Lang’s foot on the rudder bar as he whirled on his cousins. The shift of the rudder swung the nose, and Lang’s instinct made him operate it to make the ailerons bank the ship, but she had almost lost flying speed, the allimportant velocity which gives the wings lifting qualities. Sickeningly, the airplane tilted. Al, Bob, and Kurt, not strapped fast, tumbled sideways, and the unstable craft tipped down abruptly. Realizing the slip and the danger, although they were quite high, Lang kicked rudder sharply. To his dismay, there came a dull, snapping thump, and one end of the rudder bar worked free. The cable had either come loose or had snapped, and with its unstrapped occupants in a huddle, on the side which was lowermost, the lower wing tip turned straight downward, the other pointed toward the sky. The windowed sides were in the position of floor and ceiling, and the airplane began to fall 3,000 ft. Langs eyes consulted the altimeter. Three momentarily, he lost his nerve and faltered. Bob on the instant acted. Chapter 7. In the falling plane, in an emergency, thoughts leap through some minds quicker than lightning crosses the sky. Bob’s mentality was of that type. Whether his mind worked through what is called instinct, or whether he put together many things he had learned about airplanes, or whether he worked through a chain of reasoning from beginning to end in a fraction of a second, does not matter. The important thing was his action. In an airplane which is falling with wing tips towards sky and earth, the ailerons which usually tilt it are practically useless because it has no forward movement sufficient to bring the air against the leading edges of the wings for lift or to press against the ailerons to cause them to function properly. Furthermore, when the ship is falling on its side, the elevators which in level flight serve to lift or to drop the nose are no longer elevators. They, because of the position of the ship, are really the rudders, while the rudder, because it is then parallel to the ground, assumes the position and functions of the elevators. But Bob knew in a flash from the action of the ship, from the free movement of the rudder bar, that the rudder cable had come loose or had snapped. Bob knew furthermore that unless he could drop the nose, give her the gun, and thus by partly diving instead of falling sideways, and by partly using the propeller pull could regain flying speed. Lang could not get the craft under control and save them from a crash. There were seconds, not more, between them and eternity. That rudder must be operated. It must be done before they came too close to Earth to make the maneuvers necessary to a safe landing possible. Even as he called to Lang, “Give her the gun.” His hand smashed through the thin side of the cabin wall down where it came together with the sturdy but light plates of the flooring. Because the airplane fell on its side, the side he smashed was under him, the flooring was at his side, acting as the sidewall. He knew that if the lower of rudder cables in the ship’s present position was broken, he could get it there. If the upper one was severed, its end would have dropped down, perhaps caught on a longeron, or on a longitudinal fuselage brace, he might be able to catch hold of it. It took but a second to thrust his hand through the cabin wall to grip the edge of a floor plate to rip it from its temporary fastenings which were not completed until the tests made it sure that no further adjustments under the flooring would be necessary. Thus disclosed he could see the under framework of that part of the fuselage. Braced so that his body would not crash down through a window. He looked and grappled for the cable end. His fingers touched cable. For all the exigency of their desperate situation, he tugged very gently and was glad. That cable was fast. It might lead to the elevators the ailerons. Anyway, it was not the right strand. Again, he felt under the edge of what was in the ship’s position. The plate above the one ripped away. His fingers touched a loose strand. “We’re all right,” he panted, grasping the plate and tugging it partly free. so that his arm could go further in and secure in his gripping fingers the loose cable end. In the brief time that this had taken, Lang had obeyed the call for gas to be fed to the engine. Idling, it roared into its power pulsations. There was an instant of fear in Bob’s mind. If the cable he held were pulled and it depressed the rudder, which would act in their position as an elevator or flipper acts, all would be well. In that case, the propeller blast striking the rudder air foil would push the nose downward and the ship would begin to dive. Then the air rushing against the leading edge of the wings would cause them to be operative, even in their sidewise position, and with the dive and the engine pull giving flying speed, they could then maneuver. But if the rudder went upward, it would lift the nose. already deprived of all but the little speed the engine had picked up, the blast on the rudder, lifting the nose, would cause another stall, and they would perhaps fall too far to get the other side of the rudder cable before he could help it. I’ve got the end of the cable, he cried. Set yourself, Lang. Lang, with a swift glance toward the windows which face the earth, saw the ground seeming to leap upward toward them. Above was the silent sky. There was a little margin of time if pull easy, Lang shouted. Pull easy. Instantly Kurt relayed the message. Easy, cried Al. Bob tensed his muscles, braced himself, gave a gentle tug, and held it. The nose lowered. Hold it, shrilled Al, relaying Lang’s relieved cry. The rudder had sent the nose a little downward. The drop changed into a dive. Can you pull the rudder further? The message came swiftly from Lang through Curt and Al to Bob, almost out of one mouth before the other said it. So quick was the response. Yes, Bob did so. Slowly the ship swung onto a more level keel, and while Bob clung with fingers that were growing numb from his excitement, the ship got flying speed in a sort of descending spiral. The elevators could again be made to lift the nose as flying speed was attained and the ship was in control. The signal to ease off did not come at once. Lang preferred to hold his present bank and circle while he looked over through the lower cabin windows to sight their position. In that brief time, Kurt, also keyed up, had located the loose end of the cable that led from the rudder bar. With a piece of strong twine, he made a splice, securely reved onto the loose end, led it to the free end in Bob’s fingers, and since the rudder was hard down and could be held there by grasping further along the cable, Bob shifted his grip until Kurt was able to get his twine doubled fast on that part of the cable also. Then, while Lang held his rudder bar steady, Kurt tightened gently until the ends of the severed strand were almost touching, made several knots that could not slip, and the entire control of the ship was in Lang’s hands again. They did not feel like going onto the airport, but Kurt, always cool, generally farseeing, urged that they do so. If we go back, we’ll have to tell about this and create new excitement and talk, he counseledled. And Lang saw the good sense of the idea. Well go on and land at the airport, he agreed above the sound of his motor. After we get over our excitement, we can think better. When they got there and Lang telephoned the aircraft plant, the trio outside the booth heard him ask for Griff. Moodily, sorrowfully, with common consent, they moved away. One and all, they linked Griff’s uneasiness and Lang’s curious anger and immediate call to the one he called a very good friend. It was bad enough to suspect Griff, but Lang Bob’s cousin, that was dreadful. Chapter 8. Watchful waiting. Moodily walking back toward their airplane around which a group of handlers and mechanics watched one assigned to make sure the cable splice was entirely safe. Curt spoke quietly. Bob, maybe we should have waited to hear what Langley said to Griff. No. Bob was almost snappish. No, I hate to suspect your cousin of anything wrong. Kurt assured the brothers earnestly. Not any more than I hate it, Al retorted. But you’ve got to look at what you see and hear what comes to your ears. All the same, counseledled Curt, hoping to lighten the burden of unhappiness for his chums. I’d go slow. You know, they may be just friends, close ones. There may not be anything wrong about Griff. We are likely to be suspicious because that’s what we are there for. But look, objected Al. The cable snaps. Now that’s almost a span new crate. That cable ought not to fray apart. But it could never wear so soon. It was filed or scraped. But that doesn’t involve Griff, urged Kurt, hoping if he lightened their suspicion of Griff, the cousin who was his friend would be less suspected. He works in the engine department. Anyhow, he knew his friend, your cousin, would fly the plane. He’d never sh warned Bob. Langley, looking very glum, came up to them. I talked to Griff, he said, told him what had happened. He was flabbergasted. “You ought to have reported to Barney or to Mr. Parsons,” Bob declared. “Why did Griff have to know anyhow? Al was impulsive and did not care if he started a fresh quarrel or not.” The conclusion he jumped to was that an angry Langley would disclose secrets. “I wanted to warn him against you,” Langley walked away, but they did not let him get far ahead of them as they approached the airplane. The mechanic who had been in the cabin greeted them. Funny about that cable, he stated. How did it ever get so much use that it wore through? You must kick rudder every 2 seconds. Was it worn through or? Al began. Kurt prodded his ribs very sharply. As Al became quiet, Kurt asked a louder question to distract the man from pursuing that awe and learning their fears. Or did it break at the rudder bar? He asked. It chafed against the transverse brace it ran under,” the mechanic responded. “They ought to have an eyelet or something for a guide. A small pulley would be best with an eyelet to keep the cable from slipping out of the groove and chafing on the solid part of the pulley.” “We’ll report that,” said Kurt. “A rudder is pretty important.” “I’ll say,” replied the mechanic. The plates had been fastened back into their light frame, being of sturdy construction and not permanently attached. They had come away clean and were put back easily. Only the cracked hole in the panels gave outward evidence of the recent near catastrophe. Suppose we let on that was an accident that I put my foot through the panel, suggested Kurt. Repairing it only means putting in a new section there. It ought not to cost much, and I have some money in my savings account to pay for it. Let’s all put together, urged Al. Why not tell the truth? Snapped Langley. Don’t you want to find out who endangered you and the rest of us? Lang considered Bob’s sharp phrase. Yes, he said finally. The best way to do that, argued Kurt, was by watchful waiting, not by putting the possible malifactor on his guard. They could, Al declared, see who makes the repair, and I can watch, being out near the planes, and see if anybody takes a special interest in the floor and the cables. Langley agreed rather bruskly, and went off to take up his inquiries about the brown airplane they had seen in the field. Watchful waiting, repeated Bob thoughtfully. That’s a good slogan. Let’s watchful wait to see what Griff does and how Lang acts. And if either of them acts queerly when they are with Griff’s father, just what makes you suspicious of him, the father? Kurt asked. More to check up his own theories than for information. He’s Mr. Treadway’s partner, you know. I suspect him, Al declared. Because he’s the kind that looks suspicious with his quick action and his sharp talk and his shifty eyes. And Griff is exactly the same in every way, supplemented Bob. Then we have two suspects to keep tabs on, agreed Curt. Three, corrected Al. Let’s leave Lang out, urged Kurt. All right, we won’t watch him, but it’s bad because we can’t talk over plans and tell him everything. There will be a strained relationship, suggested Bob. Yes, agreed Al. Well, pretend to be the same as ever, but keep your ideas to yourself, Kurt begged. and will be watchful waiters during the next week. That was the only policy they would have been able to adopt. Nothing happened at all. Al still carried parcels on occasion for rigger Sandy Jim Bailey and improved his acquaintance with Jimmy Jr. Mr. Wright’s absence from town during the entire week prevented them from consulting that detective. The comrades were thrown on their own resources. I don’t see that watchful waiting has gotten us very far, commented Al as they rode home for lunch, Kurt with the brothers at noon on Saturday. The day’s work was over. We know a little more than we did, Kurt reminded him. I’ve had talks with some of the boys I know, and I found out that the ones Griff associates with aren’t thought well of, and Bob has trailed him several evenings in spite of Lang’s warning to Griff. And Bob has told you that Griff always gets away on his motorcycle and goes somewhere that we can’t locate yet. But we know his character isn’t very high class and his father still acts uneasy and preoccupied. So we have gained that much. What good is it? Al was unconvinced. It doesn’t say what happened to Mr. Treadway. It hasn’t told us who is taking airplane parts. It doesn’t explain who tampered with the rudder cable in the golden dart or why. No, Bob admitted. That’s true. It doesn’t, but it’s the best we can do for the present, and we never know when something may break. Let’s keep on learning airplane technique, suggested Kurt. We know we’ve gained there anyhow. Yes, Al nodded. I can name the different parts of a biplane without stumbling over any of them. He did. fuselage, engine, propeller, upper and lower wing, cockpit and its cowling, struts and landing and flying wires, stabilizer, fin, elevator, rudder, ailerons, tail skid, and landing gear that Sandy calls the trucks. Correct, agreed Kurt. And they comprise five groupings, each one having a special purpose, the fuselage, the supporting structure for everything else. Everything is attached to that. Then the second group Bob cut in is the supporting surfaces the wings. They sustain the whole weight in the air and the flying wires take the lift of the wings as the air sustains them and communicates it with the struts helping to the body. Well, in a way, Bob changed the statement slightly. The flying wires are to take the stress, and if it wasn’t for them, the wings would tilt up at the ends or tips like a V. The flying wires take the stress in flying the same as the landing wires take the weight of the wings in landing. Without the landing wires, when the ship came down, the wings would crumple down over the crate like the two slanting sides of a tent or like the V upside down. Yes, Al showed his knowledge. And then there is the control group. the ailerons at the backs or trailing edges of the wings to be moved upward or downward to tilt the ship and the rudder to turn it sideways. And if it’s flying on its side, the rudder is performing the office of the elevators and they of the rudder. Because when it’s flying level, the elevators are to tip its nose up for a climb or down for a glide. Then there’s the fin and the stabilizers that give it balance and help to hold the whole ship in whatever position it is placed by the movable controls I just mentioned. And with all those you have a glider, agreed Bob. The engine and its prop are for motive power and the landing group, either wheels for the earth or pontoons for the water or both combined in an amphibian for land and water use. We know some things, agreed Curt, but we don’t know where Mr. Treadway’s body went or what Griff is going to do with his Saturday afternoon, commented Bob. I’m going back to the plant and pretend to finish up work and see what happens there while it’s supposed to be closed down. The others agreed something might break. Actually, something did. Chapter 9. Strange actions. Although the aircraft manufacturing plant observed a 44-hour week closing down on Saturday afternoons when the three members of the sky squad returned about 2:00, they were somewhat startled to discover that their suspects were there. Bob entering the engine section discovered Griff. The youth was surprised, “Caught in the act,” mused Bob as he saw the youth with fertive, hasty actions, completing the wrappings of a smallalish package, which he hurriedly slipped into his coat as he turned aside, trying to conceal his action from Bob, and then, noting that he was caught, trying to pass it off as an ordinary action. So, that’s where some of the smaller parts are going, Bob concluded, pretending not to be aware that anything was wrong. Hello, he greeted. I thought I’d come back and take that model engine apart while no one was here to bother me so I can get it straight in my head just how the valves operate. Yeah. Griff was inclined to be gruff, and as he tinkered around, trying to pretend to be busy, but to Bob’s notion, watching the member of the Sky Squad, the latter gave every impression he could of ignorance that he was being supervised, studied, observed. Had Griff been intruded upon before he finished what he had been doing. Bob wondered as he took off the cylinder head of a small, roughly assembled model of a new design for a V-type motor they were working on. It appeared that Mr. Treadway had been all four the newer radial engines, while Mr. Parsons exerted all his influence to introduce the model in which the cylinders in line came together in a slanting fashion like a V at the crankcase joiner. Bob took out pistons and pretended to examine the crank pin assembly. Griff watched covertly and appeared to be exceptionally uneasy. Kurt entered from the wing assembly rooms. Hello, Griff. He nodded, paid little attention to Griff and went over to Bob. Interesting, he hinted. Bob nodded and began to explain the parts. I see. Kurt, bent close, whispered his next words. Lang is out in the yard working on the golden dart. He has the plates out and he is, as he spoke, Lang came in. Say, Kurt, he called. Run up to the offices, and if Mr. Parsons or Barney is around, get me a newer length of cable, will you? Will they give it to me? Sure. Supposing there’s nobody around. The office is closed. Go to the supply room on the ground floor. The watchman will let you get what you want. All you have to do is to write out a requisition form and put it on the spindle on the desk. You’ll see it. Can you get supplies as easily as that? Bob asked. Surely, why not? Kurt and Bob made no comment. The former went to execute Lang’s request. In the offices, as he neared the open door of the bookkeeper’s little cubby of a room, Kurt heard two low voices. He hesitated. He was close enough to be able to recognize in the bent figure leaning over the other, with his back turned, the peculiarly checked brown suit, which identified Mr. Parsons. Evidently, neither the partner nor his companion heard Kurt. so absorbed were they in some discussion or comparison of figures. Curt, wondering why they were so engrossed in that work when the office was closed, and so absorbed that they had not heard him, he had not tried to snoop or to creep along the hall, decided that it must be legitimate business, and that he would not disturb them. He went on beyond to the rear stairway and down, looking for the watchmen. Al found him there. How do you get into the supply room? asked Al. That’s what I’m trying to do. What’s that you’re carrying? It’s an Earth inductor compass, Al explained. You heard Sandy hail me as we came in. Kurt nodded. He stayed on to check up my work. Al informed him. I’m pretty raw, you know, and Sandy is so goodnatured that he didn’t want to see me get into any trouble. I was helping one of the mechs this morning. He had already picked up some of the slang shortening mechanic, as did those in the plant. And Sandy was going over the instruments I had installed. That golden dart is going to be used for an overseas hop, he says. And he went close to Kurt. Kurt, I think Sandy has helped us to get a line on somebody else to suspect about the stolen parts. Anyhow, how he called me over and told me in a joking way. I had a lot to learn. And then he asked me if I knew anything about how this new type compass operated. I knew a little but not much. And he showed me how little I knew. Curt, he was very serious. This is an old broken thing. Look, he indicated the failure of the parts to operate correctly. If we’d let that get to the checker Monday, I’d have been suspected of getting away with the regular real one. This must have been substituted by the mechanic who was on that job, the one I helped. or else it was given out by the cler who has charge of this room. Anyhow, Sandy says I ought to put in a requisition for another one. And then he is going to help me keep an eye out to see what happens on Monday. He wants to help us. I saw he was so afraid I’d get the blame and he’s so mad about the way things are being taken that I let him in on our secret about being detectives. Well, only as far as saying we were crazy about aviation and had formed a sort of order we call the Sky Squad and naturally being honest. We saw how things were going here and wanted to do what we could to discover who is taking parts and what did he say about it. He said not to be too hasty to jump to conclusions. He told me that this substituting of the old inductor compass looked like the work of the mech, but it could be the supply clerk or maybe somebody outside the plant entirely who had sent it in boxed in a new consignment. He said the safest way would be to put in a new requisition. Then we’d see who acted guilty when it was discovered. If the supply clerk is guilty, he would never mention it for fear of being caught. If the mech is the culprit, the clerk will raise a howl about the exchange. If they are both innocent, you’ll hear from both of them, and we can trace it to somebody who sent the consignment. Good stuff, agreed Kurt. But didn’t the mechanic notice it was a broken model of the compass? He gave me the instructions how to assemble it and told me to be careful and then went over to work on that small speed craft that Griff is testing out. Griff called him, so it looks all right. If the mech noticed this old compass before he went home, he’ll tell me first thing Monday. If he knew about it and had taken the other, the good one, he’ll lay low, I see. The watchman making his rounds observed the pair readily enough he admitted them to the supply department. Either he was of too unsuspicious a nature, being rather dull to wonder or question, or he had been told by Barney that the youths were especially privileged. In either case, he made no comment, as they found the cable Kurt wanted for Lang and the several extra inductor compasses, neatly boxed among the stacked instruments in the shelves. Making out two of the slips he saw in a pad and fixing them on the upstanding spike of a file, Kurt handed Al his box and with the cable went to find Lang. Handing the strand to his chums cousin, Kurt decided to return to the office building to see what he might see. The excuse that he was studying the blueprints of an airplane would furnish reason for his presence in the office if Mr. Parsons was still there and asked. Bob, as Lang left, found Griff suddenly and unaccountably pleasant. Funny about that cable, he remarked. Sure is, admitted Bob, watchful, quiet, but willing to follow Griff’s unexpected lead. Lang says you had your suspicions of me. Griff grinned quite pleasantly. Had he, Bob wondered, been tipped by Lang to cultivate friendship? Was there something really underneath the friendship of the partner’s son and Bob’s pilot cousin? Was there something else? Why, I suppose when we got excited about that broken rudder pull, we thought of anything and everything, Bob grinned also. Well, you thought wrong, friend. Would you try to do any harm to your buddy Curtis? If you knew he was to fly a certain crate. No, Bob admitted honestly and fervently. But some other pilot jealous maybe might. Eh, Bob had not in any way considered that possible solution. There was another test pilot, not as popular as his cousin. He gave the most serious attention, but Griff evidently felt that he had said enough, adding only, “But I don’t mean to accuse anybody. Let’s forget it. Come on, let’s forget motors and go up and have a look at them little fleecy clouds.” He caught Bob’s arm after slipping the cylinder head over the pistons of the model with Bob’s help. “Ever fly a crate?” he asked. “Not solo,” Bob admitted. But Lang has let me take the controls six or seven times when he used to take us up before we came here to to what? To learn all there is about building airplanes. Bob continued without the flicker of an eyelash. Well, come on, kidlets. I’ll take you up in the prettiest little crate you ever sat in. What’s more, I’ll give you some experience so you can fly them crates after you get wise to how they’re assembled. It was evidently a genuinely friendly offer. if it had any hidden motives. Bob on that sunny Saturday with a gentle warm vacation wind blowing with bonnie clouds drifting slowly gave up watching and went in for air experience. Al, finally deserted by Sandy, who had errands downtown, saw Bob and Griff warm up the little speed sportster he had been rigging. A little envious, he watched the checkup, the trial spurts of the fast little engine, the takeoff, and the soaring of the handsomely designed craft. Then he went on to visit Jimmy Jr., whose father, Sandy, had given him a special invitation to spend the afternoon and to stay to dinner with Jimmy Jr. Lang, taking the cabin monoplane for a test of his rudder performance, called Kurt to go along, so the trio lost interest in detective work, and concentrated on enjoyment until evening. Chapter 10, a summons, while Griff, who handled an airplane expertly, was executing dives and slips, barrel rolls and figure8s, and a loop or so to demonstrate his skill. Bob in the rear cockpit seat wondered whether Griff was trying to frighten him. That was not his purpose. Bob decided and he was more convinced when Griff with a grin turned after waggling the stick and holding both hands up beside his head the signal to take control. Bob nodded. Under Lang’s tuition in several airplanes during tests, Bob had been permitted to handle the stick, rudder, and throttle. He knew the elementary movements of straight flying and had some of the feel of the air which comes to any person who has the flying sense. That feel of the air is akin to knowing what the ship is going to do and of course sensing how to meet its various tendencies. When during a climb with too steep an angle, the controls begin to get loggy. For an example, the born pilot or the trained fellow with his air sense developed knows instinctively that the ship is about to stall and automatically drops the nose and picks up flying speed. For a while, Bob flying straight or banking and turning remain near the small flying field of the plant. He knew the signals with which a flying instructor guides his pupil, and handling the dual control section in his own hands, and with his feet, he made simple maneuvers under Griff’s direction, and seemed to please Griff by the quickness with which he caught the corrections signaled to him when he overbanked, or let the ships skid too long without catching the skid. The trial was over all too soon, and as Griff took over to shoot the field and set down, the most ticklish part of flying tactics, Bob felt a trifle sheepish for having suspected him. Griff was really quite a pleasant fellow. However, Bob began to think, “This sudden, affable manner must have some reason behind it. Furthermore, he decided Griff might be trying to win his confidence through the hidden flattery of telling Bob what a corking pilot he would make with a little more training. Bob knew that flying is taught carefully by any self-respecting school, that a thorough ground school training and many hours of instructed flight will be followed by many solo flights with intermittent check flights under the instructor’s eyes before a pilot is considered more than a student. Griff overflattered. Bob, as he went home, where Al and Lang had preceded him, his cousin, having stopped in for dinner, decided that he would accept Griff’s offered friendship with a grain of salt. Al was there, of course, but no confidences were exchanged. Al had already eaten his dinner with Jimmy Jr. after a fun-filled afternoon during which Jimmy had displayed his airplane models, had supervised many trials, while he let his guest wind the sturdy rubber band motors and set the tiny practicable controls of the toys. Furthermore, he had talked about the Sky Squad idea and had begged to be permitted to join, being air crazy, as he put it. Al, promising to take the matter up with his brother and with Kurt, had said he would do all he could to induce them to agree. He could not brooach the matter, however, as Kurt, Bob, and Lang ate, because Lang was full of the excitement of receiving a telegram from Bob’s and Al’s father, the detective, from a city about 50 mi away, asking Lang to come to the city for a report and a conference. Glancing at Bob, both Kurt and Al saw that the older member of the secret membership was disturbed in his mind. Lang would not tell about Griff as he visited his uncle over Sunday. That was what Bob was thinking as Al and Kurt saw, but Curt, looking at his watch, reminded Lang that he must stop stuffing down the filt of soul, a form of fish stakes, of which he was extremely fond. if he expected to make the bus that would pass the house on the way to the city and the railway station. I’m going to fly, Lang declared, reaching for more fish. Why not take us then? Demanded Al. No, I’m going to borrow Griff’s sport model. More speedy, and I want to check before it is turned over to him finally. There’d be room for one of us. Bob spoke up. No, Siri. And they knew why Lang was so snappish. Bob pushed back his chair as Al and Curt sprang up. Lang, rising with his superior, amused grin at their anxiety, waved them back, and kissing his aunt and thanking her for the fish he loved, he departed. I’m going, said Bob, and explained excitedly to his mother that he had information of importance. Lang will tell it, she said. Explain to him. Bob’s face fell, as did Als. They were in a box. They could not explain to their mother that they suspected Lang at the very least of protecting Griff, a friend, but not a desirable one. Whatever their own ideas they were, none of them blabbers. Bob ran out on the porch, leaped down the steps, hopped on his bicycle, and pedled down the first side street. He was not entirely sure of his plans. Perhaps he half intended to secrete himself in the fuselage of the plane to go on as an unsuspected passenger. Possibly he hoped to induce Lang to take him by getting there first. At any rate, as he neared the plant, he was glad he had come. Griff at the gate was in close communication with a mysteriously fertive stranger. Chapter 11. A trail and a flight. Twisting his handlebars sharply, Bob sent his bicycle into brush at the end of the aircraft plant grounds where the fence turned. He wanted to get out of sight. The pair at the gate were having some sort of argument and probably had been too excited and absorbed to notice him. Bob decided. He dropped his wheel and crept back to the corner of the fenced enclosure to watch. From that position, he could see the man, but only part of Griff’s coat and an arm. The man, as he saw, was vigorously arguing. Griff must have been either pleading or arguing, Bob guessed, from the man’s violent gestures and appearance of laying down the law. Presently, a small flat package came into view. Bob recalled that he had seen Griff wrapping exactly that sort of parcel earlier. The man took it, put it rapidly into his coat pocket. inside. With a quick look up and down the deserted highway, he swung and crossed to a car parked on the opposite side of the road. Climbing in, he speeded up his engine and drove away at constantly increasing speed. So they are dividing the spoils or Griff was giving him money, Bob, unable to see Griff, not daring to emerge from his concealment, made the deduction under his breath. Well, now shall I follow that man? No, because his car is too fast. I can’t catch him on my wheel. He decided to wait where he was to see what would happen. To go in at once might alarm Griff. He might realize that Bob had been near enough to see what had occurred. He might suspect. Bob wanted to keep his presence unknown. Griff had already been warned by Lang. He would jump to the conclusion that Bob was watching. Almost at once, Bob thanked his good sense for holding him concealed. Griff, as he watched, ran wildly out into the road and began to wave and shout after the receding car. Its driver did not turn around. Griff, while Bob stared, dashed back into the gateway. For a moment, Bob wondered where the watchman was. Then he saw the man in a small ice cream and soda water shack a little distance down the road opposite the fenced property. Griff, Bob guessed, had offered to watch the gate while the man refreshed himself. Bob hesitated. Where had Griff gone? What was he doing? The last question was answered by the pop pop of a motor. Bob knew that Griff rode a motorcycle. He was getting it started. He meant to pursue that car for some reason. Something had caused him to want to talk again with the car driver. Bob mused while he watched, keeping all but his head concealed, the motorcycle with griff mounted on it came sputtering into view, never glancing around, opening his throttle, he pelted down the road after the car. Bob, without hesitation, rushed his bicycle into the highway and pedled after the motorcycle for all he was worth. Griff was too intent on his purpose to notice. He felt sure it would be a losing race, Bob feared, unless Griff overtook that rapidly receding car very soon. Muscles could not endure against a machine. Nevertheless, Bob rode as fast as his pedals would turn as he sent the wheels spinning along. It crossed his mind that Lang would be arriving at the plant almost any moment, but he kept on all the same. It will take Lang a while to warm up the engine. And anyway, if I don’t go with him, I know another way to communicate with father, he decided. The car was almost out of Bob’s sight. The motorcycle was rapidly overtaking it. At that instant, Bob’s heart almost stopped beating. Far ahead on a crossroad, he saw a huge truck come into view. It was not only between the car and its pursuer. It was also well onto the road and almost directly in front of the motorcycle. Griff, Bob shouted without thinking that his voice would never be heard. He instinctively cried a warning. If the rider had his head low over his handlebars, his coaster brake jammed on. Bob slowed, ellighted, his muscles refusing to function for the instant. But during that instant, Griff evidently saw the huge obstacle and swerved. In making the wild curve to go around the rear of the truck, Bob saw the youth and cycle go off the road into the ditch. Evidently unaware that anything had happened, the truck driver kept on down the crossroad. Bob, remounting, pedled for all he was worth toward the scene of the accident. As he rode swiftly, he saw other figures approaching. At the point where the motorcycle lay on its side, he was met by Al and Kurt, who had been approaching from the opposite way up the side road. “We decided to come and see Lang hop off,” Al explained as the trio ran toward Griff. “He was sitting up a little shaken, a little dazed when they approached.” Bob, seeing that he did not appear to be seriously hurt, caught Curt’s arm. “Look here,” he said quickly. “I want to go with Lang. Don’t say I was following, you know. Keep it quiet. I must get to see father and tell him. All right, don’t waste any time. Get out of sight. I’ll tell Al. Bob hurried off as though he was in search of aid, and he felt as he pedled back toward the field that Griff probably had been too much shaken to notice that Bob had come from the direction he had been riding, or deduce that Bob had followed him. The watchmen and several others from the soda stand came running down the road. They called out as he approached and with a brief explanation that there had been a spill, but that he thought it was not serious, Bob rode on. He found Lang riding toward the plant and swung his bicycle in at the gate and set it against the fence. What’s the trouble up there? Griff took a spill going around the back of a truck that came out of the side road. I think he’s all right. Bob called out his answer to Lang’s shouted inquiry and saw his cousin ride on to investigate. Bob, with some idea in his mind that he might crawl into the fuselage of the small speed plane, and thus stowed away, be carried to the city from which his father had telegraphed, changed his mind. The close, smothery fuselage, subjected to the most violent rolling and heaving of the airplane’s progress, would probably make him ill. He preferred to stay outside to see what happened and to compel Langley to take him as a passenger. Watching from the gateway, he saw that Griff had been lifted to his feet and had apparently found himself only rather badly shaken. This was Bob’s decision because he saw a passing car driver help the shaken youth into his car, tumble the motorcycle out of the grass, and turn it over to the plant watchman to be trundled back and drive off to take Griff home, it seemed. Bob met Lang beside the propeller of the little speedcraft. Get the ignition key from Griff? He asked. I did. Climb in. I’ll give the proper twist for you. Langley got himself set. Gas on, called Bob. Gas on. Switch off. Switch off. Bob gave the propeller a couple of revolutions. Contact, he cried, leaping aside to avoid the flailing knifelike edges of the blades. The engine caught on the touch of spark to compressed gas mixture. While Langley opened the throttle and warmed up his engine, Bob unconcernedly began to clamber into the after cockpit seat. You’re not going. Oh, yes, I am. Get out of there. Listen, Lang. Bob leaned close to Lang’s ear to carry his message above the noise of the radial engine. Which suits you best to have me with you? To tell Dad what I know before your face or to have me telegraph him while you’re on your way and let you explain to him what I have to tell. Lang at first furious, presently saw the logic of Bob’s position. Oh, all right. he grunted and gave her the gun in somewhat vicious spurts. Bob fitting on the crash helmet kept in the plane by griff for him that afternoon, and the leather jacket and gloves smiled. He was progressing as a master sleuth, doing his share creditably for the sky squad. As soon as the engine was sufficiently warm and methodical, Lang had checked all his instrument readings, the trim little ship taxied down the smooth field to head into the wind, which Bob saw. from the wind sock blowing out from its mast on the office building was from the south a nice light summer evening breeze. The watchman coming in put aside the slightly damaged motorcycle and strolled across to the hangers into one of which he stepped to throw a switch lighting the flood light by which they could see to take off. He did not question Lang’s right to use the craft because Lang must have gotten its ignition key from Griff, its owner. As they took the runway and increased speed to the throaty roar of the engine, Bob felt that sense of the ship getting light, which indicates to the pilot that she is ready to take the air. He saw the elevator’s tip, glancing around swiftly to check the safety of the way ahead, and then saw the lighted earth dropping, contracting into a spot of vivid light against a field otherwise dark. Then the watchmen shut out the floods to avoid confusing them in the air, and the ship climbed into dark night. They had climbed several thousand ft and were headed into the north so that Lang could pick up the lights of the airway along which his night flying would be easiest, when Bob saw him double unexpectedly. For an instant, the craft’s nose went almost straight down, and Bob was glad he had strapped himself in. Then Lang evidently caught control and the stick thrust forward as he doubled with some unexpected convulsion or stitch was pulled back and brought the ship out of the dive gradually. What happened? Bob screamed above the engine noise. The song of wind through wires caused by their dive. “Cramp!” called Lang, cutting the gun as he held a glide for a moment, turning a white face toward Bob. “Listen, Bob,” he bent again. The fish. Too much fish, Bob guessed. And had he known that Lang’s delay in reaching the field had been due to further refreshments, he would have said fish and ice cream. At least that was a far more reassuring thought than Bob’s first idea, that someone had tampered with some control of this craft. Oh, evidently Lang was very ill. Suddenly, as he saw his companion in the forward seat double, Bob felt the stick waggle against his leg. In an interval between his spasms of violent pain, Lang held up his two hands alongside his helmet. It was a signal for Bob to take control. “All right,” he called, and with a steady hand he clutched the stick of the controls in his cockpit, set his feet against the rudder bars, and eased his throttle open to regain speed. He was not in the least nervous or flurried. He pied Lang’s cramped stomach and evidence suffering, but did not permit it to influence his steady nerve. He had been given enough lessons to know how to hold the craft in level flight. While night flying was not as safe and easy as daytime work, he knew that if he followed the ribbon of lighted highway that ran toward the beacons of the nearest airway, he could always set down on the asphalt if worst came to worst. And if he did smash the trucks, the landing gear, he did not think he would do any more serious damage. “Had I better set down!” he shouted, gliding for speed as he cut out the engine roar. Lang shook his head and gestured forward. Evidently, he was not afraid of any immediate physical collapse, and preferred to go on flying to see if he would recover. Bob held on. He picked up the beacon and watching Langs gestures, swung in a long banked curve to head across the wind down the unconfined airway, whose second beacon he could see far away. By habit, looking around to be sure no other ship was close. As he turned, Bob, startled, saw the flying lights of another craft pursuing. It must be pursuit. It came from the direction they had come. It turned as they turned, only in a more sharpened bank, so as to cut off part of the distance it seemed to Bob to close the gap between them. “Lang!” he shouted and waggled the stick. Lang looked around. Bob’s arm pointed backward and upward. Lang, leaning out of the cockpit to see around the wing tip, stared. “The cabin plane,” he cried. “I know it. Golden dart after us. I don’t know. But as Bob opened the throttle to regain flying speed without having to dip down too low, there came from the other ship a red flare. It was, as Bob realized, a signal not of danger, but of command. Land, it commanded. Bob looked at Lang, Lang considered. As he hesitated, Bob guessed his thoughts. Someone from the small field, some member of the plant staff, probably Mr. Parsons finding the plane belonging to Griff gone and hearing from the watchman who had taken it had taken off in the cabin monoplane to stop what he probably considered a prank of Lang and Bob some nightflying lark. What would Lang say? Set down or go on? They could outfly that cabin ship in the speedy easily maneuvered sportcraft or they could with Lang at the controls. But Lang was badly upset in his stomach. What would he decide? Bob mechanically looked around for the best spot to set down. When he looked up again, his heart leaped with exaltation. Lang’s arm pointed straight ahead. “Go on,” he gestured. Bob opened the throttle joyously. “Here was adventure, pursuit, thrill enough to suit anyone.” “Chapter 12. The chase.” Rapidly, Bob considered the situation. The speedcraft he and Lang occupied had much the best of it on a straight flight, but against that he had to set his inexpert handling. The smaller craft could outclimb, outmaneuver the cabin ship, but he had no experience in stunting, especially dangerous at night. Therefore, Lang’s decision was the safest one to try to make a landing, Lang evidently concluded, was not wise. He felt that he could take over the controls before that need arose. Bob guessed. A new complication came, however. If the cabin ship had the disadvantage of being slower, she had gained an offsetting advantage before they saw her. She was much higher in the air than their craft. She could dive if her pilot chose, and thus close the distance between them, maybe come down on their tail or ride them to Earth. If her pilot proved to be determined to force them to land, accordingly. Bob opened the throttle wider and slightly elevated the nose to climb. Lang, peering upward and to the rear, made a violent, vigorous gesture. Bob, reading it, understood. He did not question. Lang called for a side slip. Instantly, Bob manipulated Ailerons and Rudder correctly and felt the wind on the cheek toward the lower side of their bank, telling him they were slipping. Then applying rudder and other controls to check the slip, dropping the nose again to pick up flying speed quickly, he saw why the maneuver had been executed. The cabin airplane had begun to dive down from above them. Lang, having seen it, anticipated. He had not wanted to rest away control too dangerous. He had risked the signal, and Bob had executed his order accurately. He was glad all the same. When Lang shook the stick, tapped on his own helmet to sign that he wanted the controls, Bob relinquished them thankfully enough. At night, in strange surroundings in an airplane he had only handled a little, he was not foolish enough to wish to risk neck and limb far less langs than his own. by trying to outfly a pilot who evidently meant to be vicious to resort to war tactics if they did not obey his signals. Lang somewhat recovered, took over, and Bob, delighted, watched his expert manipulation of the splendid little ship. She answered his every command. He barrel rolled out of the way of any immediate danger, thus leaving the cabin craft well to one side. He started up a loop after a swift dive, but at its top he executed half of a barrel roll, and since the top of the loop had the nose in the direction opposite their course, the half roll put the craft on its level, upright course, but going directly away from the former one, the cabin ship could not be stunted that way, or else its pilot, against his will, was compelled to recognize superior tactics. At any rate, as Lang swung around in a wide circle, slowly climbing at the same time, the other craft seemed to be heading uncertainly back. It came around, however, as soon as Langley straightened out on the former course along the airway, but they rapidly outflew it, and when they landed at an airport in the distant city suburbs, the cabin ship was nowhere in sight. It was nearly 11:00 at night when Bob and Langley were ushered up the hotel elevator and along a corridor and into Mr. Wright’s rooms. The detective, who had been apprised long distance by his wife, that his nephew was flying to keep the appointment, was waiting. Hardly had his surprise at Bob’s presence been expressed, and a late supper for the air-hungered pair been ordered. Then another visitor was announced. So this is where you were bound for? To Bob’s amazement, Barney spoke. Why didn’t you leave word that you were coming here? He said rather sharply. We could all have come together. We didn’t know you were on your way here, said Langley. We thought you were chasing us, Bob added. So I was. The watchman said you hopped, but he didn’t say where to. I was coming over to confer with Mr. Wright. But I thought Lang and you Bob were joy riding, so I signaled you to land. And when you didn’t, I decided to scare you into setting down. But it failed. He chuckled. I ought to know better than to think I could outfly Lang, he said. Well, if you’ve come with information, it’s all right. We can have a conference all together. They did so over the dinner. Lang listened to Bob’s recital of the latest developments about Griff with growing anger until he saw Barney’s face. “Good boy, Bob,” commented Barney. “I’ve sort of had a notion in my head for some time about Griff.” “Yes, I’ve thought he was the one who’s crossed the wires on us and shortcircuited the whole plant.” So, he divided with somebody, did he? Well, he must have gotten it from somebody higher. Have you thought about his father broke in Bob? Yes, we have. Chapter 13. The detective’s theory. More startling than Bob’s fresh information was the revelation given by Barney. The information which had brought him flying to consult the detective he had engaged to solve the puzzling case. All that Bob had to tell was the suspicious act of the youth griff. Barney, because it was so late, gave only a hint. But what he said caused a great deal of sleeplessness on Bob’s part at least. We got the wrecked airplane up. Barney told them all that night. I’ve had it hauled in and dismantled. He paused to give his next words more emphasis. There wasn’t one thing wrong with that crate. When during their Sunday morning conference, he amplified his statements. The mystery deepened. Dismantled thoroughly examined by Barney in person. He did not trust any subordinate in so important a matter. The airplane revealed nothing wrong, either with its engine, with its wings, or with its controls, but it fell, commented the detective. What do you imagine caused the crash? I give it up. Barney was unable to make a theory. I hired you to do the doping out of that. I give you the facts, you do the rest, Bob. His father turned to the youth. Have you jotted down all the suspicious things you mentioned as I asked you to do? Bob nodded and handed over a paper. After consulting it and comparing it with a sheet on which he had written, Mr. Wright looked up. This is what we know, he began. For several months, according to Barney’s original explanation when he gave me the case, airplane parts had been missed. Not very many, but some. We have to decide how they are taken and then find out who does it and what happens to them, how they are disposed of. How about the man who gives out the instruments and such? Asked Langley quickly. Bob thought he said it to forall comment about Griff or the mechanics whom Al had been told by his rigger boss were possible culprits. We haven’t been able to watch everybody, Bob said. That point is not important, Mr. Wright declared. It is the beginning of what we know and can wait. Our second bit of knowledge and more important this is too is that for several months before the seemingly fatal crash, accidents had occurred to every airplane that was sent out of the plant. Buyers complained by letter and only by good luck was it possible to avert several tragedies. I didn’t know it had been as bad as that. Bob commented it had. Barney nodded. We wanted you three boys to start in with open minds. Remember, we didn’t tell you details, but now it’s gone too far for taking things easy. We’ve got to get to work. Right, agreed the detective. The third point we know is that Mr. Treadway was very anxious to hold up the good name of his corporation, and that he decided to take this last ship to its owner in person after Lang here. Gave it. He paused, noticing Bob’s expression. I know what’s on your mind, Langley said, turning to his younger cousin. I was the one who tested and checked that silver flash. I said she was okay before the takeoff. But his manner was defensive. If you think I don’t think, Bob asserted for a minute, I did. But mister, but Barney says not a thing was wrong about the silver flash. So of course, there’s nothing to think. Besides, said Barney, we none of us knew it would be the silver flesh. The buyer couldn’t make up his mind till almost the last minute about that pair of twins. One time he’d come and say he liked the silver, then he wanted the copper gold finish. Both crates were identical except for that. I thought myself he was going to take Well, we all thought the last time he came he wanted the gold one, but I guess he telegraphed. Well, then that explains one thing, said Bob. If everybody thought he wanted the golden dart, that’s why the rudder rope was frayed off in that ship. Barney, who had been told everything, nodded. Yes, he admitted. But that don’t explain why the other ship sound and perfect crashed. Unless Unless what? Bob, Lang, and the detective were interested. But Bob voiced the question, “Unless Mr. Treadway did it on purpose crashed. Why should he?” To Mr. writes quiet inquiry. Barney answered readily enough. I run the plant, he said. The deep part of the money end and all that is none of my business. But I happen to know there’s some trouble about money or losses or something like that. You think Mr. Wright bent forward treadway because he was in some financial difficulty or deeper trouble might have done away with himself? Well, defensively, Barney replied, “How else do you account for a diving ship placed so careful on the lakeside, close to shore, and only damaged as little as possible, and then not from anything being wrong in her?” Bob saw that his father was very thoughtful. “Do you think he ran off and hid afterward?” he demanded. “They didn’t find hide nor hair of him, did they? Dredging or searching didn’t locate anything. That’s so. However, the detective objected, that doesn’t explain about the frayed cable or the other things done to airplanes to damage the reputation of the corporation. That is my theory about the motive. No, Barney admitted. If you’ve got a theory about the motive for damage to crates, maybe you’ve got one about the whole affair. I have. What is it, father? Bob was eager to hear. There are three crimes to investigate, Mr. Wright said slowly. The accidents, the thefts, and the Do you still think Mr. Treadway’s disappearance was due to a crime? Yes, Lang. I do. What sort of crime? Nothing is wrong with the ship he used, Barney says. Objected Bob. A very strange one, his father replied. Remember, there was a brown airplane hidden in a field. It was gone before the accident. My theory is that either someone he feared or someone who hated him took off in that brown airplane, overtook or waited for Mr. Treadway, and rode him down, gasped Barney. I’d thought of that. Yes, agreed the detective. Let’s drop all worry about the less important thefts, the deliberate damage to the airplanes, and look for the man who flew that brown airplane. Will we? Bob asked it as a question, then he repeated it as an exclamation. Will we? Chapter 14. The Sky Squad disobys. Both Kurt and Al listened eagerly while Bob related the details of the Sunday conference with the detective. He gave them the information imparted by Barney. Not a thing wrong with the silver flash, repeated Al. Then that brown crate must have driven it down. But why? Maybe some revengeful pilot Mr. Treadway had discharged, suggested Kurt. At any rate, there must have been some motive to make a man do anything as terrible as that. But how are we going to locate the brown ship? I still have that message we discovered on the seat and then picked up in the dewy grass. Al produced it dry but smudged and crumpled from his pocket card and identification case. We might compare the writing with the well say with the books in the aircraft plant and with everybody’s writing. Lang didn’t get any information when we made inquiries about the brown craft at the nearest airport, did he? Lang, who was quite affable and good humored with Griff and his actions forgotten in the new search, answered Kurt. No, nothing more than you did. They’d never heard of the ship I described. You have got me more puzzled than this whole mystery has, Al said, grinning. Lang the way Bob tells it. You must have been next door to ordering the Undertaker, and then you were flying stunting as if you’d never eaten fish and ice cream. That’s psychologically explainable. Lang liked to use long words to indicate his superiority. Under the stimulus of never mind, Al threw up his hands as if to ward off a flow of words too long for his youthful understanding. It’s too easy to explain, Bob said. Father said Lang got so excited that he forgot to think about himself, and nature took its course when he stopped worrying about his fears. That was it, agreed Lang. I accepted the idea from somewhere that ice cream and fish made poison. And while I was flying, when a little gas began to bother me, I got scared, and the scared did the rest. Uncle said that half our pains are due to believing what other folks tell us can happen. The rest is from being afraid it is happening to us. That clears it up. Al became very sober. I wish the disappearance of Mr. Treadway was as easy to settle. Well, well have to find that mysterious brown plane or get hold of somebody who saw it flying to tell us which way it went. Lang rose, stretched, yawning, and saunted off toward his wheel. The other three, sitting on the cottage porch before supper, for which Lang would not stay, looked after him in silence. Do you know what I think? Kurt broke the thoughtful pause. I don’t mean to criticize and I don’t want you fellows to get angry, but I have a feeling that Uncle Fred is wrong to have us drop all our suspicions and try to find a crate that could be 500 m away in any direction. My theory is that if we locate the airplane, it will be by luck. And I don’t believe in luck because if you think luck is going to help, you don’t have to do anything yourself. And if you believe it is going to hinder, there’s no use in doing anything. So he grinned. I believe that everything comes out right. Only when we do everything we can to make it so, and as long as there isn’t any way to start hunting that brown crate, let’s disobey, asked Bob, rather surprised. I guess it would amount to that, and in another way it wouldn’t. How could it if it didn’t, and why wouldn’t it if it did? The others laughed at Al’s twisted inquiry. Uncle Fred didn’t give you orders to lay off watching, did he, Bob? And as Bob shook his head, he only meant for us to concentrate on seeing if we could pick up a clue to the mysterious plane. Well, I feel that by finding out what Griff is doing, and why his father is so fidgety and fertive, and the rest of the puzzles here, we may be led to that plane, or get a clue to it, or to its pilot. I don’t see any disobedience in that. Well, Curt answered Bob, the way I look at it, if Uncle Fred took us into the case, he expected us to obey the spirit of the orders he gave, and he did say to forget the smaller things here and work on locating the plane. I see, agreed Bob. It’s a pretty deep what Lang would call ethical problem. Father meant to leave Griff alone, unless he did something actually incriminating, and to put all our effort on the other thing. Let’s see your paper, Al. He held out his hand for the brief note Alled preserved. “Study it as they would. They got nothing helpful from the grass stained paper with the smudged writing.” “Let’s think who we’ve seen use an indelible pencil,” hinted Al. “Remember the morning we found this, we decided in a joke that there were too many indelible pencils to try to trace the writer because he used one. But how many people close to this mystery have you seen using one?” The cler in the supply room? Gasped Curt. Are you sure? Yes, Bob. Because he takes a copy of every order he writes and of every requisition on an old-fashioned letter press the same way they put their copying ribbon letters in between a damp cloth and a soft thin sheet of the big book. Put it all in the press and make the copying ribbon print the letter into the book instead of using carbon paper. Then we have a clue. How does the clock’s writing compare with this? Let’s see. Each of the three having spoken in turn by common consent they agreed to Al’s impulsive suggestion. They were hardly able to wait for their supper. However, they put it away with speed, if not with the best of table manners, and secured their bicycles. It took them only a short time to reach the aircraft plant. The watchmen accepted their explanation that they were passing and wanted to borrow several books from Mr. Treadway’s reference library in the offices. Bob accordingly went to the offices while Curt and Al strolled with apparent aimlessness across the inner quadrangle. “There’s a light in one window. No, in two windows already,” Al mentioned. “I wonder who’s here at night again.” Almost at once, he suggested that they go and see. Kurt himself, fired by the curiosity of his companion, hurried after Al. They saw Bob, who had lighted the outer office electric bulbs, choosing several volumes from a shelf to carry out in truth their explanation to the watchmen. “Now, who’s here?” Bob said, joining the others at the door as he put out the light. “Can’t be Barney unless he came back.” “No, the cabin plane isn’t here,” Al argued. “Anyway, Barney stayed over to transact some business,” you said. Bob, “Must be either Griff or Griff and his father, or Mr. Parsons and somebody else,” Curt said breathlessly excited. “There were two separate offices lighted and you can see the door glass shining. The doors are shut though,” Al spoke disappointedly. “Yes,” continued Curt. “But one of us can hide in the al cove where the water cooler and door to the washroom are located. If anybody comes, it would be easy to dodge on into the washroom, and no one would ask questions about that.” “Then you’re elected,” Bob said. I want to go with Al because I think I know where to find the latest letter book. With the reference volumes tucked under his arm, he led Al down the dim corridor while Kurt secured a good place in the niche by the water cooler to watch from. As the two brothers went down the steps at the rear toward the supply room to be sure that no one was there and likely to come up and catch them, Al’s grip on Bob’s arm tightened convulsively. Someone was coming down the steps behind them. With lips close to Al’s ear, Bob whispered, “Tiptoe! Come on!” He led Al down to the lowest steps, and there, just beside the door to the supply room, the brothers flattened themselves against the wall. They held their breath. They made themselves as small as they could. A quick tread came on down the steps. There was the paws of a body close, almost touching them, breathing, sharp, short, quick, carried to their ears, but they kept Mouse still. The door opened. A light flared up as Bob dragged Al back out of range. But as they turned and stared down, heart still pounding from the excitement of the narrow escape, both brothers gasped. In the light below stood a bearded stranger. Chapter 15. a triple trail pulling Al further back out of the light around the little dark jog beside the door jam of the supply room. Bob put his lips close to his brother’s ear. “Watch!” he whispered, hardly loud enough for Al to hear. With a little squeeze to reassure his brother, Bob let go of Al’s arm and tiptoed back up the stairway, carefully clinging to the side wall and hoping that this precaution would enable him to get away without causing the steps to creek. He was successful. Al noting that the man inside the room seemed to be doing nothing more than standing there, considering the layout of the place, guessed that Bob wanted to consult with Kurt, watching upstairs. Al felt important he was in the very heart of mystery and much depended on him. Therefore he watched with every faculty alert as the man turned his head this way and that apparently inspecting the stock of wing and fuselage cloth, the boxed instruments, the cases of dope for varnishing bodies and wings, the many other visible objects held in reserve. Bob, slipping along the hallway at the top of the steps, noticed that both offices were lighted still, that both doors were closed, and as far as he could see, nothing had changed up above. Kurt was still watching. He was practically invisible in his nook by the water cooler. Bob, with a small word under his breath, reassured his comrade, who came out of hiding as soon as he knew that the footsteps he heard approaching were Bob’s. Where did the stranger come from? asked Bob softly. Stranger? Curt’s voice betrayed amazement. The man who came down to the supply room? Bob was also surprised. Was he a stranger? Curt asked. I thought it was Mr. Parsons. He came out of that dark director’s room beyond me. Oh. Bob clutched Curt’s arm in a tight grip. Have you used your eyes, Kurt, in daylight? If you have, you recall that there is a fire escape running up the side of the building and the landing is by that director’s meeting room window. Is that so? Then if that window is open, the opening of one of the lighted offices startled them, ended the consultation. Both comrades tents drew close against the wall behind the water cooler. If anybody was thirsty, the lighted square of that door went black. Someone had put out the dome light. Footsteps went carelessly along the corridor from the hiding youths toward the front stairway. I must follow whoever it is, whispered Bob. Kurt, watch here. I will watch that other man. It’s a triple trail, gasped Curt. Go on, Bob. Be careful. Bob agreed and tiptoed along to the stairway. By the time he got there, he had no need for special caution. The lower door was closing. Bob ran lightly down the stairs, crossed the entry below, cautiously peered into the yard, lighter just there by the ark over the office building doorway, and nodded to himself. Griff was passing around the side of the building. Cautiously, Bob trailed him, allowing the partner’s son to get out of sight beyond the turn before he left the doorway. Where was Griffbound? The main gates were across the yard and as Bob knew they were locked while the night man made his rounds of inspection among hangers and plant structures while Al watched his man in the supply room while Kurt hid watching the lighted office door. Bob wondered what Griff was about. The young man did not go anywhere near or bend his steps in the direction of the main entrance, but turned with Bob carefully watching as he clung close in the shadow of the office structure and went on around the building toward the private exit used by the officials. Being the son of Mr. Treadway’s partner, Griff had a key, but Bob could see as he peered around the building that the gate stood slightly a jar already. Will he go on home? Bob wondered. Had I better go back to Al? His thought was answered by Griff’s actions. He paused at the gate, seeming to inspect it. He was surprised to find it a jar, Bob decided. He held his place close to the office shadow and watched as Griff looked around inside and outside the fence. Then, as though discovering something, Griff ran out of sight, leaving the gate as he had found it. Instantly, Bob ran across the small open space to the gate. There, in sudden caution, he cuddled his body close to the fence. It had just crossed his mind that Griff might have gone outside in a pretended hurry to draw out any pursuer he might be hiding. Watching he was not, however, the sputter and roar of a motor startled Bob. “That’s queer,” Bob mused while he projected his head through the gateway. Almost in the same instant that he saw Griff starting up a motorcycle, Bob saw Griff shut off the motor and trundle the machine away. “His own motorcycle is broken since Saturday’s accident,” Bob reflected. “Now he must have brought another one. He meant to ride off in a hurry,” he deduced. But he decided the noise would startle and warn people, so he’s going further away before he starts up. Instantly, his own action was decided upon. He stre back across the yard around the hangers to get his own bicycle against a speedy motor. It would not keep Griff in sight, but it would enable Bob to get over the ground faster. And if Griff did not go home, Bob meant to pursue him, making careful inquiries as he pedled. There was only the crossroad for him to take, and Bob could see it from the highway. In a very short time, and without having been seen by the watchman, Bob was out on the road. The distant sputter of the motorcycle engine and a speeding form passing the junction of the crossroads gave Bob all the information he needed. Without wasting energy, in an effort to keep the flying cycle in sight, he pedled after it. The sudden sharp noise evidently startled others besides Bob. Al watching saw the man who was evidently making some notes in the supply room suddenly dashed to the switch. Out went the light. Al heard the scrape and rumble of a window being unfastened and thrown up. The man was listening. He judged. Kurt by the water cooler heard nothing but the faint sounds of the motor. At first, he thought they were shots. When he saw the office light go out suddenly. Immediately afterward, he thought someone in there had shot at someone else, but the door was flung open, and he heard hurried feet pounding along the hall and almost stumbling down the front steps, careless of how much noise they made. Curt could not go to explain to Al. He must see who that was going out of the quickly darkened office so swiftly. Al needed no one to warn him. He crouched, tense and listening intently outside the supply room door for a full minute. Absolute torturing silence began to twitch his nerves. Nameless fears and countless uncertainties filled his mind. Was the man stalking him? Was he there at all? Had he ever been there? Was he human? Or Al heard a queer sound. At once he identified it. The window was being quietly pulled down. again. He listened, watched, waited. Kurt, slipping down the banisters in the good, old-fashioned, speedy boy’s way, landed quietly at the foot of the stairs soon after the front doors of the office building closed. But by that time, whoever had emerged was far across the quadrangle, and it was too dark to recognize him. There came the flare of the headlights of an automobile. From its position on the grounds and from the style of its lamps, Kurt guessed it was the runabout used by Mr. Parsons, Treadway’s remaining partner. What was he doing here? Where was he going? Kurt in the office doorway, not daring to emerge because of the beams of light that might swing around the yard at any moment, heard the voice of Parsons hailing the watchman, questioning him. The other replied in a way to show he had not heard any noises, could not account for them. Kurt, as the car got underway, and the main gate was flung wide to permit it to depart, raced around the office building L and across to his bicycle. He knew he could not pursue, but the wheel would give an excuse for emerging from that gate at once. “Wait,” he called to the watchman, pedalling swiftly across to him. “I guess he forgot I was here,” pretending that Mr. Parson sponsored his presence there so late at night. The watchman said nothing but held the gates open until Kurt pedled through and took his way after the car, not to keep it in sight, but to see if it went to its owner’s home. Al, ignorant that he was the only remaining member of the sky squad, watched tensely and listened alertly beside the supply room door. He heard nothing. Cautiously, he protruded his head around the door jamb. The room was silent. Evidently, the man was hiding or gone. But how? Where could he go? Al answered his own questions at once, for the window, made of tiny panes of thick glass between heavy bars, locked always from inside, impossible to open from outside, was not tightly shut. For once in his life, Al paused to think before he acted. That window was not tightly shut. He had heard it opened and closed, but if the man had closed it from within the room, he would have pulled it down tightly. He had not done so. He had left it partly open. Why, to provide a way to come back, Al decided almost at the same instant it flashed into his head that if he were to be caught in that room with its door unfastened, he would be accused by any of the plant members, the watchmen, or those he thought were still in the upstairs offices of stealing whatever might be missing. He had a plan at once. He tiptoed back to the steps, listening. No sound came to him. Softly he went into the open doorway, made sure the window was not tightly shut by inspecting the lightest space beneath it, then very quietly let the door go shut, allowing its spring lock to snap. He could open it from inside if he had to escape. No one without a key could open it from the hallway. Then he ran close to the window, peered out, listened with an ear to the crack beneath the lower panes. Nothing was stirring, but from the window he could see the gate, and the light was sufficient to show him a man’s form arriving there. Evidently, the form stopped from surprise or caution. Then it went swiftly out. Al, forgetting fear, flung the window slightly upward, edged out, dropped to the ground, reached up, and almost closed the window, then fully drew it down with a little slam, and raced to the gate. There he paused, peering out carefully. Down the narrow lane he saw a man’s form trudging rapidly. The third trail was opened. After the man at a distance trudged Al. Chapter 16. The wind sock. For Al the trail ended abruptly after a walk of a mile. The stranger, whose face, with its heavy beard, Al could not dare get close enough to identify, even if he knew it, hailed a passing automobile asked for a lift and was taken in. That concluded Al’s chances of following because no other car came along. Dejectedly, he returned to the aircraft plant to discover that someone, perhaps the watchman, had closed the gate. There was nothing left for him to do but to go to the main gate, call the attendant, and get his bicycle. His friends were gone, the man assured him, and Al had no excuse to stay there. Dejectedly, feeling that he had been close to a clue and that it had slipped through his hands by his bad break. Al rode home. Kurt’s trail took him eventually to the Parson’s cottage. Seeing the car drawn up before the garage, Kurt decided that he had no need to watch the car being put into the garage. Evidently, its driver had gone into his home for a moment first. Curt rode away. Had he waited, his trail would have led further, but he did not guess that. Bob had better fortune. He saved his strength as he pedled along well ahead of his two less fortunate trailmates, and when he came to a cross street of the suburbs, where a policeman was directing traffic, Bob drew up beside the officer. “Hello, Bob,” the policeman hailed. “Out sort of late, eh?” Yes, Mr. O’Brien. I stayed at the plant. I’m learning how they put airplanes together at the Treadway plant. I wanted to ask if you noticed a motorcycle. Not long ago, maybe 15 minutes, a friend. Yes. The officer starting the cars down the street by a wave of his hand did not wait for an explanation of Bob’s reason for the question. Griff Parsons rode by. That’s who I mean. Did he turn off here to go home? Bob knew that Griff’s house was several blocks over on an up and down street that was one way for traffic. If Griff had turned here, Bob’s quest he knew was over. If he did not, Griff would be gone much further, because if he did not turn here, and thus enter his own home street in the right direction, he surely would not go on and approach it in the wrong way, against the traffic rules. He rode on by. Just waved to me, O’Brien said, and turned to signal a warning to a car that was trying to slip past the stop lightss. Thanking him, Bob rode on. Griff must be going somewhere. The highway had no turns except the suburbs cross streets. It was possible that Griff might have turned into one of them, perhaps to return a hired motorcycle to its garage. Nevertheless, so strange had been the action of the youth that Bob decided to ride on, at least to the last police officer, along the main traffic road to see if he could learn whether the trail continued or not. The traffic officer, used to seeing this rider, greeted Bob and told him that several motorcycles had passed him. Bob, riding to the curb to rest, was puzzled. Had one of those been the motorcycle he had followed? A thought caused him to ride on. Griff, Bob, knew from his own inquiries, hung out with quite a rough crowd of youths. They had very little reputation in the suburb, and one of their haunts near Rocky Lake came to Bob’s mind. Griff, riding his motorcycle, might have gone on to the inn or roadhouse or speak easy or whatever it was near the picnic grounds at Rocky Lake. Tired but determined, Bob went on. Sometime later he approached the gay lighted roadhouse. He smiled to himself as he observed the name of the place. The wind sock it was called. On roadside signs down the road in both directions were admonitions to automoists to set down at the winds sock. Don’t fly past the winds sock. And such tempting notices. A wind sock Bob knew was the cornucopia of doped cloth closed at one end and held open at the other by a metal ring which was fastened in a prominent high position at every flying field and airport to be filled by the draft of a breeze and thus by its position to indicate to flying craft which direction to head in or to take off. Since an airplane is much easier to get off the ground and back to earth headed into the wind, the wind sock was a most important adjunct to every field. And Bob knew that the name and the symbol, a real wind sock on top of the inn, had been chosen by its owner because he had been an ex-pilot who put his money into the hotel venture and tried to attract picnicers, automobile parties, and other patrons of a less savory nature by the novel idea of having his dining aloves built to resemble the cozy little cabins of airplanes, and had his meals served by girls clad in suits and helmets. resembling those worn by pilots. Also, he had let it be rumored around town that he chose the flying symbol and the aviation idea because in his inn, the sky is the limit. Bob, approaching, was surprised to see the very motorcycle. He was sure of that. He had followed, leaned against a post in the parking yard, and he felt certain that his long ride had not been wasted. Where was Griff? Bob wondered. He hoped there would be some way for him to discover the whereabouts of the youth. Not wishing to walk into the place for fear he might disclose his presence to Griff, Bob skirted the building unobserved. From an open window at the side came voices in angry altercation. Bob did not need to get within sight of the occupants. He recognized Griff’s loud, sharp, furious tones. What was he saying? All I could scrape together. I did put it in that package. I keep telling you baloney rats. It was wads of paper. It was money. I want my receipt. If If you don’t, if you don’t, you better say, “If you don’t come through, by this time tomorrow night, I’ll ask your old man for it.” There was silence. Bob did not dare creep any closer. They might look out of the window. Some payment had been made by Griff’s claim. By the denial of the other man, it had not been made. By his threat, it must be made. Bob hesitated, and while he stood undecided, the roar of a car coming at full speed came to his ears. He glanced down the road. Hardly had he located the direction when he recognized the car. It contained Mr. Parsons. A man’s head leaned out of the open window. to Bob as he crouched back into some ornamental shrubbery. The face was unfamiliar, but he saw it was brutish, fierce, angry, and he impressed it on his memory. “Here’s your pop now,” the man called, and then he gave an exclamation that Bob could not comprehend. Presently the light went out and almost at the same time while Parsons a lighted in the parking place. Bob near the rear corner of the building saw a form emerge from the kitchens and race away down the yard toward the grove beyond. Griff muttered Bob to himself. Griff running tight as he can go, running away from his father to hide, watching, more interested in the new arrival than in the son. Bob remained in concealment, but his mind was puzzled. Why? He wondered. Why? And what next? Chapter 17. The case I sewed up sitting on the right porch early the next morning, Kurt and Al listened eagerly to Bob’s recital of the past night’s events. After Griff ran off. What then? Al demanded. A taxi came racing along and stopped at the wind sock. What did you do? What could I do except keep hidden and watch? Curt’s question brought the counter question from Bob. The taxi door opened. And who do you suppose jumped out? Who? Curt and Al spoke at once. The very man Al and I saw in the supply room. I saw him hail the taxi. Al exclaimed. Everything is beginning to fit together. Yes, it is, Bob agreed. And what’s more, it fits tightly. As soon as the stranger paid his fair, he recognized Mr. Parsons, who was halted on the roadhouse verander, watching. They began to talk and stood there for a minute. They knew each other, Kurt exclaimed. “They must be working together to loot the supply room. That’s probably how the mystery man got in. He had a key from Mr. Parsons.” “It looks like that,” admitted Bob. “What then?” Al wanted the story. “Did they find Griff?” No, but the stranger saw his motorcycle. He got awfully excited about it, and he went with Mr. Parsons to look at it. They went close to where I was hiding back of the shrubs, but they didn’t say anything until they were close to the motorcycle. They were too far away for me to hear then. I’d have crept closer, declared Al. Oh, yes, you would. Bob was scornful. Right out across an open yard, Al subsided, crestfallen. What then? Curt asked quickly to avoid any quarrel. They talked for about 10 minutes. Then the man made some notes of things Mr. Parson said, “I wish I could have heard.” Then he hopped onto his motorcycle and rode off. And Mr. Parson stood thinking for a while and then Yes. Don’t keep us waiting. What? Curt? He turned the car and went back toward town. Didn’t look for Griff. Al had recovered his usual interest. No, he drove away. Griff must have been watching too. He came out and shook his fist toward the roadhouse and then walked off. And that’s all. They discussed the incidents of the past night, coupling them with the strange actions and uneasiness of Mr. Parsons and of Griff on former occasions riding as they talked toward the plant. Barney’s cabin airplane was again on the field and as soon as they arrived and he saw them from an office window, Barney summoned them. Well, he greeted them, closing the door. How goes the study of airplane building? Oh, we know how they lay down the framework for the fuselage and how careful they are to see that every longeron and brace and strut and guywire and turnbuckle fits exactly in place and is well fastened, Alex claimed. and we’ve helped put on the wings and the tail assembly and Bob is going to help install an engine today and we will watch. Bob laughed and Kurt joined him. They saw the amused light in Barney’s eyes. Well, you asked. Al defended his enthusiasm. It was just a polite opening. Bob grinned. Barney wants to know about other things we’ve learned. Interrupting one another, they gave him the details of their experiences. Well, Barney’s face became very serious. So that’s it. What? Barney smiled at Al. The partner and his son are working with an outsider. I thought so. But what about the brown plane? Any news of that? We left it out entirely, Bob said. We disobeyed Uncle Kurt admitted. Bob said uncle wanted us to drop things here and concentrate on trying to find the brown plane, but we can’t find that crate. I feel sure Bob was earnest. Not only that, but if a crime is being committed under your nose, you won’t go off looking for something else to do while it is going on, will you? Al wanted their course confirmed. You did just right, Barney commended them. You lad stick to this end of it. I’ve suspected that Parsons and his son were up to something, and I don’t agree with your father, Bob, about the brown crate at all. I think you fellows deserve a raise, and if you can only catch one or all of the crowd doing something, catch them red-handed in a way of speaking, I’ll hand out a little private reward. I feel that it’s due to to the memory of Mr. Treadway. He was mighty good to me and and I want to get everything cleared up here because I think the ones who have been doing wrong right here at the plant got found out by him and they either hired that airplane from some distant place and flew out and rode down treadway or else they paid some unscrupulous pilot. He paused as he saw Al squirming in his chair with eagerness. What is it Al? Unscrupulous pilot reiterated Al. Why, the man at the wind sock is a an ex pilot. Glory be that’s so Barney nodded. Well, from what I saw of him, his face shows that he’s unscrupulous, added Bob. It looks to me from here, Barney said slowly. It looks to me as though we’ve got the case sewed up. All you need to do is to find out some way about that ex-pilot, what he does with his time, if he owns a crate yet, and so on. You think? Barney turned to Curt. I think he nodded. That ex-pilot might know a lot about a brown plane and about what it did to force another one down. Then we have got the case sewed up, Al declared. We came here last night to see if we could compare a little scrap of writing we found where the plane had been with the books of letters and things to see if the writing agreed. And what did you find? We had no time to find anything, Kurt admitted. The other things came up. Let’s see that note. Where is it? Al produced the muchfolded dirty scrap and handed it to Barney. No. He shook his head after a careful study. I don’t recognize it. The supply cler hinted Bob. Not at all like his writing. Well, said Kurt, it’s done with an indelible pencil now that we know the ex-pilot is under suspicion. We can find out if he has an indelible pencil that he carries around or he might destroy it considering what has happened since the note was written. But who’s the note written to? asked Bob. It says everything okay to whoever hired him. To Parsons maybe, or to Griff. That’s so. Bob became very thoughtful. We ought to get a sample of the ex-pilot’s handwriting, suggested Al eagerly. Shall I? I can try. They don’t know me out at the Windsock. Couldn’t I take my autograph album and I’ll make inquiries about the brown plane from around the wind sock? Added Curt. Then I can keep tabs at this end, argued Bob. Fine, agreed Barney. Fine. Yes, sir. Boys, we’ve got the case sewed up, or circumstantial evidence never pointed true. Did you see Dad again? asked Bob as they rose. Yes, but he’s awfully busy on that other case. He must trust you fellows pretty well. Well, Al swelled with pride, maybe we’ve disobeyed orders. But if this comes out as good as we think it will, we’ll have no trouble making father see that he was wrong and we were right to disobey. Right you are, agreed Barney. Griff seemed to be getting ready to work himself into danger for their special benefit. It seemed to bo in the engine assembling rooms. The youth was angry, upset, uneasy, fidgety. He hurried out when he heard his father’s voice approaching down the hall, and the older man betrayed as much uneasiness and concern as did his son. But that night, when they thought they had the last stitches taken to sew up the case, as Barney said, fate ripped out the whole thing, and they were left without a thread of a clue, until the unexpected thing happened that gave Bob his hunch. Chapter 18. A new mystery. Cheerfully, Al greeted the rigger for whom he worked. Barney, Mr. Horton, he corrected his own familiar illusion to the manager of the aircraft plant. Says, please hurry the work on this sport biplane. The man who’s buying it is in a big hurry. He wants to get into some race with it. Oh, sure, the rigger grumbled a little. They’re all in a hurry, but I don’t rush my part of it for anybody. There’s been enough complaint about this plant already without me doing anything to cut down the performance of a crate by skimping my share of the high standards Mr. Treadway always kept up. I know, agreed Al, but he meant to do all you can, I guess. Yes, the rigger was in a complaining mood. That’s all very well. But did he say why they’re giving us cheaper stuff to work with since the real boss went west? Maybe. Did they tell you why that is? that we’re getting cheaper stuff. No, Al admitted, but I do know that Mr. Parsons and Bar and Mr. Horton were talking about some complaint from the wing assembling room about poor fabric. They almost quarreled. Barney told Mr. Parsons it had to stop. He was going to uphold Mr. Treadway’s ideas, and Mr. Parsons said so was he. Well, somebody’s ordering cheap stuff. Look here. He picked up a turnbuckle, a metal object in which the threads of each wire end were so threaded in that when the ends of wires were screwed in, the turning of the central revolving part either drew the two sections of wire close, making it tort, or allowed them to recede a little from one another for more looseness, by which the flying and landing wires and other parts of the guing rig were adjusted. The turnbuckle looked all right to Al and he said so. Shows how much you know. Scoffed the rigger. Sandy. Look here. He this and then this one. He selected another turnbuckle. Handed both to Al. And the youth weighted them in his two hands. This one does feel heavier. Of course it does. It’s a cheap casting, not the aluminum alloy the other one is machined from. Why, them threads on the new one will wear and go bad in no time. Al watching observed that as the rigger manipulated a pocketk knife in the threaded end of the part. Bright metal and a worn look were almost immediately evident. Yes, Sandy Jim agreed with his discovery. And I’ve been talking around and others is dissatisfied in the dope room, in the engine room, everywhere’s. But when Mr. Parsons talked with the manager, Al explained. They had the supply clerk in and went over the orders and weigh bills and delivery checkup, and everything was all right. The orders went to the same firms as always. We’re getting shoddy stuff all the same, grunted Jim. What good is it to rush out a job and have it accepted on the reputation of Mr. Treadway and then have complaints in a few days? I don’t know, said Al and changed the subject. Mr. Horton says you’ll have to excuse me this morning. He’s sending me out on an errand. Oh, sure. Jim snapped. Once this job rushed and takes away my helper, why’d he use his office boy? Al could not explain that it was Barney’s way of releasing him so he could go to the wind sock for that comparison of the ex pilot’s autograph with the clue note Al held. I guess you’ll have to ask him. Al grinned and went over to get his bicycle. Sandy Jim followed him, dragging a small parcel out of his hip pocket. “As long as you’re riding,” he suggested. “Go past the house and slip this into Jimmy Jr. It’s some odds and ends of broken stuff for him to use on his new model airliner.” “Glad to,” Al took the parcel. “Get back quick as you can,” urged Sandy. “I need a good helper.” Al quickly sent his bicycle along the highway. Stopping at Sandy’s home, he took as little time as he could to drop the parcel, and to explain to Jimmy Jr. that the reason he had not yet been taken into the Sky Squad was that they had been too busy evenings to hold any meetings. Then he made his way to the roadhouse near Rocky Lake Park, and leaned his wheel against the ver supports. “Is Mr. Jones busy?” he asked a sleepy waiter who was listlessly dusting off some chairs in one of the small compartments made to look like the cabin of an airliner. Al had found it easy to learn the ex-pilot’s name. In the office, the man jerked a thumb toward a side room. Al, knocking at the door and hearing a gruff voice bid him enter, went into the same room Bob had described as the scene of the quarrel between the roadhouse man and Griff. The man, looking up from some work at a small desk, had a coarse, scowlling face. “No wonder he was ex-pilot,” Al reflected with a face as brutish and a manner as unfriendly and curt as Mr. Jones’s showed. “What’s wanted?” “Why?” Al stammered, not so much ill at ease as trying to pretend he felt shy in the presence of a great man. I’m one of the fellows who have a sort of club to study airplanes and all that and I we heard about you being a clever pilot and I thought I’d ride out and ask if you’d be generous enough to write a little something about aviation in our club autograph album. He produced the small book he had brought in his coat pocket. H the man scowlled. Let me see that book. He took the small volume and Al’s heart sank. Instead of writing sensibly and generously on blank page invitingly offered, he flipped the pages, and Al knew that the affair was a failure. There was nothing about aviation in the few autographed verses and sayings already collected. That’s no aviation album. The man thrusted away angrily and jumped up. What’s your scheme, young fellow? Scheme? Al tried to look innocent. I told you we want to get you to start the real autographs from aviators. The subtifuge did not satisfy the man. He frowned, stared at Al as though trying to get through his guard to discover any hidden motive. Al, inexperienced, fidgeted, unable to conceal his uneasiness. However, he received a surprise. Sure, the man snatched up the book. Come to think of it, why not? Fact is, kid, I’ll start you off with two autographs. Wait. He hurried out of the office. Al did not dare peek to see where he went or what he did. For all Al knew the man might be just beyond the side door, watching. He sat very still, trying to be as self-possessed as he could. Presently the man returned with the book held open. “Here you are,” he said aphibably. Al glancing at the book, saw the two opposite pages bore fresh scrolls. The man waved a hand. “Welcome. Run along now. We’re busy here getting set to open up a new airport out on the side where folks can dance to a fine orchestra in a hanger. Tell any of your friends you like, especially your parents. We got the prettiest imitation of an airplane for the orchestra to set in. Al hardly able to mumble his thanks, dashed out to his bicycle. He could scarcely hold in his impatience. One of those sets of rough characters was written with a pencil, the other with an indelible pencil. One had a familiar character to its shaping of letters. A little way down the road near the lake where the airplane had cracked up, Al drew his machine in under a tree, almost tore the book out of his pocket, and opened it hastily. On one page was a maxim, exactly what a pilot might write. Knowing when to stay on the ground makes a better pilot than knowing how to get off it. It was signed with initials TJ J. Al did not recognize the writing, although he understood that the saying meant that a pilot wise enough to be cautious was better than one who thought that getting into the air was all there was to flying. The second page revealed one word, the pilot’s good luck wish, and two initials also, Tailwinds JT, it told him. TJ J and JT. Hurriedly, Al drew out the folded, ragged, dirty little note his clue. It exactly corresponded in every character with this short autograph. But who had written the autograph? Had Mr. Jones, if his name was Jones, he would have signed the initials on the first autograph to J. Or would he have signed that way? Might he not have signed the reverse? Had he written either page, who else had helped? More mystery and no way to solve it. Chapter 19. Tangled threads. On a former occasion, Bob had related news to an audience composed of Al and Curt. As the trio rode homeward, Kurt to share supper with the brothers. Al was the spokesman. “Did you ever see so many people to suspect and so many clues that don’t lead anywhere?” asked Kurt when Al had told his story and had shown his evidence. The Sky Squad has a mystery and there’s no mistake about it, declared Al. We got what we wanted, but now what can we do with it? You mean the mystery? No, Bob, I mean the autograph. Well, it proves one thing anyway, Bob asserted. The single word matches our everything okay note. That proves that the man who wrote the note is at that roadhouse, the wind sock. It does, Kurt agreed. But is it the man named Jones? Did he write it? Did he write either one? Bob was puzzled as he spoke. He left the room, you said. Kurt turned to Al, who nodded. Maybe he didn’t write anything. What does all that matter? Bob said, “The point is that we have proof that the man who used the brown plane is staying at the wind sock. Now our job is to discover who he is. Let’s see those autographs again.” Kurt drew his wheel to the roadside and took the book from Al. TJ is written with a plain lead pencil, he remarked. The JT one is the one written in indelible pencil. JT, he repeated thoughtfully. Do you suppose Jones transposed his initials and then got a waiter or a clerk to write the other and sign what Al would take for his initials? It’s too tangled up to suppose about, argued Bob. Two things we do know from it. One is, Al remarked as they resumed their ride. One is that we know the brown airplane man is at the wind sock. What’s the other? Well, whether it’s Jones or not, Jones has something to hide. This proves otherwise he’d have scribbled a word or two for Al and thought no more about it. That’s so it simplifies things, doesn’t it? Al speaking after Curt’s agreement was not so sure as his words indicated. It makes them more complicated, Bob retorted. Let’s see what we know and where we stand. As they rode slowly, he tabulated their clues and theories and discoveries with many interruptions from his companions. First of all, he began, we saw a mysterious brown airplane hidden in the woods. Then when we went there, it was gone, and this note was flung aside. The crate took off in a hurry because we saw heavy tracks and made in a hurry by the way they looked. Then there was a crack up at Rocky Lake, and we found out Mr. Treadway was in the silver flash that crashed. And we saw a man come to try to help swimming across the lake. Kurt broke in. “And then we met Barney, and he and father called us in to help solve the mystery crash,” added Al. “We learned there was more mystery than just the fall of the crate,” Bob went on. “That was bad enough, but there was more. Parts were being stolen from the aircraft plant, and planes had been tampered with after tests showed them to be perfect. When we went there to work in the plant, Kurt was eager to add his contribution to the sum of their recollections. We saw Mr. Parsons acting suspiciously in Griff, too. And we have suspected Langley was in bad company with Griff, and Lang got mad at us about Griff, but we haven’t found any reason to suspect Lang since, Al declared. But now we’ve got more people to suspect the stranger who came to the plant and this ex-pilot. But all this hasn’t brought us any closer to knowing anything definite, Bob objected. I begin to wonder if father was right after all when he told us to drop those unimportant things and locate that brown airplane. But we can’t defended Al. There’s no way to start hunting. I’m for keeping on disobeying until something happens to help us. And I’m for getting into supper. Kurt changed the subject as they dismounted at the cottage. Let’s give what brains we have a good rest while we eat. Well, one thing more and we will. Bob paused, thoughtful and serious. Al said, “We had no cause to suspect Lang. Well, today I was wondering why Griff was so nervous and fidgety and fertive, and Lang came in and took me out to give me a lesson in handling the controls,” he hinted. He really did. But before he took me up while he tested the new sport speedster, he said, “I see you’re bothering Griff again.” And he gave me down the banks about it. “What’s suspicious about that?” Kurt asked. not that so much, but he told me to go on home, that it was closing time, and I put on my cap and punched the time clock. And then I recalled that I had left the baseball we were playing catch with at noon in my bench drawer. I went back and there was Griff, all excited, and Lang, with his head close to Griff’s, acting as upset and as uneasy as Griff when I came in and surprised them. Lang snapped at me. I don’t like it. Well, Kurt was quiet, a little hesitant, but firm. If Lang is mixed up in something wrong, we ought to at least we ought to try to save him. That’s good, agreed Bob quickly. I thought you were going to say we ought to catch him with the rest. No, indeed, I think more of Lang than that. But how could we save him? asked Al. To that they had no answer as they went in to eat. As they sat at the table, Al mentioned the morning’s chat with Jimmy Jr. and suggested that they really ought to go and spend an evening with him as he had urged them to do. If the others liked him, they could communicate by nods and take him into the sky squad, not as a full member, but just to please him and have a fourth member to call on if an emergency arose where he would be needed. Al vouched for his innocence and good nature, eagerness to please, and willingness to work without asking for explanations of why he did a certain thing. He’d be a good one to send to watch anybody griff or the ex-pilot. Al spoke as the trio rode toward Jimmy Junior’s home. We’ll see. Bob did not finish. He applied his coaster break, made a quick signal for silence, swerved into a garage driveway, followed by his companions, and dismounted, dropping his bicycle on the lawn. “What happened?” asked Al, thrilling to some possible mystery. Lang turned the corner. You didn’t want him to see us? Certainly not, Bob answered Al. Wonder where he’s going. Curt slipped along the side of the house by which they had stopped. He’s in a terrible hurry, he reported coming back. In a second, he’ll be passing this house. Get back behind the house. I don’t think he’ll notice the bikes on the grass in the dusk. They hid from the view of anyone on the sidewalk. Peering cautiously out in turn, they saw Langley hurrying by. Now, where’s he going and what shall we do about it? See where he goes, Kurt answered the other two. Lang turned the next corner. I’ll bet he’s going to Griff’s house. Al was correct in his guess. As they trundled their bicycles, keeping as far behind Lang as they thought necessary, they saw him turn in at Griff’s gate. 5 minutes later, from carefully chosen points of concealment, they saw Lang come out, take Griff’s repaired motorcycle, and ride off in haste. Consulting one another with dismayed eyes, the chums, by common consent, mounted and pedled for dear life along the street, around the corner, back to the main highway. They seemed to sense where Langley was going. They did not, however, divine what he planned to do. Chapter 20. A package of money. Before they reached the aircraft plant toward which they pedled with all their power, Bob, Kurt, and Al saw a light flare up. That’s the flying field ready for a hop, panted Al. Hurry. Do you think it could be Lang? Kurt asked. Who else? Bob retorted, peddling faster. There’s nobody at the gate, Kurt called. They were near enough to see the open gateway. the watchman’s helping with chocks and spinning the prop. Bob, increasing his pedal revolutions, forging ahead, spoke over his shoulder. Wait, called Kurt. What are you going to do? Find out. No, wait. Bob slowed up his pedals, permitting the bicycle to coast along as the modern freewheeling automobile runs when the foot is removed from the accelerator pedal. Kurt caught up to him. In a moment, as they approached the gate, Al came up also. “Don’t let him see you at all,” warned Kurt. “Better wait and ask the watchmen after he’s gone. You’ll find out more that way.” It was good advice, and Bob agreed to act on it. They hid the bicycles in case it turned out that Lang had not left the ground. Careful not to disclose themselves, they watched at the gate as the engine of the sport model owned by Griff was warmed up. In the flood of light on the runway, they recognized Lang as the pilot, and watched him adjust flying helmet and leather jacket, get into the craft, test the instruments, checking carefully, and then get his wind direction from the wind sock, which told that the light summer breeze was from the south. The watchman swung the tail around, set the chocks again for a final test. Lang gave her the gun to see if everything was hitting perfectly, signaled for the chocks to be removed. And since his craft was correctly headed into the wind, the airplane taxied, gaining speed and rose swiftly into the dark, hardly waiting for the flood to be extinguished. The trio of amateur detectives hailed the watchmen. “Too late to see Lang take off,” greeted Bob. “He didn’t say why he hopped at night, did he?” “Yeah, he did. He’s going off to see his uncle about something. That’s funny, Al argued under his breath to Kurt. Certainly is, Kurt agreed. Thanks, Bob spoke to the watchman. As long as we’re here, he turned to his chums. Let’s bring in our bikes and get some more of those books on metal alloys Barney told us about. The boss is here himself, the watchman explained. Go ahead. Barney was working late. His office is lighted, Al commented. Let’s stop in and tell him about the note and the autograph. And about Lang. He must know Lang hopped off, Kurt told Bob. Yes, the crate made enough noise unless he’s awfully busy. Barney was busy enough, but he had heard the takeoff, he admitted. I’m trying to check up on the firm’s books. Barney waved a hand toward the pile of heavy volumes, ledgers, daybooks, indexes, and others scattered on his desk. I can’t find out what way they’re doing it, but something’s being worked about the materials. So Sandy told me this morning, Al stated, “Well, I can’t find it.” He pushed three of the smaller books into a large lower desk drawer and turned, mysteriously, smiling. “How do you like this idea?” he asked. I’ll put a few books aside and then when the staff comes in tomorrow, I’ll see how the bookkeeper and Parsons take it. If there’s anything flim flammy about them, they will show it when they miss the books. That’s dandy, agreed Al. What do you figure on doing now? Barney asked. Why? Nothing special, said Bob. We thought if Lang was flying over to see father, that would take him about 3 hours or 4 and he wouldn’t get back here before morning. So there’s no use waiting for him to come back here. But we haven’t anything special to do except go to call on Sandy’s son Jimmy Jr. Why not stick around here? Suggested Barney for a while at least. I don’t want to be mixed up in anything, but if anybody should come slinking around, I’d like to know it. As long as you have nothing much on hand, let’s urged Al. Suits me, Kurt agreed. Bob was willing. Why not put out all the lights and just hang around in the dark for an hour, suggested Barney. They agreed readily enough, and felt quite like conspirators or real sleuths on a big case, as they occupied easy chairs in the big director’s room, and talked in low tones. Their vigil was soon rewarded. Footsteps sounding without effort at concealment in the corridor caused all three comrades to become tense and alert. Bob felt a hand clutch his arm and almost called out in his nervous reaction until he realized that Kurt was whispering. “Hide!” Already at his other side, was anxious. “How? Where?” he said quickly but softly. “Behind the chairs.” However, hardly had they gotten into concealment when they realized that there was no need to hide. The steps went briskly past the door and on down the hallway. “Now what?” asked Al as a door opened and slammed. At the door to the hall, Kurt turned, waiting until the other two joined him. He spoke quietly. “You wait here,” he urged. “I’m lightest and quickest, I think. Let me go on down and snoop a little.” He slammed the door so hard it jumped open a little. It’s Barney’s office. Barney? He do you suppose? Al was puzzled. He told us to wait, though. It’s never Barney. I’ll soon see. Kurt was gone, tiptoeing, clinging close to the inner wall where he felt sure the boards were so sturdy and well secured that they would be unlikely to creek. In suspense, his companions waited. Soon in the dim hall they saw Curt returning. It’s It’s Mr. Parsons. What’s he doing? Al was eager, hunting for something. Those books. I’ll give you odds on it. Bob spoke softly. They waited, uncertain what to do. In fact, there was nothing they could do but wait. They had only a moment to decide. Down the hall from the stairway came other steps. The chums drew back inside the doorway. They let Kurt peer out. “It’s Griff this time,” he informed the others. “He’s coming to meet his No, he isn’t. Get back. Hide.” Hesitating steps paused, but before there was any further movement, “Kurt,” Al and Bob were well screened from any but a careful search in full light. They were glad this time they had gotten undercover. Griff did not go to meet his father. Instead, he came into the director’s room, at least as far as inside its door, where, a faint blotch against a very dull oblong of weak light, Bob saw him standing, watchful. “Shucks,” thought Al. “We can’t find out about Mr. Parsons on account of” They did not hear anything, but evidently the youth watching at the door did, for he came further into the room. Would he decide to hide? Might he choose the spot already occupied by one of the youths? Their suspense was relieved. He waited inside the doorway, and it was a wait of a long, dragging three or four minutes that seemed like an age to the crouching trio. But finally, he walked out, his step confident and loud, showing that need for concealment was over. Quickly, the three reached the door. Already, as they peered out, a light was glowing, but not electric ceiling domes. It was a pocket flash held close to something in Mr. Parsons his own office. Like shadows, the three, arms touching, went down the hall. They could not contain their suspense. At an open door, partly drawn shut but not locked, they stopped, looking through the crack, hardly daring to breathe or move. They saw Griff fit a key to his father’s desk. Open it, take something from a small drawer, and walk confidently, if slowly, to the safe in the corner. Before it his light was held low, close. He was manipulating the knobs of the combination. As the partner’s son he had access to it, the chums realized they forgot some of their caution, but not all. They peered closely in through the crack of the door and saw few, breathed Al. He’s got a package of money. Chapter 21. Caught and cleared. Spellbound, the three watching youth saw Griff count the bills in that packet he had taken from the aircraft plant safe. They heard the ruffle of paper as he ran through the ends of the crisp new bills. Then he stepped out of their line of vision with unexpected promptness, startling his companions. Al flung the door inward so that it banged against the wall. Instantly, he leaped into the room. His chums followed. Startled, dropping his packet, Griff swung around to stare in amazement and terror. Drop those bills, Al cried needlessly. We’ve caught you red-handed. All three of the Sky Squad were in the room. Al dashed across to the window to block any possibility of Griff trying to drop the 10 or 15 ft to the ground. Bob snatched up the money. Kurt blocked the door. After his first look of stunned horror, Griff sank into the swivel chair and buried his face in his hands. His shoulders shook with a sudden revulsion of feeling that unmanned him, made him sobb like a creature in pain. For a moment, no one moved. The comrades were rather dismayed and nonplusted by Griff’s pathetic attitude. They had caught him, yes, red-handed, as Al had said. They had caught him in the act of something very dreadful. Nevertheless, his surprising way of giving in, sitting there in a bent posture, with his body racked by his sobs, made him a rather pitiful figure. “Stop that,” Bob said finally and rather gruffly. “You’ve done wrong. You’ve been caught. Take it like a man.” “Yes,” Griff replied in a shaking voice. “Yes, I’m caught. I know I’m a baby, but but he fought back his weakness and gulped. But what? demanded Curt. I suppose you’ll say you were forced to do this by somebody else. They always do in books. No, Griff answered. No, I It’s all my doing. But why do you keep saying but, asked Al. Oh. Griff had hard work not to break down again. In spite of the way they had found him, in spite of what he had been planning to do, there was something that touched the youthful hearts of the trio in Griff’s sorrowful eyes and drawn face. “Oh,” he repeated, “If only somebody could help me instead ofounding me, and we’re not hounding you,” Bob defended their action, you’d have done the same. “But you’ve been watching me and following me and suspecting me,” Griff declared sadly. I know I deserve it, but Oh, stop saying but. Curt was annoyed by what he took to be an attempt to win sympathy. We’d have helped you instead of hounding you if you’d been honest. Instead of trying to be cunning and in with the wrong sort of people. Oh, yes you would, retorted Griff bitterly. That’s easy to say. Well, it’s true, declared Bob stoutly. Nobody helps me, responded Griff. Everybody is after me for one reason or another. That’s because you’re so fertive and fidgety that you ask for it and doing things like this. Bob shook the bills. Griff sat in silence for a moment. Bob walked over to the open safe, saw where the package belonged, and pushed it into place, then slammed the safe door, turned the knob of the combination to lock it, and swung back to Griff. There, he exclaimed. That shows we’re helping you. I I What do you mean? Griff stared. I mean this. Bob came and stood in front of him. I mean that the money is back in the safe. If you can show any reason besides temptation or somebody forcing you to do this, we’ll all promise to say nothing more about the things we saw you do. Griff shook his head. That wouldn’t do any good, he said despondently. I’ve got to have that money. You think it’s He could not bring out the word, but he saw that the trio recognized what he meant. It isn’t because Lang is flying right now to his uncle to get him to come back and give me money alone to replace this. The chums exchanged surprised wondering glances. Lang going to father for money for you? Yes, Griff answered Al. It’s It’s all mixed up and awful. But you say you’d help instead of telling on me if I could show I wasn’t as bad as you think. Bob thought he saw a genuine honesty in the clear look Griff gave him. His sympathy was really quick and he wanted to be fair. You could count on that, he stated earnestly. You bet you could, Al declared, and Curt added a similar assertion. If I thought you meant that, if I thought you’d believe me, really we would. Al was also touched. Griff, caught and breaking down and seeming to be declaring innocence in some way, was not the fertive, uneasy, shifty eyed Griff they had known. “Honestly, try us and see.” He and Kurt moved closer. “The three stood in a group in front of the huddling youth in the swivel chair.” Griff looked up doleefully. “It will make me out bad enough,” he stated. “But not as bad as you’ve been thinking.” “Oh, I know.” He took on a touch of his old defiance. I know you’ve tried to connect me with all the wrong things that have been going on here. I know I’ve acted as though I am guilty. I’m not, though not in the way you think. All right, Kurt admitted. We’ll listen. We’d rather have you innocent than guilty of anything. Even if our case Al stopped suddenly, but Griff nodded. I guess you all think you’re clever, he said, forgetting his own trouble for a second or two. You come here to learn all about this mystery of where the missing parts go and who did things to the crates and why. Don’t you think we have eyes? It’s all over the plant what you are trying to do. Don’t you suppose we all know one of you is a close friend of the other two and Bob and Al are sons of a detective. What’s the answer? The answer seems to be that you thought we weren’t smart and so you went right ahead. Kurt was a little nettled by Griff’s statement. Although common sense told him now that Griff mentioned the point that their scheme must be fairly evident to any sensible person. I didn’t think whether you were smart or dumb, Griff replied. I had too much on my mind. Bad as it is, it might as well be confessed. I gamble and owe money for it. And I came here to borrow this from the safe. It’s as much my father’s as anybody’s because he’s Mr. Treadway’s partner. But I didn’t intend to try to get away with the money. I only wanted it overnight. Before the office opens, Lang will be back with the money to replace it. What makes it so important to get money at this time of night? Demanded Curt suspiciously. I guess I’d better tell the whole thing. We’re listening. Go ahead, tell us. Griff nodded. Dejectedly shamefaced and humble. He related his story. I’ve been running around with a pretty rough crowd, he admitted, and they got me in the habit of going to places like the Windock out on the We know, Al interrupted impatiently. All right. There’s ways to gamble out there if you know the people who run the place, Jones. Well, he owns it. Yes. Mostly it’s Jenx, his manager, and the waiters that let the crowd do things outside the actual license rights of the roadhouse. Well, anyhow, I got to spending money pretty fast and I gambled. After a while, I lost so much I found out I was owing the house, as they say, more than $200. Although several maxims and biblical quotations sprang into Bob’s mind, he kept silent. This was no time for preaching, for pretending the holier than thou pose. Under the same temptations, argued Bob to himself. It would be hard to say whether he’d go Griff’s way or not. It isn’t how good a fellow thinks he is, but how good he proves himself to be under temptation that counts, Bob decided. That’s what you’re taking the money for, or trying to, Kurt determined. But why did you have to take it this way and at this time? The manager at the roadhouse said last week he’d have to get all the debts owed the house and clean up because they’re spending a lot on a new dance place like a hanger. We know. Never mind why they wanted it. Tell me. Bob changed the subject for a moment. What does the owner look like? Is he short, thick set? That’s the manager. But that man let on to be Jones. Al broke in. Maybe he did. What were you doing there snooping? Never mind, said Kurt pacifically, wishing to get Griff’s side of the matter first. We wanted a specimen of his handwriting. I wish I could get one, declared Griff rofully. That’s the whole trouble, fellows. His manner was more eager, more confidential. I paid the money once, and he didn’t give me a receipt. Oh, Bob was connecting some things in his mind. He came here one evening and demanded the money and you gave him a parcel and then realized he didn’t give you a receipt. You tried to chase him on your motorcycle and got into an accident. I thought you were watching but I was too excited and upset to care, agreed Griff. Yes, I had borrowed from all the fellows I knew and had scraped every cent out of my savings account and I had the money, but he didn’t give any receipt. And when I finally got over the smash of the motorcycle and went to ask for it, he declared I’d paid him with a package of wadded folded paper and not money. “But it was money,” declared Bob. “Unless you changed it, because I caught you wrapping up something green the day I came into the engine assembling room.” “It was money all right enough,” Griff asserted. “But he wanted it twice.” Well, I had promised my father that I wouldn’t go with that crowd anymore, and I’d been weak and went against my promise, so I couldn’t go to him about it. If you had and made a clean breast of it, he would have gotten you out of this scrape. Bob had to say that much. I don’t think so, Griff was morose. He’s got so much worry on his mind about the plant and all that’s happened that he’s jumpy and nervous and suspicious and he’d throw me out of here and maybe send me away from home. And I’m trying to go straight. I will. I make a vow on that. If once I can get out of this scrape, I’ve learned a lesson. But that fellow at the roadhouse knows you’re afraid of your dad, I guess, asserted Kurt. Yes, and when I said I had paid the money, I overheard that, Al stated, and related what he had heard through the open office window at the Windock. You fellows have been on the job. There was a note of admiration in Griff’s voice. Then he sobered and went on. Yes, that fellow out there knows about me being afraid of father. And he said if I didn’t have the money tonight before midnight, he’d tell my old man as he calls dad. They’re opening a dance place and he said the cash was essential tonight. So you told Lang and he went to get it. Ended Kurt for him. Yes. And he’s going to call me long distance as soon as he gets there. and I was getting the money out so I could start for the wind sock the minute he calls up. “What’s your father doing out there so much?” demanded Al suspiciously. “Trying to get a line on me, I guess.” Kurt turned to his comrades with a rofful grin. “That explains everything,” he stated almost regretfully. “Griff has cleared himself, and his father’s motive is logical. It leaves us up in the air and not in any crate either,” agreed Al. “Yes,” nodded Bob. Barney said the case was all sewed up, but the threads must have been weak because here’s our case all torn apart. “Well,” said Kurt, “For my part, I’m glad, since Griff and Mr. Parsons were cleared of suspicion, the other two agreed promptly, I may be cleared,” said Griff sadly. “But I’m not out of trouble. If I don’t get this money to that man, Jenx is what we all call him. Toby Jensen. Why? He’ll call up dad. And then we said we’d help if you could clear yourself, stated Bob. And we will, agreed Curt. With all our heart, added Al. But how? Let me take the money out there, urged Griff. Just keep quiet about catching me here. Even if the money belonged to your father, which the stockholders of the corporation might argue out with you, said Bob seriously. Taking it just overnight would be wrong to say the least. Why don’t you go to Mr. Parson’s to your father? Suggested Kurt. He’s got all this worry on his mind trying to see what’s wrong. Yes, admitted Al. I guess it would be better not to worry him about this. If we could see how to get around it and still not let you take this money. We suspected him, Kurt said, rather ashamed, but anxious to be as frank as Griff, whose manner and actions convinced them that he had been absolutely honest with them. We suspected him of being mixed up in something. Everybody suspects everybody else, admitted Griff. Dad suspects Barney. Barney suspects me. I suspect the supply clerk and the bookkeeper of working together to get cheaper supplies here, and they suspect each other and everybody else, even you three. Well, Bob waved the statement aside. That isn’t getting down to brass tax. Think for 5 minutes, everybody. We’ve got to help Griff. Seeing their case destroyed, their chief suspect cleared, they turned loyally to help to retrieve themselves by aiding him. For 5 minutes, no one spoke. “Chapter 22. The mystery crate.” “Father ordered us to drop this part of things,” said Al finally. “But I’m glad we disobeyed if it helps Griff to get out of trouble.” “So am I,” admitted Bob. “But that isn’t what we were quiet for, to talk about what we’ve done.” “We want to know what to do,” Kurt commented. “That’s what I was coming to,” defended Al. Let Griff stay here with you, Bob, while Kurt and I ride out to the winds sock. We can call up as soon as we arrive and then wait outside hiding. Then Griff can take this money and come out and pay it. And then we will jump in from outside the door and grab it and jump through the window. And u scoffed Curt. Al grinned. It looked good till I said it, he admitted. Then that’s you all the way, his brother challenged. Quick on the trigger and sorry when the bullet hits the wrong target. I have a plan though, suggested Kurt. Al and I can go out to the wind sock, as Al said, to get a good place under that office window. Then when Griff pays the money, we will be witnesses, and if the man tries not to give a receipt, we’ll be on Griff’s side. Better, but not perfect, said Bob. I suppose the head sleuth of the sky squad has the one perfect plan. Al was sarcastic. No, Bob was honest. I haven’t. I thought of having Griff call the man and say he’d be there bright and early with the money. I did tell him that when Lang left. He said it would be tonight whether he got it from me or from my father. Um um Kurt was thoughtful. Bad. Well, if we could keep that Jensen man so busy, keep his mind so much occupied, he’d be too excited to think about Griff. Al was not very sure of himself. We could, Kurt astonished Al by accepting the idea. Look here. If he isn’t the ex-pilot, maybe the ex-pilot wrote that other autograph. Whether he did not or did, anyhow, the Jensen man had something to conceal, or he wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of giving Al two specimens of writing to get mixed up with. Now if we were out there and Griff tried once more to stave off payment till morning if he agreed. All right, we could come home and this money in the safe would be all right. Logical so far, agreed Bob. All right, if the man refused to wait, we could telephone into Griff to find out. And if Jensen refused to wait, we’d walk in on that Jinx fellow and say we knew he was mixed up in something wrong about the airplane crash and throw out hints and so on. I think myself he is in it somehow. He’d bluster maybe, but if he has anything to conceal, we could scare him and then tell him to let Griff alone for the present or tell his story to a policeman and we might hint that he could explain a lot about the crash. I like it as well as anything you’ve suggested, said Griff. If you could get way with it. Trust us to scare him good and proper, declared Al. I’d ask him how about the brown plane. No good, argued Bob. We looked that craft up in the official registry, and she’s from out west. And while we know her markings, we haven’t found her, and I don’t believe he I do, Al defended his deduction. I think he had it brought here for him to use and then taken away again, and that accounts for his note. everything okay when the pilot left it there and he put the note on the seat to show he had been there. Then maybe this Jinx hopped off in the morning, met the plane Mr. Treadway was flying, forced it into trouble, wrote it down. But we saw the big cabin ship, objected Bob to Curt’s theory. There was no other ship around. You can’t be sure, argued Al. That brown crate might have been up above against the dark clouds in the sky. You couldn’t tell if we heard one or two engines. He could have surprised Mr. Treadway. Could have driven him into a dive. Something may have gone wrong. But Barney examined the craft when it was hauled in, urged Bob. Nothing was wrong with it at all. Well, Al was obsinate. I think what I think. Who owns the brown plane? asked Griff. Did you look that up? Yes, we did. No name we know. No one mixed up in the case. It was probably hired by wire or telephone from somebody we don’t know. It isn’t important anyhow, Kurt declared. Not right now. What do you think of my idea, Griff? I’m for anything that will tide me over till Lang gets back. Then let’s do it. Al jumped away from the group and was already at the door. Bob hesitated a moment, then seeing how eager Kurt was to echo Al’s enthusiasm, he agreed. After the two started for the wind sock, Bob sat with Griff, giving him the facts they knew, the theories they had formed for a while. It’s tangled up and no mistake, Griff recovered somewhat, but no longer fidgety. Feeling that aid was being given him in his trouble, Rose. Look here, Bob. I was so excited I didn’t eat any dinner. What say you stay here in case a call comes in while I run out and get some coffee and sinkers? Lock the desk first. I don’t want to be caught here with it open. Right. I shan need the slip that has the combination on it anymore. He put a paper in a small drawer, closed down the roll top, adjusted his cap at a more confident rakish angle, and sauntered out, while Bob made himself comfortable at the desk in the swivel chair. The minutes dragged along. In the deserted office building, there was almost no sound. A rat crept toward a waste basket, ran back as Bob moved in his chair, but otherwise the place was very still. As an airplane engine, Bob mused as in the silence he caught the faint, steady drone coming from the sky. It grew louder rapidly, much louder. It can’t be Lang coming back. Bob went to the window. The sound seemed to come from the other side of the building. He ran across the hall into the director’s room and got to the window, which had a fire escape stairway outside it. Just as he peered through the bars of the fire escape, he saw a craft swoop down quite low. It did not land. Instead, it seemed to zoom along and to rise swiftly. Overshot the field, Bob mused. Why doesn’t he drop a very light to signal the watchman to turn on the landing floods? Or maybe the watchman isn’t out there. I’d better see. He ran down the stairs and out into the yard, across it and onto the small landing field. The craft had passed, but he could still hear the engine. It seemed from its change of location that the craft was coming around in a spiral. Bob ran toward the switch controlling the flood lights. One of the large hooded lamps was near it. As the sound of the engine came closer, he switched on the floods. To his surprise, the sudden light seemed to startle the pilot. At least the craft seemed to waver, to skid, to drop and then to catch its flying speed and control, but it did not spiral as he expected a pilot who had waited for light would do. Instead, it began to climb swiftly. Eagerly curious, Bob caught hold of the handle on the adjusting mechanism of the flood light. It could be lifted or set lower to govern the range and height of its beam. Bob proposed to use it as a search light to illuminate the craft if he could swing the heavy lamp upward in time. Eagerly, he labored with the mechanism. Slowly the beam lifted. Its intense rays caught the craft’s under wings. What’s going on here? The watchman ran up. For answer, Bob pointed excitedly toward a brown, sharply outlined craft, climbing, growing dim in the fainter beam as it receded. It’s It’s he gasped. It’s the mystery crate, the brown airplane. Chapter 23. Bob pursues, realizing that the watchman did not know what he meant by the mystery crate, Bob hurriedly told of the earlier experiences. All the while he talked, his mind was busy underneath, wondering why the pilot of the brown ship had flown over the plant, why he had appeared to lose control when the light flared up. Why he had climbed to get away. He’s gone, said the watchman. Anyhow, that’s clear. I hate to see him get away, Bob said sorrowfully. Why don’t you chase him? I Bob was startled by the idea. Sure you didn’t I see Lang giving you lessons and griff too. Yes, but at night and Lang has the small ship. The watchman seemed to have caught the excitement of a chase. Look here though, he cried, beckoning as he ran. In the hanger is a crate just like Griff’s model belonged to Mr. Treadway. He He won’t need it no more, won’t you? At night. Sure. Once you get off the ground, the air is all the same, day or night, ain’t it? Not exactly, Bob demmerred. There were many considerations to be thought out, but his father had said, “Locate the brown ship. Here it was flying away. It seemed to be up to him. Can we get the crate out? Can we get it started? Is there any fuel aboard already?” The watchman had hold of the tail assembly of a trim, slender, dark fuselage. Grab on,” answered the watchman, jockeying the fuselage so that a wing tip missed the span of the cabin planes spreading air foils. “Grab on. I know you lads as detectives, and here’s your chance for a medal or something.” Bob grabbed on with spirit. He had caught the enthusiasm of the older person. It took them only a short time to jockey the craft into the open, to get its gauges checked, to see that it had oil and at least a tank of gas 3/4 full. Holler out, the watchman stood by the prop, ready. Gas on, gas on, switch off, switch off, the watchman spun the propeller. Contact, he yelled, stepping swiftly beyond the range of those deadly sharp blade tips. There came the snap and bark of the motor, cold, but Bob, feeling that for all the precious seconds it must waste, he ought to be safe before he might be sorry, allowed it to warm up, checked his instruments, as he had observed Lang and Griff do, and then, as the watchman, obeying his signal, kicked away the chalk so the wheels could move forward, the amateur pilot, steady and cool all at once, glanced at the wind sock, saw that he could take off straight down the short field, pulled open the throttle, tipped the flippers so the tail ceased to drag as the propeller blast caught the elevators and began to race down the field. As he went, he tipped the elevators sharply, felt the ship sway a trifle, realized he was off the ground and moving steadily, climbing to the roar of the engine. He smiled a little. He had not forgotten to hold the ship level for the brief seconds that it needed to assume flying speed after the first hop from Earth. He had not climbed her at too steep an angle. There was no indication, at least to his inexperienced hand, of any loggginess of the controls preaging a stall. He was away now, he thought with a sharp glance around the sky spaces. I am in for it. If nothing goes wrong with the machinery or the prop, I guess I can keep this crate level and get somewhere. But where? In those precious moments, the brown ship could have gone 10 miles. He was mightily interested in the aircraft plant, Bob reflected, letting the ship fly herself, as most well-balanced aircraft will do in steady air as long as flying speed is held. Now all that we have found out so far has centered about the aircraft plant and and the wind sock. Could he be around there? Or as a new thought struck him, he gripped the stick a tiny bit tighter. Or maybe he’s brought the brown ship back for some new stunt. It might be hidden in that field again. He pushed the stick a trifle to the side, thus operating the ailerons, while he used his rudder experimentally, meaning to swing in a circle. Whether a good providence watches over amateurs in sports or in professions, or whether Bob had actually learned from his lessons, the fact is that he did not overbank or use too much rudder, and neither felt the wind of a skid on one cheek, nor the breeze of a slip on the other. Around went the ship in a wide swing. Bob kept his eyes on the sky with momentary glances at the instruments, not all of which were understandable to him yet. However, he knew the altimeter, the tachometer, which records engine speed, the gas and oil pressure gauges, and such important ones. They seemed all to record satisfactorily. His altitude was 600 ft, a little low for safety, so he climbed to twice that. The revolutions were even and plenty for his need as he watched the fluctuations of the tachometer when he eased the throttle forward in his climb or backed it gently in the level off. Gas and oil recorded without a hitch or a dimmonition of supply. But where was his quarry? Far ahead Bob saw a tiny flare of red in the sky. He nearly lost control in his excitement, but with the true air sense, he caught the tendency of the sides slip by opposite rudder and aileron, and then banked and circled till his nose pointed straight for the dying flare. Someone in the sky was signaling for something. I’ll get there soon and see, Bob told himself. He held the ship level, glancing at the bubble in the spirit level as he gave the gun, opening the throttle steadily. To the roar of the engine, the sing of cool wind in tort wires, the sting of pulsing blood pounding a thrill song in his temples, Bob took up his quest, and soon saw ahead the dim outline of a circling ship. It was dark, was it brown? He dared not get too close. Rather, he preferred to climb so as to be safely out of the other fellow’s way if he maneuvered. From above, Bob planned to light a white flare, by whose light he could identify the ship. But the other fellow saw him, too. Bob needed no flare to tell him that he had discovered the brown craft. Its action was indication enough. The pilot dived and then went into a barrel roll, dangerous at a low altitude, Bob thought. The stunt enabled the ship to get to one side and out of his line of flight if he died for it. Clearly, this showed that the unseen pilot feared to be attacked, driven down. But Bob had no such intention. He merely followed as the small brown craft, speedy and capable, went fleetly through the night. Bob, easing his throttle a little more open as he got the line of flight, held his elevation and his level position. He did not try to overtake the other. He wanted to see where he went. Nothing more. So the flight held, one about 500 ft up, the other easily as high again. The speed was almost identical. The ships were well matched, but the other man had some tricks up his wings in a way of speaking. He began to climb. Bob, fearing to be overreached, climbed also. Higher, higher they both went. Bob still at top the other for he had as much power as well angled wings as clever a ship as his adversary. But the battle of elevation was short. At 1500 ft the brown plane went into a wing over and to Bob’s dismay it was by that maneuver in a reverse direction to the flight of his own and he dared do no maneuvering no stunting at night and alone. Before he could swing in the easy circle which his inexperience compelled him to use. The other pilot was almost out of sight. He climbed, and thus Bob gained, but he saw that his pursuit was futile. The man was climbing into a cloud in its misty vastness surrounding a ship like a fog, an inexpert pilot could not know without continually watching his spirit level and other instruments if he flew level or on his back, if he was going sideways or straight toward Earth. to watch the instruments to fly by the dashboard was useless. He could not see to follow if he risked the feet. Disgusted, disappointed, he cut the gun and slowed his ship and flew around toward the wind sock. Somebody on the ground was burning several land flares he saw. It told him one thing. The other fellow had been expected. His signal had been seen. For an instant, Bob was tempted to try a landing to see if they would be startled. Those people down there in the glare, did they perhaps think he flew the craft they expected? It would be worth something to discover that. Or would it? The danger, the risk was considerable. It was strange territory to him. The people seeing his craft markings, its different color, might extinguish the flares, leaving him low to set down hot or to climb too late and land in trees. No, it was not worth the risk. If his adversary had gotten away, that was the end of the adventure. Only it wasn’t. Chapter 24. Suspense. When Al and Kurt, riding easily, reached the region of the Rocky Lake Park, they hid their wheels in the well-remembered field, preferring to advance on foot to spy out conditions before arriving at the roadhouse to which they were going. There’s something going on over there, said Curt as they walked facing traffic along the familiar highway, the new dance floor. The hanger is opening tonight. That will make it easy for us to get in. They may not allow juniors on the floor, but they won’t chase people away. It would be bad for the business, chuckled Curt. Every young man can have must have at least two in his family, and they might be dancing Papa and Mama. We can go on and see. They did. The new dance floor built in an oldl looking metalcovered addition at the side of the main hotel was crowded. A jazzy orchestra with many tootses of its saxophones, howls from clarinets, trills, and staccato yaps from its trumpet put rhythm into the march of many feet. Makes me wish I had a girl and had her here and knew how to dance, laughed Curt. What I wish more is Al did not get time to express his desire to have Bob along to advise him in his rather impulsive acts. A man in a dress suit, as the drums rolled in warning to attract attention, advanced to the edge of the band platform and addressed the dancers, applauding their last number. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Al nudged Curt and whispered that the man was Jenx. For this opening night, the management has went to the special expense. You must excuse my poor way of speaking. I’m only a simple flyer, and my education don’t go no higher, Alex claimed, and Kurt scowlled at the aspersion, thus put on the intelligence of the most manly, most steady, best educated general class of men in industry pilots. But they listened nevertheless. The management has put on an extra fine show for tonight. In fact, folks, his manner became more natural. We’ve engaged a stunt flyer to come over here tonight to fly around up in the dark blue and to do stunts with rockets and colored lights so you can see what he does. I understand the whole crate is to be lit up some way. So, if you’ll all step outside while we put tables in here for refreshments, you will have the free entertainment as soon as we can get his signal and let him know to go ahead. As Kurt and Al were already outside, they craned their necks while the laughing couples gathered, a small red flare was visible. The men who seemed to be awaiting this signal lighted flares. But to their amazement, the ship did no stunts. It went away. “Funny!” muttered the excited, disgruntled manager, Jensen, close by Al and Kurt. As the flares brightened, it seemed as though there were two airplanes dimly reflecting the light. But they aren’t doing any stunts, complained a girl to her partner. Wait, he counseledled. Waiting, however, did no good. The dancers murmuring and the manager trying to apologize, saying it must not be the right crate, went back to dance, shoving the refreshment tables roughly aside. Al and Curt, waiting, watching, wondering, saw the men stick the stubs of their flares into the ground and walk off. “Look, he’s coming back,” Al pointed to a speck. They listened and heard the drone of an engine. “He’s back again,” shouted Al, and the people came out again, standing with backs to the glaring light, shaded eyes turned upward. “No, he’s flying low, though,” commented Curt. “Yes, he is. Look, Kurt caught Al’s arm. He’s in trouble, isn’t he? Yes, he is. Listen, his engine has stopped dead. Yes, he’s gliding. He can’t land here, said Kurt. He’s too low to spiral and shoot this little clearing anyhow. It isn’t a place to land. Not for night landing. I wonder if the same things are happening that happened when Mr. Treadway was lost, Al murmured. That time we heard the engine and then the ship dived. This one isn’t diving. It’s gliding. I know, Curt. He’s getting over Rocky Lake. Come on. There he does go down. Off. They pelted toward the road. An airplane had been cruising over the flares. Its motor had stopped. That was sure, and no one knew it better than Bob, for he was the pilot whose engine stop had left him with a dead stick. He must glide. He had enough gliding angle, he suppose, to take him back to that providential field, if he could throw over a flare and make some sort of a setown. It was dangerous, but it must be done, for in spite of its danger, knowing well what might happen, Bob had shut off his own engine deliberately. He had to to save his life. “Look!” gasped Curt running. “See that glare? The plane on fire!” panted Al. appearances are deceiving to Al and Curt on the ground with darkness, distance, and trees to screen the truth from them. It seemed as though the glare they saw beyond the grove must spell a blazing airplane. Instead, the light came from a landing flare dropped by Bob. As he headed over the Windsock Roadhouse and decided to give up to return to the aircraft field, he had all of his mind and attention on his craft. Because of that, he was able to notice a mystifying, if tiny, bluish, light intermittent and flickering close to the pipe that conveyed fuel from the tank to the mixing carburetor. “That’s an electric spark,” he decided. He was right. Somehow, either through one of those malicious acts which had already been done to other ships, or from a rubbing wire, some electrical conducting wire had worn off its insulation and was bare, and each time it rubbed or touched metal, it made a spark. If there is one thing more dangerous than another in the air, it is the menace of an open spark close to gasoline feed lines and carburetor mixing chambers. Knowing it well, unable to determine the cause, but sure that the spark was electrical and dangerous, Bob took the only safe course. As Kurt and Al had observed, his engine stopped. He cut off the ignition. The sparking light ceased. Now, thought Bob, I then use my motor. That means I must glide. At this height, if I remember what Lang said, the angle that will give me safe flying speed will about take me to that little field we first saw. or the brown plane hidden in. Can I make it? He depressed the nose, watching by his sense of touch how the stick and rudder bar acted. As he moved through the air, he elevated the nose a trifle to get as flat a gliding angle as he dared. But his whole mind was concentrated on that feeling, that sense of heaviness in the reacting of the controls. When they began to respond sluggishly, he knew enough to sense that he was losing flying speed, approaching the danger point called stalling, in which the ship gets out of control, drops or slips, or does some other uncontrollable maneuver. always in time he lowered the nose, picked up the needful speed, and thus by coming as close to the graveyard glide or flat angle as he dared, and yet conserving enough reserve speed to keep the lift of the wings more sustaining than the downward pull of gravity, he held his craft in the air. Always the nose pointed into the wind went lower. Always as he tried to penetrate the darkness of the night and of the brown earth below. His eyes over the cockpit cowling searched for the flattish light spot he wanted. Along its inner side was the strip of turf he needed. Fear thoughts flashed through his mind. Can I glide that far? Will I overshoot or undershoot? Will I misjudge the height as I come down? If I do make it, will I set the ship down too suddenly, so it will bounce off and then with too little margin of height to get speed again, crack up? Will I stall too high and smash down? Will I be going too fast and run too far? Can I glide into the turf, or will I set down in stubble and nose over resolutely by all the willpower he had? Bob crushed out those nerve deadening, musclebinding terrors. There was the field. Where now did they keep the light producing flares? Oh yes, there in that little box-like compartment. He flung a detonating flare that would light in the air or on striking earth. Its light was what horrified Kurt and Al. To Bob its glare was a great relief. The white gleam showed far ahead faintly lit the field. His course would take him toward it, but he altered the direction of his flight slightly to get over the turf, then corrected the bank, leveled his wings, depressed the nose still more, picked up speed, and with all his force, sent a landing flare into the air as far ahead and to the side as he could fling it. Then he shot the field, got his nose directly onto a line with the large trees at the end of the field, pulled up the nose more to kill all the forward momentum he dared, and then Bob gasped. He was too far to one side. He would land in the stubble. Also, he was a little too high. Wildly he flung the flare he had been getting ready. Then, from some hidden source of remembered instructions, he got the instinctive knowledge of what to do. He dropped the left wing tip by pushing the stick sidewise and felt the ship tilt. It went into a side slip that both lost speed forward and got him further over to the left. Opposite rudder hard up left wing tip down right, nose down a little, speed enough to go on. With his heart in his mouth, looking swiftly down, Bob saw the earth seemed to come up at him. Up elevators stall. He’d have to take it. He was close to earth, over turf. He must not keep that nose down and glide into the trees or taxi beyond the end of the turf. The ship stalled, landed with quite a jar, but the trucks held up, and Bob from his heart breathed a little prayer of thanksgiving. He had done his best, had held his head, and he was safe. Chapter 25. Crossed wires. By the time Kurt and Al got their bicycles and pedled to the vicinity of Rocky Lake, Bob’s flare was out, and they had no means of ending their suspense until they had looked around in the picnic grove and assured themselves that there was no burning airplane in sight. They rode along the highway. Isn’t that a flashlight in the old field? It looks like one, Al. It is. They pedal faster. Presently, the pair reached the field. Soon, Bob, using a small pocket flashlight, was telling his brother and his best friend how the electric spark had worried him. “I knew the brown airplane was gone,” he continued his explanation. “The only thing left for me to do was to head back to the plant, but I saw that quick little flicker close to the gas line and cut off the ignition switch.” “What are you doing now?” “Racing the wiring,” Bob told his brother. “And here is a wire. It ought not to be run so close to the gas line. And here is another. A way back under the dash instrument board. They cross crossed wires, gasped Curt. That isn’t right. Certainly not, agreed Bob. We’ve learned enough about airplane construction at the Treadway plant to know they don’t do such careless things as that. Then somebody deliberately did it, concluded Al. It’s part of the scheme to damage the crates. It’s worse than that. Bob climbed to the ground and faced his companions. His face hard to see in the dark because he was saving his electric battery was very serious. It’s worse than just tampering. Fellows, this is Mr. Treadway’s own airplane. I see, commented Curt soberly. Someone wanted harm to come to the owner of the plant, and the someone made sure it would. In daylight, Bob stated that Spark wouldn’t be noticed. It was only by being out in the dark of night that I could see it. But crossed wires ought not to rub enough to wear out the insulation in a short time, objected Al. Neither they did. Al Kurt, the insulation was scraped away. They were silent for a long moment. The full wickedness of that deliberate act made each of the youths feel rather cold. They were dealing with something more sinister than an attempt to make away with small airplane supplies to damage airplanes for the purpose of injuring the reputation of the manufacturers as they had decided the conditions seemed to indicate. Well, Kurt became practical. You can’t fly that ship home, not in that condition. If we had some adhesive tape, Bob said, I could tape the wires and get back to the aircraft field. I’ve got bicycle friction tape in my little tool case. Al ran to get it. “The place is hard to reach,” Bob told Curt. “Maybe I could do it,” Kurt responded. “My hands are thinner and my fingers are longer than yours.” As soon as Al brought the roll of pitched fabric, Kurt, with the flashlight set for steady burning, located the damaged insulation and began to work with strips of the tape, having some difficulty in winding it without pulling the wires too much. This is going to be a slow job, he called out. Bob, somebody ought to go and call up Griff to see if he has any news. I think so, too. Al agreed. Why don’t you both go? Kurt urged. One could stay at the Windsock and watch, and the other could come back with news or Bob, you could ride back on my wheel to the Windsock with Al, and then come on back here, and we two could fly back to the hangers together. Would you trust yourself with me in the dark flying this ship? asked Bob. Something else may be wrong with it. That’s so I’ll look it over. I know how they inspect them, Kurt suggested. Al and Bob agreed and went to the two bicycles. Off they rode. There’s that plane again. Al pointed to a tiny red flare high up over the roadhouse ground. He has come back. I suppose I frightened him away. Bob said. He probably thinks whoever chased him has given up and he has come back. One thing bothers me, Al observed, forgetting his weary legs in the fresh excitement. Why would a crate that has a pilot who flies away from pursuit come back to do stunts? I can’t answer that, Bob replied. Let’s get there. See, he is looping and he has lighted some sort of rocket or bomb that makes a trail of fire to show his stunt off in the dark. It’s pretty, isn’t it? Bob agreed with his brother’s exclamation as the airplane high above them with fireworks leaving a comet’s tail behind it made a series of loops dived zoomed made a sort of fire by sides slipping first one way and then the other. When they got back to the roadhouse the display was over. Ground flares were going and it was clear that the pilot meant to land. We’re going to see who it is after all,” declared Bob, thrilled by the possible revelation that was to come. Curt saw the gyrating ship and its glowing trail of sparks. He watched for a moment and then went doggedly back to his work. If Bob needed this sport craft, Kurt proposed to have it ready if careful, methodical work could get it so. surprised, he heard himself addressed by a youth who came over from the farmhouse whose builder owned the field. “What’s going on?” asked the farmer’s son. “Some display for the opening of the roadhouse dance floor,” Kurt replied, tightening down the tape and clipping off the end with his pocketk knife. “I don’t mean yonder. I mean here.” “Oh, a little trouble. Cross wires.” The youth did not understand, but he accepted the explanation. Ain’t you awful young to be an aviation flyer? He asked. I don’t I’m not the pilot, Kurt stated. He explained. Then his task finished, he clambored down to see the glow of the distant concealed ground flares, and to guess that the sky rider was going to land. “This is getting to be a regular aviator’s place,” said the youth to Kurt. “Guess P ought to put up signs, places to land for rent. Do many crates land here? Kurt was surprised. Well, look at them tracks. Thus having the spot indicated, even in the dim light, Kurt was able to see that deep ruts had been made, not only in the soft plowed edge of the field, but also on the turf. He had no explanation to comment. It was unimportant. Something of greater concern was on his mind. See here, buddy, Curt said. Will you help me warm up this ship? He was searching for two stones or blocks big enough to hold the airplane still while the propeller revolved. The pilot might want to take off now that I fixed the damage. The boy agreed. Kurt, locating several rocks near where the brown plane had once been hidden, set them under the wheels, and then realizing that the ship must take off facing into the wind, he got the youth to help him drag the tail around to pull the whole ship as far up at the end of the turf as possible. First time I ever worked around a a great crate, Kurt corrected, smiling in the darkness. That’s a slang way of speaking of an airplane, and it means either a term of fondness or of disgust according to how the user feels about his ship. I see. Gee, wished I could be one of them aviator flyers. You can if you are willing to study enough, Kurt said. It means hard work. There’s a lot to learn. But a fellow who has ambition can get to be anything he likes. Not without being educated more than me. You can pick up some education while you’re studying in ground school, Kurt explained. After you learn the parts of the airplane, the way each one works, what it is for and so on, and how they are put together, you have to study about airplane engines, the principle of the internal combustion engine, and what all the parts are for and how they work. There has to be study of let’s see oh yes aerodynamics how a ship flies and why and what different air currents do and how to know their effects. There’s navigation to the beginnings of it anyway. All that I thought you got in and pushed something and if there weren’t so many people who thought that Kurt said soberly we wouldn’t have so many accidents. Flying is a science and there’s more to it than getting into the air and going somewhere. It takes ground school study to learn the foundation part and instruction flights to learn how things are handled and solo flights and stunting to show you how to handle a crate in an emergency and navigation in its practical applications for long flights. But if you are in earnest, you can get all that and pick up practical arithmetic and grammar and so on in night school at the same time, not without money. No, unless you might come over to the Treadway Aircraft plant, and I’d introduce you to Barney, Mr. Horton, the manager. He might give you a chance to work as a grease monkey in the field, for he is awfully nice. He helped all of us. The youth agreed eagerly, and then with the chock set and the ignition switch off, Kurt told him how to work the propeller around and got him back to safety. As the ignition switch followed the gas on, the engine took up its roar, and Kurt knew enough to shut down the throttle to idling speed, allowing the slow revolutions to warm up the power plant. He knew little about oil pressure and instrument readings, but he knew that an engine to function safely and steadily in flight must be warm. While he busied himself getting everything as nearly ready as his ability allowed, Bob and Al reached the roadhouse. The airplane had already set down. It’s the brown one and no mistake. Al was thrilled. Yes, said Bob. Now, Al, the pilot must have gone inside the roadhouse. I don’t see him around the dance place. You could go in to ask for his autograph. I see you still carry that little book. It ought to be easy to get a look at him, have him point it out to you. That’s really all we need. Al agreed. He had no difficulty in getting a busy waiter to jerk a thumb toward one of the private compartments. Al went to its door, pushed aside the curtains, and stepped back. What he saw stunned him. Chapter 26. The Sky Squad goes into action. Three men faced one another in the small compartment made to look like a passenger plane cabin. As Al at the curtained entrance recognized the one facing him, all three turned to look. With a mumbled apology, Al backed out. More than anything else, he wanted to get away to see Bob. The man who had faced him was Mr. Parson’s, partner in the aircraft plant. The man to his right was the mysterious stranger whom Al had seen in the supply room. The third man before Al could form his mental picture of a face that seemed familiar. A BU boy with a heavy tray of soiled dishes bumped against him. “Get out of the way,” the youth grunted to Al and gave him an angry push with his free hand. Al, his balance disturbed, stumbled forward into the arms of Mr. Parsons at the door, struggling, squirming to get out of the powerful grip on his arm and shoulder. Al found himself held as if in a vice. Suddenly his whole body went limp, his head dropped, his eyes closed. He sagged down, and surprised and disconcerted, imagining that the youth he held might have fainted in his fright, the man released him, lowered him to the floor while he looked up, intending to call for aid. Behind him, another face looked out. the bearded face of the man Al had seen previously in the supply room. “What’s up?” asked the latter. “I am!” cried Al Shrilly as he tensed his muscles swung free of Mr. Parsons as the latter bent over him like the leashed spring of a panther’s squirming swift move took him out of danger. to cries, to shouts of surprise and of inquiry. Al eluded the grasping hands of a waiter, dodged a diner’s gripping fingers, evaded the move of a man to block him at the door, and was free. Quick thinking and a ruse had prevailed where strength was not enough to accomplish his wish. Speeding along outside after vaultting the verander railing, Al quickly located Bob. With a wave of his hand, Al signaled. His progress was swift as he scampered across the parking space between standing automobiles toward an old barn-like structure backed into the grove. Bob, seeing the wave and Al’s progress, dodged on his own part among the cars until he rejoined Al in the open door of the old dilapidated barn. What happened? Al, pulling his brother back out of sight, recovered his breath. I bumped into Mr. Parsons. No. Yes. and the man we saw in the supply room. Well, and what happened then? There was somebody else with them, and I didn’t recognize him because I was so surprised and excited, but his face rang a bell, and I’ll think who he was when I get quieted down. What made you run? Al explained. Yes, and there comes Mr. Parsons. He’s looking for me, he ended. He has something in his hand, a package. Listen. Al drew Bob further into the dark interior. Bob, when I blundered in on them, those men had What do you suppose? The company books. Al clutched Bob’s arm tighter. You remember we hid when Mr. Parsons was in the offices. He took those books. Yes. Bob’s whisper agreed. Now he’s been showing them to that man we saw and to somebody else. Mr. Parsons isn’t as honest as Griff wanted us to believe. Bob shook Al’s arm reassuringly. No, he admitted. I thought Griff’s story was part of what did they say in the war. Oh, yes. It was camouflage fancy paint to conceal something. If we could only get the books away from them and tell Barney, they may be coming to look for you. Mr. Parsons must have recognized you, Al. I wonder if there’s a ho over this old floor. You go along one wall and I’ll take the other. We’ll see. They hurried away from one another. Presently Bob called out softly and following the wall with one hand touching to hold his place, the other extended ahead to avoid bumping into any obstruction. The youngest of the sky squad found his way to Bob. There was a ladder against the wall. Bob whispered instructions and started up the dark, uncertain ladder. Bob had hardly reached the top and called down a low reassurance when Almost scrambled in his eagerness to get up quickly. Voices were growing louder. Someone was coming. It must be Mr. Parsons. At the top of the ladder, Al fell softly onto the upper floorboards, and he with his brother bent attentive, strained ears to catch the low murmur from below. “He’s from the plant,” a voice called, and Bob recognized the quick, sharp tones of Mr. Parsons. He was a boy from the plant. You got those books wrapped in record time. Someone else chuckled. Then, as the youths drew their heads back, turtle fashion to avoid the glare, a match was struck. Nobody here but yonder’s a ladder. Better go up and have a look, said a third deeper voice. We can’t afford to have those kids snooping. I think Barney brought them into the thing. They’re only kids, but they have eyes. Bob, with a twist of his neck, looked around in the dim upper room, its end window, dirty and cobwebby, allowed the moonlight to stream in. The shaft of dull light streamed across slantwise. Bob, following its path with his eyes, touched Al’s arm. Gently he directed his brother’s gaze toward a corner. Sacks used for packing corn or other cereals were piled up there. By common consent, the two began a slow, cautious movement toward the sacks. But Bob, quick, in an emergency, drew the whole pile very cautiously, partly lifting the lower ones to a darker place. Al, close beside him, divined his idea. They could hide under the large cluster of heavy burlap bags. By the time that a match was struck in the upper floor, they were lying crouched under a number of the burlap bags. Not here. Guess the kid was scared and ran away. Wait, though, Bob’s breath almost stopped. Had the other man who came up discovered the sacking. Wait, though, the man repeated. We meant to compare the books tonight. That’s why I took all the trouble with those stunts to have a logical excuse for landing here. We can’t now. Those kids may have telephoned somebody, whoever they’re working for. Suppose we hide the books and get together tomorrow night. I’ll take the crate back and come over by train. Good way. In their stuffy concealment, the brothers heard steps, low muttered suggestions. Evidently, a place to sequester the company records was selected. The youths quivered, and Al nearly screamed aloud as a sack was dragged from the top of the pile. But the sack did not pull off the ones they clung to over their persspiring heads. That’s the stuff on that shelf and cover them up. Nobody would think of that place. Won’t Barney miss them? Let him worry a little. It will do him good. The voices receded. The heavy tread ceased. Scaffling sounds told the brothers that the men had descended the ladder. “Well,” whispered Al, “we’re safe, and we can take the books back. Can we find them?” they said on the shelf. Feel around as soon as they are out. Wait, Al, I’ll slip over and spy out through the window. Al sat on the floor among the sacks, mopping his brow, which was wet with hot perspiration that had a moment before been ice cold. Bob waved across the bar of moonlight. The trio of seeming conspirators was safely away, he indicated. Again, using their hands, they felt along the walls. With his head, though jarred only slightly, Bob found the shelf. A quick exploration to find the books in a compact roll of tape tied cloth hidden under the sack. It was a second’s work to remove them and to rejoin Al. Now, how can we get them away? Won’t they be watching? Let’s go down and see. Alertly and with caution, Bob protruded his head over the edge of the opening by the ladder. He was fortunate. In the doorway stood the unrecognized member of the party smoking. Evidently, he had returned. Bob watched, holding Al in check by his grip on the younger one’s arm. The man did not propose to leave, it appeared. The sound of an airplane motor starting conveyed the truth. He was waiting until his ship was ready before going into the open. Bob waited, Al at his side. Neither moved more than was absolutely essential, but Al, try as he would, could not suppress the horrible inclination to sneeze induced by the dust in his nostrils from the dirty burlap. Hush, hush. He tried to hold back, but nature got the better of his will. Hush. Now you’ve done it. Couldn’t help it. Look, the window will open. You could drop. The sound of the man ascending the ladder came clearly. Like two swift gazels the youths dashed across to the window wide and old. It was part of the door through which hay was drawn up. They discovered. They tugged at it on rollers, but stiff from disuse it stuck. Panting they struggled. Closer came the ascending steps. A call to know who was up there. The window slid open a foot, another foot. I’ll have to drop, said Bob. You get back and hide again. Too late. I’ll drop the books to you. Go on quick. Bob hung by his hands, gave a swift glance down, let go. No sooner did he land with loosened muscles to avoid the shock as much as he could than the package of heavy books landed beside him. Swiftly he grasped the package and ran. Al, almost caught, doubled with a swift, bending squirm as the angry man reached to grapple with him in the moonlit doorway. By his quickness, Al was able to get away for an instant. He tried the same ruse he had used so well before, but in another form. Every ounce of weight he could put into it, he gave to a run away from the ladder. Then, doubling on himself, but tiptoeing and bending as low as he could, avoiding the moon ray. Al crept softly along. The man following the direction of the footfalls and thus trying to locate his quarry in the dark did not see the silent gloom hidden form slip along the wall. Al was down the ladder before his ruse was detected, but the man ran to the doorway shouting through its opening. Bob, racing toward the bicycles, realized that the other two men catching the warning shout were bearing down on him. Like a rabbit, he reversed his route, slipping in among the trees behind the barn. But Mr. Parsons and the other mysterious stranger were determined men. Bob could not run and be silent. He dared not creep. They were too close behind him. Al, seeing that this pursuit was close, tried to divert attention by shouting as he ran openly across toward the bicycles, but this did not draw the others away. They felt that Bob had a parcel for which they meant to catch him. On and on through the grove, dodging, squirming past trees, through briars, Bob went. Kurt at the field, with the engine idling on the airplane, did not hear the pursuit until Bob, almost worn out, nearly done, came racing along. Then, seeing him, Kurt ran to meet him. From the grove behind came the crash and shout of pursuers. The books hide. Bob could say no more. Kurt caught the package as Bob hurled it. Then, with an instinct that amounted to genius, Bob noted a flattish stone, and as he ran, he bent, pausing an instant, and came up tugging along the small flattish boulder that in the dark could be mistaken for the package of books. unconcernedly as though watching in the role of a spectator standing on the parcel of books, Kurt remained quiet and the men raced past him. From the road where he flung his bicycle, knowing well where Bob would head for, Al arrived. He raced toward the airplane just as Bob ran in the same direction with his boulder. Al, not unnerved by his excitement, realized that if the propeller was turning, some chocks or other means of holding back the ship were in place. He bent under the wheels as Bob arrived. “Get in,” he cried. Bob, pretending to drop the books in, let the boulder fall beside the turf. While he was climbing in, the men paused for an instant by Curt, who said sharply, “There he goes.” They turned, saw Bob was making for the airplane, and ran toward him. Al tumbled into the rear cockpit, determined not to be caught after the enmity he had awakened. “Take me,” he cried. But the roar of the engine drowned his voice as Bob, risking everything in the dark, opened the throttle. Up went the elevators enough to lift the tail as the propeller stream swept against them. Along the turf, the ship began to move. The men, aware of the sinister menace of the whirling blades, fell aside. Bob, sensing the near approach of the end of his runway, lifted the elevators again, felt the ship going light, gave her the gun, holding her just long enough on the level after the takeoff to get his speed. Then up he roared, and a boulder beside the turf remained, while Kurt, with the books under his arm among the trees, went to Al’s bicycle and delivered the books to his uncle’s study. But he didn’t stay at home. Mr. Wright was not there. Bob and Al would fly to the plant. Then on tired feet, Kurt pedled. Chapter 27. Driven down. Almost as soon as he lifted the airplane above the grove beyond that cornfield, Bob recovered his wind and his confidence. Al, of a more nervous type, was still trembling in his after cockpit seat, but his excitement was changing from that of the recent adventures to the thrill of Sky riding at night with his brother. There was not only the elation of the climb to keep his nerves quivering, also there was the uncertainty of what might happen because of Bob’s lack of skill and experience. Climbing steadily until he was over 500 ft above the earth, Bob felt none of his brother’s uneasiness or excitement. He was confident that he could control the airplane as far as straight flying was concerned. His only difficulty would be the landing. Not the easiest thing for a skillful pilot, unless a signal could be given that would make the plant watchman illuminate the small field. Bob, making a long swing, banked gently to head back for the plant, calmly considered the elements of the situation, and tried to plan as well as he could how to meet whatever came up. Al, giving more attention to sky and earth as they straightened their course, correctly pointed for the field at the plant, saw a tiny set of glinting lights far away in the sky. Impulsively he caught the stick of the dual control to waggle it. That was the only way to attract Bob’s attention. But Al, in his quick way, shook the stick and then held it pretty far to one side. And Bob, not expecting the move, and unaware at first that Al did it, felt his heart sink for an instant. Fearing that something had gone wrong with the controls, Al, horrified at the effect of his move, sat tensely still, waiting for a crash. Bob, alert, decided in a flash that he would do all he could to avert the smash before he gave up hope. He made the necessary moves to correct the slip. To his delight, the craft obeyed promptly, coming back into its proper position quickly. Turning to reassure Al, Bob saw his brother violently gesturing toward the sky to one side. As he looked, Bob saw tiny lights and knew them for the flying lights of a craft. The explanation came at once. Al had attracted his attention to the airplane, knowing it must be the brown plane. Probably the two men who had chased Bob had contrived to tell the pilot before he took off that, as they supposed, the company books were in Bob’s possession. With a wave of his hand toward Al, reassuring him, Bob set his course for the flying place belonging to the Treadway plant. He was being pursued by the ship he had recently followed. It suited him. He would lead the ship back there, contrive some way to attract attention, get Al to drop flares, and then landing telephone all the airports nearby to identify and stop the pilot who must eventually alite for fuel. The pursuer, however, had no intention of being lured. Bob realized it at the same time that he recalled how swiftly the other pilot had climbed to escape identification earlier at the plant. Instead, the brown ship had some sinister intent toward himself. Bob guessed, for it was climbing rapidly, and Bob, unaware of the safe climbing angle, or stalling angle of his own craft, dared not risk so steep a tilt. Higher, always higher above him went the other man’s lights. The wing over him obscured Bob’s view. He turned to Al. The younger brother leaned out and stared. “Going up yet?” he cried and gestured. “Climbing! Climbing faster!” Bob opened his throttle steadily to the full capacity of the engine. He proposed to gain all he could in speed, and that meant distance ahead of the other. while that other airplane climbed. He knew he could fly faster on the level than a climbing ship could, and he saw the other lights slowly becoming somewhat fainter, smaller. But that did not last long. In a few seconds, the other ship leveled off and began to approach. Bob, craning his neck to get a sight of the other craft beyond his own wingspread, saw that the other man, evidently angling down and pointing directly for a position above him, meant to overtake him, and was quite capable of doing it. He had superior experience and skill. Bob realized quickly that the better part of valor in an airplane at night under such conditions was to give up or at least to pretend to give up, he reflected. To carry out that pretense, he reached into the signal light stores and selected a light. This he tossed back to Al. His signal and his act were understood. Al knew that Bob wanted light. He ignited the flare, which proved to be a green signal blaze, flung it overside, and watched its tiny parachute catch the air and suspend it. In that light, he swung his eyes to see what Bob meant to do. The other pilot, arresting his dive, also flew along level, and watched it appeared. Bob, lighted by the glowing green flare, pointed to himself, and then pointed to Earth. The other ship, coming steadily closer, was quite plain in the illuminated space. Its pilot made a similar gesture, pointing first toward the airplane Bob piloted, then downward. Bob lowered the nose and began to spiral as though looking for a spot on which he might safely set down. On a wider swing, the other pilot flew, observing his act. Swiftly, Bob summed up the situation. Beneath him, easily reached, was the wide ribbon of the asphalt highway. By heading almost directly into the wind, he could shoot the road, and by keeping his engine running at partial speed, he could make a power stall, letting the craft settle very gradually instead of trying to glide down. Guess at the correct height, and then stall and drop. to do the latter in the comparative darkness of the highway might result in smashed landing gear or worse if he stalled too high and dropped. Or it might happen that he would put her on hot or at too great speed and without stalling come against the ground. In one case out of 10 that might enable him to roll along. But if he struck the slightest uneven bit of road or a bulge of the tar at the intersections of the asphalt roadblocks up would bound the ship, perhaps to stall herself and crash. By using power, he could keep flying speed while gradually settling until his wheels contacted the road. He could also rise more readily if he discovered that he had gone too far to either side of the narrow road wide enough, in fact, but narrow from the standpoint of its use as a landing place. He gave up the half-formed notion of trying to outwit the pilot. The man meant business, and that might spell trouble for an amateur. Better far would it be to set down and see what came of it. As he saw the roadway ribboned out straight ahead, with no headlights observable in either direction, Bob lifted the nose a trifle, adjusted the throttle until, with the road streaming backward under him, he saw it very gradually growing wider and clearer. Almost perfectly heed. Being a straight road, he had lots of time to taxi with his gun cut and his only care being to hold the ship on its wheels and not let a wing tip scrape the asphalt. To his surprise, the other pilot did not land. Instead, he seemed to be circling at a very low altitude, not 100 ft up, and with only bare flying speed, diving 10 ft to catch up his speed, and then climbing back to circle again. We can’t leave this crate standing on the highway, Al called as soon as Bob had the engine running at idling speed. Suppose a Sunday driver comes along at 60 mph. What else can we do? Bob swung in his seat. That’s so. If we go up, he’ll ride us down and we might not make as good a landing. You might not. I mean, yonder comes a car. As Bob pointed, Al leaned out and stared. The headlights blind me, he declared, shading his eyes with his cap brim and hand. It’s It’s the ones who are after us, called Bob. See, one of them is stopping the car, and the other one is jumping out, he turned to Al. They think we have the books. The man in the brown ship drove us down. Mr. Parsons in his car with the other man is coming to get us. Well, they won’t, exclaimed Al, scrambling out of the airplane. No, you run into the woods to the right of the road. Al, as soon as he was on the ground, used his heels to good purpose. Bob, pausing only to bundle up some folds of his coat to make it look from a distance as though he carried a package under it, slipped to the road and ran the other way. Driven down, they nevertheless left the pursuers outwitted. Chapter 28. Curt’s discovery. Those books are off my mind,” Kurt reflected as he pedled slowly toward the aircraft plant, but my legs aren’t. I’d go to bed and rest for a week if it wasn’t for seeing what Griff is up to. He had ridden only a block or two away from his uncle’s residence, where he had deposited the books when a thought occurred to him. “I know how to get a toe to the plant,” Kurt whispered to himself, swinging his handlebars to turn into the next cross street. They usually get shipments of fabric on the 11:00 freight, and our truck is there to load it in. He glanced at his wristwatch. Yes, he told himself. It ought to be loaded, or nearly so, and that means the truck will be starting soon. I’ll ride along till it catches up with me, and then let it pull me where I’m going. It was a reasonable notion and wellfounded that it was sound was soon proved, for Curt saw the truck turning into the street just ahead from the direction of the station. He had expected it to come from the street he had passed, but realized that it must have followed the direction it had been pointed instead of turning around in the station yards. Increasing his speed for the moment, Kurt caught up with the tailboards of the large truck, took hold with one hand, set his coaster brake, and rode in comfort, resting his weary feet. To his great surprise, the truck turned off at a crossroad. What does that mean? He wondered. He let go and dropped back a few yards, intending to let the truck go, but it bothered him to decide what caused the change of route. Kurt resuming his peddling, following at a little distance, determined that for all his weariness he ought to find out why a truck openly laden with cases and parcels, boxes and canvas sacks, should not go directly to its destination to be ready for unloading when the plant opened in the morning. The ride was not more than a half mile. Kurt, keeping at good distance, let the truck get around a bend. He could follow by the sound of the motor. He did not wish to be seen. There was in him the thrill of the discoverer of a new clue. When the motor ceased to send its roar across the distance to him, Kurt laid Al’s bicycle which he had ridden from the cornfield beside the ruted country road and walked, screening himself carefully to the bend. No truck should stop in this out of the way place, he decided. I’d better be careful. They might have a guard set at the turn. There was no guard, however. Evidently, the truck driver and his assistant had no suspicion that they were observed. Openly the truck stood in the road to one side. Kurt, able to distinguish its bulk, was too far away to see through the darkness what was going on. Maybe a broken drive chain, he thought. Still, I’d better be certain. He made a slight detour through the pines along the by road, being careful to make as little sound as possible, working around toward the position of the truck. Whatever sound he made was soon drowned by the roar of a motor. “Just a repair,” he decided. “They’re going.” Instead of getting further away, the motor pulsation became louder. “That’s another car coming,” Kurt told himself. And it’s a heavyduty motor, too. He made fast progress toward the edge of the trees. There, hidden behind a large trunk of pine, he could see the dim road, the dull outline of the truck, and the moving forms of men lifting things out and piling them by the road. They’re unloading the truck. Kurt was amazed. Was this some bold banditry? Some open theft? To his further astonishment and mystification, the other truck came along and stopped. There was an exchange of low but jovial banter between the rough drivers and their helpers, but no illusion was made to their task. Instead, the men on the truck just arrived began also to unload bolts, cases, boxes, sacks from their vehicle. Kurt could not figure the problem to a satisfactory decision. Were they substituting one load for the other? Why? At any rate, they would be occupied for several hours, Kurt thought. He made his way quietly back into the wood and hurried toward his bicycle. I’ll ride to the plant, get the watchman to telephone for the police, and round up those fellows. Every ounce of his reserve energy Kurt put into his pedals as he bumped along the by road and then raced down the main highway. When he came within sight of the aircraft plant, he was surprised at the activity displayed. The flood lights were on. Far up overhead, he heard the sound of an airplane engine. Oh. Curt was reassured. It must be Bob and Al coming in. They will be glad to hear I put the books away safely, and then we can all ride back to the truck. No, we can’t. He recalled that his own wheel was parked at the wind sock if no one had taken it. There was no one in the watchman’s place by the main gate, which was open. Kurt decided that the man was at the flying field to give assistance to the airplane as it landed. Hello. Al, turning at the door of the administration offices, hailed Kurt. Come on. Kurt raced across the yard, joined Al and Bob at the office building doorway. I thought he gasped. I thought you flew rapidly, Bob explained. We hoofed it back, Al added. Then who is landing or shooting the field to land? Must be Mr. Parsons bringing in the ship we deserted on the road. Did you leave that parcel of books at Dad’s? Good. But why did you come back here, Kurt? A quick explanation set everything clearly before his friends. We ought to go and round up the two trucks, he finished. No, we must get to Griff. He must be wild, waiting without any word. I know the trucks won’t wait forever, but you can identify them in the morning. Come on. Kurt followed Bob’s lead with Al at his heels as they entered the office corridor. Griff’s voice came to them as they reached the upper landing. He was talking, telephoning. Oh, Langley, you got there. Good. What? Your uncle is gone. Gone. Gone. Lang where? You don’t know? What will I do, Lang? You don’t know? Well, I do. And he slammed the receiver on its hook. Hurry, urged Bob as the trio raced to the lighted doorway. At the safe, kneeling was Griff. He twirled the dial, clanged back the safe door, reached for the packet of bills again. “Here, you mustn’t. You don’t. That isn’t yours.” White-faced Griff identified Al as the latter called his warning. “I must,” he snapped and stood up, holding the packet. “Over the offices came the drone of the approaching airplane circling for a landing. Al moved toward Griff. Get back.” Griff was furious. Bob behind him snatched the packet of bills, flung it into the safe, slammed the door. Griff, with a furious snal, bent to recover the packet, but the door was shut. He flung off Bob, who backed into Al and Kurt. Heedless of the roar of the airplane engine as the ship came low over the office roofs in its descent. Bob, Al, and Kurt disentangled themselves, got to their feet. Already Griff was by the safe. the combination figures on the slip in his hand, the dial of the safe door twirling and clicking. “Here! What are you doing, Griff?” Bob cried out in dismay. With a quick glance, Griff measured them. His face was white. His jaw was set. His whole attitude was that of a terrified, trembling young man who had determined on a course he knew to be wrong, but which circumstances would not allow him to avoid. “Don’t,” exclaimed Curt. You dared, corrected Al. Your father has stolen the books, but you shant. The safe door was wrenched open. Bob started forward, Curt at his side, to catch Griff’s hand to prevent this thing he felt he had to do. His fear of his father’s anger was greater than his dread of the boys, it seemed. His hand on the packet of bills, Bob tried to stop him. Griff, with a scowl and a wicked word, kicked Bob’s shin, avoided Curt’s grasp and stood back, his face working. There was an interruption. “Listen!” Al nearest the door, called the word. They were halted, frozen into statues with tense poses and straining ears. A step sounded in the hall. Instantly, white with terror, Griff flung the bills toward the open safe, kicked the door shut, turned like a hunted animal, and ran out through an intervening door into the next office, and with Bob in hot pursuit, raced across the hall into the director’s room to its window and down the fire escape, and Bob at the window felt a hand grip his collar. He was caught. Chapter 29. a confession. Without a struggle, Bob gave up. In the dark, he did not know who his captor might be, but he reasoned that if it turned out to be Barney, resistance would be less sensible than explanation. To struggle for escape if the hand on his collar belonged to Mr. Parsons would be foolish, and might make it harder for his chum and his brother to explain their situation. In his mind’s eye, Bob recalled how the office had looked as he left it. Griff had kicked at the safe door, believing the money had gone in, but it had not. It had dropped on the floor. Unquestionably, Mr. Parsons or Barney or whoever held him, had come past that office, but had not stopped there, preferring to make a capture of the only person he could put his hands on. Bob realized that non-resistance was a wise course. As he had summised, he was led back toward the office. He was glad that he had done nothing, said nothing to explain the situation so far. The man who had hold of him, who urged him along the corridor, was Griff’s father. The man from whom they sought to save Griff. At the office door, Bob, panting, and choked a trifle by the tight grip on his coat, took in the situation swiftly. It looked, from all the appearances, as though Al were dictating from the slip, while Kurt manipulated the combination to open the safe. On the other hand, from another point of view, it might appear that the pair had recently had the safe open and were closing it. What made that more probable to an outsider’s eyes was the package of greenbacks which Al held. What does this mean, Mr. Parsons, half dragging Bob along, made a quick nervous advance, caught the package from Al with his free hand. It means that your Al began in his imprudent haste. Bob gave him a sharp meaning look. Al catching it realizing that he had almost mentioned Griff whom they had previously agreed to aid was silent. It means that we came back here. Kurt began and was interrupted by the angry partner of Mr. Treadway. Not content with taking those books, he said angrily. You want to take the company money? How did you get into my desk? Pick the lock. That adds another count against you. He released Bob’s coat collar and stroed to the desk, a flat topped one in the center of the room. Catching up the telephone receiver, he made a call. Hello. Hello. Give me police headquarters. Yes, thanks. For an instant, the members of the Sky Squad were stunned. What’s that? Mr. Parsons spoke into the transmitter again. He is out. How soon will he be back? Have him call Mr. Parsons at the aircraft plant? Yes. Perhaps I can give him some tenants for the new cells in the police station. He hung up the airpiece. Bob, recovering his usual good judgment, began to consider the very difficult situation that faced the Sky Squad. Al, however, seldom thought before he spoke, more often than his brother, he was sorry for hasty decisions and sharp speeches. You’ll be sorry if you tell the chief of police. Bless Adidel. Curt, as thoughtful as Bob, trod on the foot of the younger captive, and Al jumping away, refused to be warned. “I don’t care,” he cried. “If he thinks two sons of a detective and their friend will be put in cells for trying to save.” “Oh, all right, Bob,” for trying to put money back into a safe, he whirled on Mr. Parsons at the sound of the latter’s sarcastic laugh. “That’s what we were doing. If the police chief arrests us, we’ll ask him to arrest you, too. Indeed. Why? For taking the company books away, for showing them to somebody outside the firm planning how to get more cheap parts into the plant. Oh, we know all about you. How do you know I had company books? I saw the pages open on the table at the Windock. Indeed, young man, he swung to Kurt. Please go into the bookkeeper’s room, unlock his book cabinet, and bring all the books you find.” Kurt, surprised, took the small key from their captor, went in and lighted the adjoining office, returning finally with an armful of books. Do you know the books of a complete set when you see them? Bob does, declared Al, still angry, but becoming a little uneasy. He might have jumped to his decision about the books he had seen. He was always making snap decisions. Examine that set, young man, Bob. It’s complete, Bob admitted. Exactly. Then why were you in such a sweat to get the others when we tried to Al’s voice tailed down to nothing? He began to see how really guilty they could be made to seem. There was entry into the offices at night, an open private desk, a telltale safe combination memorandum on the floor, a package of bills beside the safe. For one chain of evidence, there was an intrusion on a private conference at the Windock and the subsequent escape with the books for a second. Not to think of Bob’s use of the airplane with no permission from a higher authority than a watchman, and the infraction of state law by landing on a highway and deserting the ship in a traffic lane. Al’s bravado began to evaporate. Bob, who had remained cool, thinking, was able to see a brighter side to the situation. Please, Mr. Parsons, he began, don’t call in the police. That would force us to defend ourselves. We could explain what we were doing and why. But we have a a code of honor, and we would rather have you let things work out without the police and reporters. You would really suffer more than we would, Kurt declared. Is that so? We shall see. The telephone bell blared. Mr. Parsons turned. Hello. He spoke into the instrument. Father, don’t. Those fellas are protecting me. I can’t let them. Griff stood in the office door, his face white, his lips quivering. Mr. Parsons, catching sight of his son, stared. Just a minute, Griff, he said. Hello, is the father. You shant. You mustn’t listen to me. I took that money. The telephone receiver dropped, hanging by its cord to swing unheeded against the man’s leg. I’ll confess. Griff, for all his fear of his father, of consequences, was showing his true manliness. I ran away, father, because I thought I had put the money back and locked the safe. I didn’t want to be caught. I thought I could go down the fire escape and get away. But when I saw you catch Bob, I came back and listened. I must not let these fine friends stand a night in a cell for something I’ve done. Then haltingly ashamed and desparing, but honestly, Griff cleared the sky squad and told the truth. He was trying to get out of his trouble. Curt said to end the deep silence that followed Griff’s explanation. And he didn’t want to come to you when you had so many things on your mind. Our cousin has gone to get money for him from father, added Bob. But father must have started for home before Lang got there. And it was only when the man at the wind sock threatened to come and tell you and make it look worse than it is that Griff lost his common sense. We came back here to meet each other and saw what he was doing and convinced him it was a mistake. The impulsiveness of Al prompted him to put in his ore, but his earlier bluster was gone, and he kept still. They watched Mr. Parsons. His face was set and pale, his fingers worked nervously. He had his head bent. Bob, quietly picking up the telephone as he heard the impatient voice of someone at the other end of the connection making it squeak, spoke into the transmitter quietly. We’ll call you back. Something has come up to make things different. He hung up the earpiece. Apparently, Mr. Parsons did not notice him at all. Added to the blow given by his son’s confession that he had broken promises and gotten into deep trouble was the knowledge that three loyal companions with full knowledge of his guilt had not only protected him from himself but had shielded him at the expense of being themselves suspected and unfairly accused. Mr. Parsons looked up. He held out a hand to Bob. I beg your pardon, he said. I am sorry. Bob, smiling with some relief, eagerly gripped the extended hand to be followed by Curt and Al. Then the father turned to his son. Three members of the sky squad held their breath. “Son,” the voice seemed cool and sharp, but it changed suddenly. “Son, I guess I’d have done better to make a comrade of you than to try to rule you with fear and threats. Come here, Griffith.” The young man advanced, hopeful, but also shamefaced. Son, we all make mistakes. If we learn not to make them again, that is life’s lesson. I am not a judge. I am your father. Griff’s hand reached out impulsively. I had to tell you, but I guess if it hadn’t been to save these friends, I might have gone on. I guess I’m a coward. I should say not, cried Al. Not you. Bob was equally emphatic. It took more bravery to walk in under the circumstances than to tell your father any other time, I say,” Kurt exclaimed. “I will settle with that fellow at the roadhouse,” Mr. Parson stated. When forgiveness was assured to Griff and the five occupants of the office were determined to work together for a change. “If he has been paid, why not meet the police chief somewhere and have Griff tell him the things that are done against the law at the Windock?” suggested Al. Then we could all go there and give evidence of how Jenx tried to collect twice from Griff and maybe we would find out something about our own mystery. I think he is in it some way. Mr. Parsons decided that he owed the chief some explanation of his call and somewhat overexited and not his usual sensible self. He failed to realize just what Al’s suggestion implied, that they make Griff incriminate himself, since he had played at the tables without informing against the hotel. The police chief agreed to meet them near the roadhouse, and when Mr. Parsons hung up and turned back to them, he was much more calm than they had ever seen him. “If I explain my own purposes,” he said, “it will be easier for us all to understand and get together. I have been trying to protect my absent partner. Absent? Bob repeated the word. Your absent partner? Yes, Arthur Treadway. He went into hiding. I know, cried Al. I know now. I thought the face of the man in that brown airplane, the one who flew it, was familiar. That’s Mr. Treadway. Yes, my boy, you are right. But Kurt was rather stunned. I don’t understand. Mr. Treadway alive, cried Griff. Yes, alive. This has been a very mixed affair, the partner declared. I knew that Arthur Treadway was alive, but I could not speak of it or explain because we did not know whom we could trust and so told no one. Then he wasn’t in the crash. Mr. Parson’s turned to answer Bob. “No, but why did he do it? Why did he hide and let everybody think he had gone west?” Bob demanded. “Don’t you remember crossed wires?” Kurt reminded him. That had to be explained. So someone crossed wires that were scraped nearly bare in Arthur’s own ship. Mr. Parsons was dismayed. That proves his suspicion that somebody meant harm to him, and that is what we hid him away to discover. If the accident ceased with his disappearance, he was in danger. If not, the damage was aimed at the aircraft company. But you haven’t found out why he was in danger. Or from whom, declared Kurt. No, admitted the partner. Al fired with enthusiasm, added. But we will. Mr. Parsons was not so sure. Chapter 30. Barney gives a hint. While the quintet waited for the taxi cab, which Mr. Parsons summoned from town, Griff put the money back in the safe, thankful for his escape. Bob, Kurt, and Al expressed their relation that he was freed from suspicion, and Barney arrived. The watchman called me, the manager explained. Things got a bit too exciting out here, and he thought I ought to know. What is there to tell me? The explanations took up the time of waiting. H Barney was pleased, but thoughtful, glad to learn my best friend’s partner is cleared. He nodded at Mr. Parsons. Certainly, I’m delighted that his son is all straight and Treadway is alive. Glory be. I’m gladdest about that. I knew you would be, agreed Mr. Parsons, the man who gave me everything I have, made me the manager of his plant. I’ll say I’m glad he’s all right. Well, let’s go see that ex-pilot and his wicked two autograph ally. He grinned at Al. I think we ought to try to catch those truckmen first, suggested Kurt. Oh, let them alone,” argued Barney. And Mr. Parsons agreed. “You know what they were doing,” he told Curt. “All you have to do now is check the stuff that is unloaded from our truck in the morning. If that turns out to be poor material, trace the other truck, get your proof, and at least one part of the mystery will be easily solved.” They went out and packed into the taxi cab, giving its driver direction for meeting the police chief at the edge of the picnic grove. When they got there and related their experiences, they were daunted to find him decidedly lukewarm about rounding up the ex-pilot and his roadhouse manager. “I don’t think the idea is so good,” the chief of police stated. Griffith Parsons has no receipt. He can’t actually prove that he paid real money or that he paid at all. Anyway, now that his father knows the whole business, that fellow Jensen hasn’t a chance to collect again. He won’t dare try. just what do you want me to do? There’s this note put on the airplane and he’s trying to avoid showing his handwriting by giving me two autographs, Al suggested. In a way, I’m sorry to destroy that clue, said Mr. Parsons. But when we get to the roadhouse, you will see that it has no value. What did you want me to do? Repeated the police official. We thought of facing the manager Jensen with Griff’s evidence of how he permits gambling to go on and other things outside the law and making him tell us what he knows. Bob urged the man shook his head. Oh, I know what you’re thinking. The officer chuckled as he eyed Bob, Curt, and Al. Graph hush money. But that isn’t it at all. As far as Griff’s information goes, we’ll take care of that better by making a raid when the place is crowded and the barn is actually in use for illicit purposes. But don’t you see what you’re doing? The chums shook their heads. I do, said Barney, and Mr. Parsons agreed again. If we offer to make him tell with the threat of what we will do if he refuses, we are compounding a felony. If we get him to tell anything and don’t go through with the legal steps on the face of our evidence. That’s it. Oh well. Barney saw how disappointed the three chums were, although they admitted the justice of the officials attitude. Let’s go out and see my old patron and comrade. The chief of police agreed to look into the charges Griff had made and turned his car to return to his home, while Barney in one cab with Bob and Al and Mr. Parsons in the one they had called with Kurt and his own son went on. There was a viciferous greeting between Mr. Treadway and his plant manager. “Why didn’t you tell me you were all right?” he cried, pumping the plant owner’s hand, slapping his back, and as Al said later, almost kissing him, while the mysterious stranger and the others watched with various feelings. “I had to make my plans in secret,” Mr. Treadway retorted. “Not even my partner knew until tonight, but let us get acquainted all the way round,” he turned to the mystery man behind him. “This is my brother,” he presented the man. And so these are the three young men who have worked so hard to solve the mystery of my crash into the lake. He shook hands and they selected a private dining room on the second floor for a midnight repast. Well, he said, smiling pleasantly at the three rather silent youths as the first course, a hot, nourishing soup was served. Have you solved the puzzle of the mystery crash? I think we have, but not all, sir, replied Bob. I think I can put together what happened, but not why it had to happen. Go ahead, Mr. Treadway encouraged. Yes, do, urged Barney. I admit I’m stumped. Well, sir, Bob, without trying to be vain, spoke frankly. We got mixed up and puzzled at first, because we were trying to solve a lot of things by connecting them with your disappearance, and we made the mistake of suspecting everybody, interrupted Al. That mixed Griff’s case in and his father’s, agreed Curt, and he turned back to give Bob the center of the stage. You didn’t know whether the damage to airplanes was aimed at the plant or at you direct, Bob told Mr. Treadway, who nodded. You had two airplanes, both alike, except one was the Golden Dart and the other was the Silver Flash. Exactly. And I thought, Mr. Treadway interrupted. If the guilty person knew which airplane I meant to deliver, he would damage that one. And so at the last minute, I changed my ship. After saying I was going to deliver the golden dart, I took off in the silver flash. And you were right, gasped Al. When we flew the golden one, her rudder cable was frayed and broke. Right, my young friend. And nothing was wrong with the other. Then how did you crash it? Why did it crack up? Mr. The Treadway looked to Bob for an explanation, desiring to test the youth’s skill at deduction. I haven’t much to work on, Bob said modestly. But this is how I think you did it. Your brother flew here in the brown ship and hid it in the field, leaving the note to show you it was ready. And then you took off early, and then set down the big cabin ship on the turf that accounts for the deep ruts, and the ship was in the way, so you dragged it into the stubble until the brown ship got up. then took the cabin craft into the air. “I failed to see what the brown airplane and Arthur’s brother have to do with it,” Barney broke in. “Mr. Treadway’s brother had to be there to bring down the cabin plane,” Bob explained. “At least that’s the only way I can see for the tracks in the field and the crack up to fit the conditions.” He paused. “You mean they exchanged ships?” Arthur landed the cabin crate and then flew away in the brown one while his brother crashed the silver flash. Barney demanded. Treadway nodded as did his brother. The young man is correct in his deduction. The latter said, I had to come and exchange ships with my brother and then crack up the silver flash to give the idea that its pilot and my brother had taken off in it had gone into a mud hole or under rocks in the lake. “What did you expect to gain by that?” asked Barney. Removing one partner, Mr. Treadway smiled, gave the other one a free hand if he was in any way guilty. Or you, Barney. Barney turned red. Do you mean to say? No, I did not suspect you. I only wanted to get away and see what happened. And who did it? These young men have cleared most of us, stated Mr. Parsons. They have done more. They know how the good parts are taken and cheap ones are substituted, he explained about the trucks. But we can’t solve the mystery of why you brought books here and then said the company books were all at the plant, argued Al. I found a small set of duplicate books, that is what we would call fake books, private books in the cabinet, began Mr. Parsons. Barney bent forward. Where did you find those? I had them in my own desk. That’s where I took them from. You see, Barney, as long as we all suspected each other, it was wisest for me to check them. Not that I accuse you because they were in your desk. You were checking up also, of course. I’m not finished either, declared Barney. But as long as Arthur wanted to look at them, it’s all right with me. We have them safe, said Kurt. And the brother is the mysterious man with the dark beard whose motorcycle Griff used, and it was he who was in the supply room the other night. I was, said Mr. Treadways brother. I came with his key, got in the private gate, went up the fire escape, and down to check up in the supply room until Griff running off with my motorcycle made me suspicious, scared, and anxious. So I left, and I came here to see Arthur’s brother, said Mr. Parsons and Griff looking ashamed added. And I ran away. But we don’t know who damaged the crates or if it was against Mr. Treadway or just spite work against the company, Al said. The mystery crash has failed to bring that to light. Yes. Barney suddenly leaned forward. I’ve got to go out and dismiss my taxi cab. It’s eating its head off. But first, I’ll give you a hint to chew over while I’m away. What? Several spoke the question in unison. Suppose the motive was revenge. Barney spoke very low, and Bob, watching some curtains at a locked side door, thought the breeze must be stirring them. Suppose there was once a pilot at the plant, and that Arthur had to fire him. And you don’t mean to say, Mr. Treadway bent close, excited. The pilot I once discharged. Why, he’s the owner of this place. I’d never dream. All the same, chew it over, Barney Rose. I suppose you’ll be flying back. You won’t stay here tonight. Treadway shook his head. Be right back, Barney said. Bob, as the others chatted softly and excitedly, followed the departing manager with his eyes. He had thrown suspicion on several, had Barney. Also, he had been the only one who inspected and then reported on the silver flash that nothing had been found tampered with, and he had chased Lang and Bob to see Bob’s detective father. “What a lot of curious facts!” Bob mused. And when Barney rejoined them a moment later, Bob was still musing. “I think it would be a good idea for all of us to stay,” suggested Mr. Parsons. It’s after midnight and these lads must be worn out with all their peddling to and fro. We can telephone their homes. You may all stay, said Mr. Treadway. But until we prove something, I shall keep out of sight. Especially if the ex-pilot is apt to be around. I’m going to warm up my brother’s airplane and hop back to the airport I came from. They all parted. Kurt declared he wanted to secure his forgotten bicycle. Bob and Al was sure they had better go on home if Mr. Parsons would let them take the taxi cab. He decided that after all he and his son had better go home. The meal was finished. Mr. Treadway, going by a side hall and down back stairs, sought to avoid recognition while his brother agreed to watch the ex-pilot at every chance. Bob and Kurt found the bicycle safe and trundled it to the luggage rack at the back of the taxi cab. Then Bob turned suddenly. Stay here, he said. I want to say something to Mr. Treadway. He’s warming up the airplane. Forget something. No. Recalled something. As he reached the man so mysteriously lost and so suddenly discovered Bob caught his arm and spoke very earnestly. For the sake of your safety, Bob whispered, “Take off just as you planned, but only go to the cornfield, set down as soon as you can, and then look for crossed wires.” In a flash, he was beyond questioning. Chapter 31. One more problem. Bob did not delay a moment after he delivered his solemn warning to Mr. Treadway. As quickly as he could, he located the plant manager. Barney, he said earnestly. Don’t stay here tonight. Come home with us. Stay with the Sky Squad. In the name of Sam Hill, why? You forgot where you were, didn’t you? When you spoke about the He lowered his voice, glanced around, spoke carefully. The ex-pilot is the one who had a motive for injuring Mr. Treadway. Well, I guess I was thinking pretty much of what I was saying. I know you were. Well, did you hear anything or see anything? I’m sure I heard something. You didn’t think, but there’s a curtain door in that private room we used. How do you know Jens or the other one might not have heard you? Lad, you’re quick. Right, too. Maybe I’d better go on. But I won’t need to stay with you. Oh, you’d better. We can take turns watching. Fiddlesticks. It’s not as dangerous for me as that. At least come back in the taxi with us. Oh, all right. I’ll do that. But I’ll go on home then. Won’t you come on, please, right away? Barney, half amused at Bob’s concern, and partly wondering what caused it, and if he actually had been spied on, overheard, and realizing even better than did Bob, he thought how dangerous such an accusation might be. Barney agreed. The ride back to town was taken up with discussion of Barney’s hint, but through all the talk, Bob was rather quiet. It was decided that the three members of the Sky Squad would be taken home first. Then Griff and his father would go on, leaving Barney to finish the ride to his own home. As the car drew up in front of Bob’s house, and Al began saying his good night quite sleepily, Bob turned to Mr. Parsons. What do you say to going back to the plant after you drop Griff and getting the real set of company books and bringing them here? We can work on them together and see if there is anything in the private set that doesn’t agree with the others. Why not wait until morning? Suggested Mr. Parsons. Aren’t you worn out? What books? Barney asked. Oh, that’s so I remember. You said you had them. Put them away carefully. Don’t leave them out. Oh, we will, agreed Al, overhearing. Well put them in the big desk in father’s study and lock them up. Well, good night, said Kurt. He had been invited to stay, but he preferred to go on home. Bob threw in a suggestion. At that, he said, Kurt, why don’t you let me telephone your mother and you stay? And Barney could wait with us till Mr. Parsons comes back. Well, come to think of it, why not? Barney decided if it won’t wake up your folks. Bob assured him it wouldn’t. His mother must still be waiting up, he declared. There was a light burning in his father’s study. Good grief, he cried. I never thought supposing dad has come home. I’ll bet he has, Al agreed. Let’s go and see. Will you come in with us? He addressed Barney, and the latter cordially agreed. I guess we’d better let you wait in the living room till we see whether it’s dad or mother. She might not be dressed for company if mother is sitting up. Barney agreed to wait and Al went to the door to call Curt in to telephone home. The den into which Bob turned, closing the door quietly, was occupied, as he had all along suspected it would be by his father. “I heard that you weren’t in the other city,” Bob said after a hasty greeting. His father saw his eagerness and let him talk. Lang flew there to get help. He sketched very swiftly the incidents of the night. “Now, father, what brought you home? Have you?” “I have suspicions.” “Yes.” “Then you’ve been working on the mystery?” Bob asked. “All along I pretended to be busy on another case because you suspected somebody from the start.” “Yes.” Did you aunt aunt until tonight? But I know it’s the same person and I’ve got him in the living room and I want to pretend to him that we are guarding him from someone else while we keep guard to see that he doesn’t take fright and escape. His father framed a name and Bob nodded. What is your proof? demanded his father. He came to a detective at the very first. He has put suspicion on everybody else. He seems terribly anxious about those books. Circumstantial evidence justifying suspicion, but not proof. However, I’ve learned that some people, probably using assumed names, it may all be the same person, have been changing aircraft stock into gold. What is your plan, son? We must keep him from guessing that we suspect and keep him where we can watch him. The way I plan, if you agree, is this, father. If he is the guilty one, he is terribly dangerous. He must have crossed wires on Mr. Treadway’s airplane before the owner left the plant, hoping he’d have a short circuit, set the gas on fire, and come down in flames. Then he thought the golden dart was the cabin ship to be flown, and he frayed the rudder cable. When he discovered the other ship was going, he might have crossed wires on that. Remember he mentioned crossed wires back in the other city and he’s the only one who inspected the silver flash when she crashed and was hauled in. So we must keep him here where we can hold him if he makes a move. Right. Get him in, son. We will pretend to study the books and I will watch his reaction. And if he doesn’t betray himself, we will let him go. He cannot leave tonight because if he has been taking stock and exchanging it for gold, he probably had to bank it. He wouldn’t leave it in his house, would he, son? We can have detectives watch his house all night. Father, fix it with the chief of police while I get him. Barney was ushered in. Al and Kurt joined them, and the three of the Sky Squad lined up on the Davenport to watch Barney as the detective discussed the case. But Barney did not betray any uneasiness. He was clever, Bob decided. Mr. Parsons, for whom Al watched to let him in without awakening Mrs. Wright, brought other books, and they were all busy. “We’ve discovered something,” Al exclaimed after half an hour. “Sky Squad will now report,” chuckled Barney. He turned to Bob. “Go ahead, chief pilot.” Bob, very serious, nodded. Was Barney getting fidgety, or was he simply eager? “What have you found?” His father prompted him. We’ve solved one mystery. How the bad parts are coming in, said Bob confidently. Kurt, bring the false ledger and the real one. All heads bent interestedly. Notice how those tiny pencil ticks are made in the beginning of some entries. Bob pointed to several. There aren’t any in the regular ledger, but the entries correspond, and they are always worded in a queer way. See this one about fabric. 10 bolts fabric cotton quality a-x100. He quoted Now all the entries that are ticked in the false ledger are backward like that and the same in the regular book, but no others except the ticked ones are. That’s curious, muttered Barney. What else? Here are several bills of leading that weren’t entered Saturday, just slipped into the back of the regular ledger. Bob drew them out and unfolded them. One is all right, but the other is made out backward, the same as the ticked ones, and it isn’t a real bill of lading at all because it is dated for today. And the shipment that arrived today isn’t to be delivered until tomorrow, and we saw the two trucks exchanging goods on the by road, or Kurt did. Very clever, but what does it prove? Asked Barney. This bill of lading being dated ahead and being one of the backwarding sort shows that those are the entries that are queer. That solves the mystery because we know how those things are being substituted tonight. But who does it incriminate? Asked Barney. Why? Whoever’s writing matches this. Then the bookkeeper is due for a call on the carpet may be worse, said Barney. That’s his book, and the false set is the same handwriting. That settles that mystery and leaves only the one about Mr. Treadway’s possible evil wisher, said Mr. Parsons. Why, that’s attended to. All we need to do is to watch that ex pilot, and Mr. Treadway’s brother has agreed. Al paused. The den private extension telephone was ringing. It’s for you, Bob, his father said. Who’d be Oh, Mr. Treadway. How are you? Glad you’re alive and kicking. Yes, this is right. My son stole a march on me finding you. Here he is, Bob bent over the desk. Hello, he said amid a tense silence. Oh, did I guess right? You didn’t go on? Sat down in the cornfield. Fix it in the morning. Yes. Thank you, sir, for calling. Yes, we just got here. He replaced the receiver and turned to the interested expectant company. Another of the puzzles solved. And I guessed rightly, he said, “Barney, when you suspected the ex-pilot, I thought it might be that he’d do the same as he had done on the airplane I piloted. Mister Treadway’s own sport. You know why I had to set it down?” “No, because the other man, Arthur, chased you down.” “No,” said Bob slowly. “You mentioned the ex-pilot having access to the planes.” “Well, on the brown ship, the wires were crossed tonight.” Oh, Barney gasped and recovered from his startled amazement. You don’t say. That’s bad for the ex-pilot. But it disposes of one mystery. Who? He was probably there at the wind sock and heard you, don’t you suppose? Looks like it. Well, now that clears up. All but one more puzzle, said Kurt. Who’s getting away with the small parts and valuable instruments? I can settle that, said Barney. Sandy Jim. The rigger Al was put to work for. Remember him sending you to his house with a lot of parcels supposed to contain junk for his kid? Al nodded dismayed. It hurt to hear that honestl looking Sandy was so wicked. But Barney seemed to have the correct idea as the evidence indicated. We’ll round them up tomorrow. Barney rose. Suppose I take those books along with me. I’ll bring them in early in the morning. Fine. Bob jumped up, gathering the books. There’s a summer shower wetting the streets. I’ll wrap these in paper for you. When he returned with the parcel, all good nights had been said, and the party broke up. Son, said Mr. Wright to Bob. What do you think now? I can’t say. He acted all right, but he always has done that. Who? Al was sleepy but curious. Barney? You don’t suspect Barney? They nodded. But how can you? He has helped us, and he’s Mr. Treadway’s friend, and I always thought her. A criminal had to have a motive, prompted his father. I attached no importance to one fact I have discovered until I felt sure of Barney’s guilt. Now I do. This might be his motive. Years ago, Mr. Treadway won the girl whom another pilot was courting. The man went from bad to worse, threatened, and then disappeared. Jealousy, hate, gasped Curt. But Barney, of course, that was not the pilot’s name. He must have changed his name as well as his appearance. Then father, how did you know it’s Barney? How about the ex-pilot, couldn’t he? No, Al. He worked for Mr. Treadway after the latter married. Well then, good cracky. Bob, you gave the culprit all the evidence in those books to destroy. No. Bob smiled. Dad’s encyclopedia is shy four volumes, and there are three vitamin books gone, and Barney has them. The real books are in their places on our shelves. Then they did compliment him. Chapter 32. Flight. When the sun peered through dispersing summer storm clouds, it saw three alert, wide awake youths, a little tired but very tense in the testing field of the Treadway aircraft plant. With them were Mr. Treadway, the chief of police, Mr. Parsons, and Griff. As Treadway’s speed plane fueled up, Mr. Wright came over from the offices where he had deposited the company books in readiness for later use. His question was addressed to Griff. Ready, sir? The young son of Mr. Treadway’s partner responded. All plans arranged, chief. We’ve got a net spread that Barney Horton couldn’t escape if he was an eel. One of my best detectives has been outside his house ever since he went in from the taxi. At 1:00 a.m., those two men over by the offices getting ready to dig a trench are two picked men of my headquarters staff. Every motorcycle man, every traffic man, all our roundsman and policemen are on the alert. I simply cannot believe it of Barney. Mr. Treadway was as dole as though they were planning to arrest him instead of his plant manager. I took him in and gave him every opportunity. Taught him all he knows. Pushed him to the top to think. Hatred for a fancied wrong is a terrible force for evil, said Mr. Wright. But he doesn’t look a bit like the man who was trying to win the woman who became my wife. By the way, interrupted the chief of police. She hasn’t appeared at all in this. Have you separated? Isn’t she? Oh yes, quickly. She is alive. My wife is away in Europe. That is the reason I decided to disappear. I knew that news of it would not reach her before I came to life. But if Barney is the guilty man, Kurt was still dazed. Why did he turn suspicion on that ex pilot at the wind sock? He tried to turn suspicion on everybody, retorted Mr. Wright. It is a favorite trick of a guilty person. He has practically accused the bookkeeper, the supply clerk, Sandy Jim, the rigger, and the man you mentioned. But he’s free, Al spoke. Why didn’t you arrest him while you had him at the house showing him the books? You must remember one fact, my young Sky Squatter, the chief of police commented. Circumstantial evidence and suspicion are one thing. Proof of guilt that will stand in court against a clever lawyer is something quite different. In other words, Mr. Wright explained, “We feel with absolute conviction that Barney is our man. We haven’t any actual proof. We must wait until he makes some open move.” Bob, cleverly discovering Barney’s supposed guilt because he saw Barney make that excuse to get out to the airplane when he said he wanted to dismiss his taxi. did all he could to keep the man close to his sky squad, but Barney was clever. “I thought he would make a try for the books during the night if I got him to stay with us,” Bob admitted modestly. Then, when he refused to spend the night with us, I hoped he’d discover that we had substituted other books for the ledgers and would try to get in our place to get all the incriminating evidence. But, dejectedly, he was too clever for that even. How do you expect him to make an open move if he’s all that wise? asked Griff. Well, Mr. Wright spoke up. Someone has been quietly exchanging company stock, turning some into gold here and there. I think it was Barney’s work under assumed names to get his money into shape for escape. We have made him see that we know how the cheap shoddy supplies are coming in and other things he will try to get away. The paying tellers of the town banks are on the watch. The first minute he comes to close his accounts, as he will do before he takes a train, we will be informed. Before he goes, he may try to destroy the false account books and leave only conviction of his guilt, but no real legal proof. But Al was still somewhat puzzled. Bob, how did you come to suspect Barney at all? Do you remember me telling what was said when I flew with Lang to see father? As Alan Kurt nodded, Bob added, “Barney used a phrase about crossed wires.” “Then I found crossed wires in Mr. Treadway’s ship last night, and later Mr. Treadway found wires chafed and led across each other by his brown plain carburetor. It was the quickest way to endanger a ship. The spark could set fire to free gas and might not be noticed in daylight. Barney had time to do it. when he went out. I see. Kurt said. But Bob, you thought someone was listening, watching. You told Barney. So, I still think someone was spying over our dinner. But it may have been the manager, Jenx, who may be in with Barney. Speak of the Mr. Treadway gave a warning glance as he began the old adage. Speak of the devil, he’s sure to appear. To their amazement, Barney came through the gates. He was calm, quiet, not at all fertive or frightened. What was the idea of that trick you played with the books? He patted the package he carried. Bob was confused. The arrival of the rigger Sandy Jim coming early to complete work on the new airplane for which the owner was in such a hurry enabled Bob to hide his confusion as his father answered quietly. I’ll tell you that Barney. All right, tell me. Bob, who turned his head to hide his crimson face, and who went to greet Sandy Jim with Al as an excuse to avoid an explanation that might upset their plans, was surprised at the look on Sandy Jim’s face. The man was staring at Mr. Treadway as though he saw a ghost. “I thought that man was Hello, Sandy.” Al greeted, taking the amazement as natural, since everyone around the plant supposed the owner to have gone under the mud in the silver flash. Ready for work early? Yeah. How’d he get here? He jerked a thumb toward Mr. Treadway. In a taxi. Bob took over the explanation, giving Sandy enough of the former happenings to enable the rigger to recover from his surprise. I’m right glad, the man stated finally. Now, I’ll you get some of your crowd together and fuel up this new crate soon as a pilot shows up. We want it tested. I may have to make some changes in the wire tension and balance. Get busy, me lads. Al eagerly agreed, seeing that their carefully planned coup had fallen through. Barney, listening to Mr. Wright, to Mr. Treadway, to the latter’s partner and the chief of police, trying altogether to give him a third degree, began to laugh. That’s a good one. He threw back his head, roaring his mirth. So, I’m the culprit, eh? Ho ho. Oh my, that’s rich. Clever sky squad you have, right? Haha ho ho. Here I am doing all I can to help my partner, trying to solve the puzzles he couldn’t untangle, and I’m to be arrested. No one spoke of arrest, the police chief hedged. Are you sending someone else to get your banked gold? Banked gold? Barney dropped his jaw as the question was shot at him. Converting stock? Snapped Mr. Parsons. Barney stared and then smiled. All the stock I ever had is in my safe deposit box. Come on, I’ll show you at the bank. They were puzzled. Arthur Treadway was eager to claim that his friend and protetéé was innocent. The others were compelled to admit as Bob mentally decided that Barney’s face, manner, and actions were open and honest. That’s enough gas, said the rigger. Now, Al, fill her up with oil. I want to see Mr. Treadway. He descended from the aircraft, went to his employer, and with many protestations of delight gripped his hand. See here,” he urged. “Mr. Treadway, this crate they’re fueling is in a big rush. I have to make adjustments for balance before she is delivered. Can’t you take her up?” “Why not?” Mr. Treadway was anxious to get into action since he had agreed to return to life. “Hey, Bob, got her filled. Warm her up for Mr. Treadway.” Bob nodded, consulted the brand new instruments, and noted that the fuel and oil registered at full. Gas on, switch off, he told Al. Whirl that prop, Al. His brother did his bidding. It took several trials to start the new engine, but Bob got it going and then drew back the throttle to idling speed and went over to rejoin the group. I don’t think Arthur ought to take that crate up. Barney was half laughing. Of course, I know that the only wires I ever crossed was when I flew my crates over telegraph lines, but he might think I had them crossed in this ship. Oh no. Treadway laid a hand on his protege’s shoulder, but Bob was not watching Barney. His eyes were fixed on Sandy Jim, and he beckoned to his father. Hurriedly, rapidly, Bob spoke to his father. The detective nodded. I’ll get the speedster of Mr. Treadways warmed up too, Bob said softly. In case to Al’s amazement and Curt’s astonishment, the head of the sky squad beckoned furiously. They followed. See if there’s gas and oil in this, he urged as he led them to the ship he had flown the night before, returned to its field by Mr. Parsons. Listen, fellows, as he busied himself making ready to start the motor, getting the nose of the sport plane into the wind, Bob explained. What he said startled his comrades. While Mr. Treadway was joking Barney about the crossed wires, did you see Jim’s face? The rigger? Alex exclaimed. You mean when he got white? Yes, listen. Gas off. Switch on. Give her a spin, Curt. As the engine took up its roar, he clambored in again, leaned far over the edge to Kurt while Al climbed into the after seat. Sandy Jim turned white, he said above the engine. Hum. I think we found the real watch, fellows. Father is going to tell Barney in front of Sandy Jim about the crossed wires. Jim is acting nervous, added Curt. He’s turning. The chief has grabbed his arm. Now, Dad is going to say to Barney that he’s guilty, that he hates his benefactor because of the other man winning Barney’s girl. Of course, we know it’s Jim. Now, watch him. Jim’s being accused now. Look. Baffled, his face displaying his guilt. Sandy Jim fled to the new airplane. Without an instant of delay, Bob widened the throttle opening. Chapter 33. The Sky Squad wins. Roaring across the runway. Bob’s one purpose was to use the airplane as a missile to run it into the other before Sandy Jim could rise. In that he failed. The other ship was up and Bob knew that he had so much speed that he must take off or ram into a hanger. By a spurt of the cold engine, risking a stall to get his trucks over the hanger, Bob soared. Leveling off, he glanced around. To his amazement, he saw Al snapping on his safety belt in the rear cockpit seat. Al waved a hand, pointing to one side, and Bob looked. “He’s having trouble,” Al screamed. “He’s working on something.” Bob began to climb. “If he could force Jim to Earth as he had been herded the night before, Jim saw his move and with a demon’s venom drew a weapon and began to fire. But Bob sides slipped, dropped steeply into a dive to come out of the slip, and as he drew the ship to level flight, heard something strike the prop, saw it shatter. Jim had flung the metal gun so that the airplane ran into it. Bob began to look for a way to spiral back to the testing field. His propeller, with a blade shattered, was useless. Al screeched again. To the west, coming fast, was a ship they both recognized. Lang was returning in Griff’s speedster. Also, as Al pointed out, the cabin plane was rising from the landing field. Al was so excited that he waggled the stick. Then Bob saw, forstalled by the approach of Lang, with the other ship rising to chase, with his engine functioning badly and the resulting distraction of attention. Jim’s safety was endangered. The very thing that he had done when he planned to urge Mr. treadway to test the plane crossing two wires had prevented his escape. The new carburetor leaking dripped a rich gas and air mixture onto the sparking wires. There was a flash of flames as Bob looked. Almost he forgot his own purpose, but with stealed will he held his tight spiral, saw the cabin ship was out of his way, shot the field, and landed. When Lang and the others joined him beside the smoking ruins of the new ship, they saw Sandy Jim, who had tried to escape by jumping before the flames reached him. Wrenched, broken, bruised, he was still able to talk. “Come through, Jim. What’s the truth?” asked the chief. “I hated Treadway from the time he got the girl I wanted to marry,” Jim panted as they gave him water. I went from bad to worse, went to the dogs. I got in with tough men, tried prize fighting. And that’s how my face got changed. So I wasn’t easy to remember and recognize. Laid low for a while. Then I gave up plans for revenge and decided to come to work here to be close to the woman I loved. Only last fall she went away. So I knew Treadway had drove her to separate. You’re crazy. My wife went to Europe for a long visit with relatives in France. Honest. Then all my hate was on a wrong idea. Well, you know most of the rest. I damaged ships, worked with the bookkeeper and the supply cler and a manager of the wind sock to substitute cheap stuff for good. Sell the good and ruin the plant, but it was all no use and started on a wrong idea. No use to say I’m sorry, but well, boys, handle me easy. I’m no good, but I can feel pain. In that fashion, the culprit confessed. I feel sorry for Jimmy Jr. and the man’s wife, said Curt after the ambulance had taken Sandy Jim to the hospital. Jimmy Jr. isn’t his son, explained Mr. Parsons. He is the son of Sandy’s brother, whom Jim took to raise. It would be a good idea if you young men took him into the Sky Squad now to take his mind off his sorrow. But I saw his mother, and I thought she was Jim’s wife, said Al. No, she’s Jimmy Junior’s mother, but Sandy’s sister-in-law. Then let’s go, urged Bob. It’s just about time to wake up our new member. Thank you for joining us for The Mystery Crash by Arthur J. Ree. We hope you enjoyed the twists, the suspense, and the unraveling of a perplexing mystery. If you liked the story, don’t forget to subscribe to Classic Detective Mysteries for more captivating tales from the past. Until next time, keep your detective instincts sharp and remember, the truth is often stranger than fiction.