The Flying Boys in the Sky

“I am not surprised. I do not recall that I have anything more to say. Will you be good enough to glance up and down the hall in search of anything suspicious?”

The detective himself noiselessly opened the door. Harvey stepped outside and stood listening and gazing toward the rear through the dimly lighted avenue, that being the direction in which the rooms referred to were situated.

“I cannot see or hear anything – ”

Turning to face the man whom he addressed, and whom he supposed to be standing directly behind him, Harvey saw nobody. The room was empty. The amazed youth looked the other way, where the stairs lay. He was barely in time to catch a glimpse of his caller in gray as he turned the short corner and disappeared down the steps like a gliding shadow.

“That beats everything,” remarked the wondering young aviator, who now locked his door and prepared for bed.

It was a long time, however, after he turned off the light and stretched out on the soft mattress before he was able to woo slumber. Now that the detective had recalled the kidnapping of the Hastings child in Philadelphia, many minor particulars came back to the youth. All these helped to stir his feelings, until he longed for the morning when he could begin his work of bringing the unspeakable miscreants to justice. He comprehended vividly the anguish of those stricken hearts in their luxurious home, and shuddered to think that his own sister Mildred might have been the stolen child.

With his thoughts flitting with lightning rapidity from one subject to another, Harvey regretted that he had not questioned the officer about Professor Morgan. It would be interesting to learn how the two had become acquainted.

“I wonder,” added our young friend, following one of his innumerable whimsies, “whether the Professor is on this job too. He seems to be lingering in these parts, and he certainly has advantages which can never be mine. Perhaps when I called to him, he feared it would complicate matters if I was allowed to mix in. What’s the use of guessing?” he exclaimed impatiently, as he flung himself on his side and tried for the twentieth time to coax gentle slumber to come to him.

The coquettish goddess consented after a time, though the hour was past midnight when the youth closed his eyes. Such being the situation, it is not strange that Bohunkus Johnson was the first out of bed in the morning, and down stairs. He was thinking of the aeroplane and fearful that it had been molested during the night.

“I orter watched it agin,” was his thought as he dashed out of doors.

A few minutes later, Harvey Hamilton was startled by footsteps rushing along the hall, followed by a furious thumping on his door.

“Git up, Harv, quick!” he shouted; “somebody has busted de airyplane all to flinders!”

CHAPTER XIX

THE AEROPLANE DESTROYED

With one bound Harvey Hamilton leaped out of bed and jerked open the door. Bohunkus Johnson stood before him, atremble with excitement.

“What is it you say?” demanded the young aviator.

“De airyplane am smashed all to bits! It am kindling wood and nuffin else!” replied the dusky lad, who staggered into the room and dropped into a chair, so overcome that he was barely able to stand.

Never did Harvey dress so quickly. While flinging on his garments, his tongue was busy.

“Have you any idea who did it?”

“Gee! I wish I had! I’d sarve him de same way!”

“Is any one near it?”

“Not a soul; dat is dere wa’n’t anyone when I snoke out dere and took a look. Ain’t it too bad, Harv? We’ll have to walk home.”

“We can ride in the cars; that isn’t worth thinking about.”

Talking in an aimless way, the youths a minute later ran along the hall, skittered down stairs and dashed out to the sheds at the rear of the hotel. The landlord, who was alone in the bar-room, stared wonderingly at them as they shot through the door, but asked no questions.

Bohunkus had scarcely exaggerated in his story. No aeroplane that gave out in the upper regions and slanted downward to rocky earth was ever more utterly wrecked. One or more persons had evidently used a heavy axe to work the destruction. Both wings had been smashed, fully two-thirds of the ribs being splintered; the lever handles were broken and even the two blades of the propeller had been shattered. The machine had been hacked in other places. The engine, carbureter and magneto were about all that remained intact, and even they showed dents and bruises as if attempts had been made to destroy them.

Harvey walked sadly around the ruin and viewed it from every angle. His face was pale, for his indignation was stirred to the profoundest depths. He said nothing until his companion asked:

“Who’d you think done it?”

“I have no more idea than the man in the moon. There may have been only one person, or there may have been half a dozen. Ah, if I knew!”

Several men straggled into the open yard and to the shed where they gathered about the two youths. Harvey looked around and saw there were six, with others coming into sight. Somehow or other the news of such outrages seems to travel by a system of wireless telegraphy of their own. In a short time a score of spectators were gathered, all asking questions and making remarks.

The thought struck Harvey that among this group were probably the criminals. He looked into their faces and compressing his lips said:

“I’ll give a hundred dollars to learn what scoundrel did this.”

“I’ll gib fourteen million,” added Bohunkus enthusiastically.

A tall, stoop-shouldered young man shook his head.

“Whoever he was he oughter be lynched and I’d like to help do it.”

The suspicion entered the mind of the young aviator that it was not at all unlikely that the speaker was the guilty one. With him might have been joined others and Harvey studied their faces in the hope of gaining a clue, but in vain. Knowing his father would back his action he said:

“That was done by some person in Chesterton; you know the people better than I do; if you would like to earn two hundred dollars find who he or they were.”

Something in the nature of a reaction came over our young friend. Ashamed of his weakness, he turned his back on the group, walked rapidly to the hotel and went to his room. And it must be confessed that when he reached that, he sat down in his chair, covered his face with his hands and sobbed as if his heart were broken. Bohunkus, who was at his heels, faced him in another chair, and unable to think of anything appropriate for the occasion, held his peace, frequently crossing and uncrossing his beam-like legs, clenching his fists and sighing. He yearned to do something, but couldn’t decide what it should be.

Harvey’s outburst lasted only a brief while. He washed his face and deliberately completed his toilet.

“There’s no use of crying over spilt milk, Bunk,” he remarked calmly; “let’s go down to breakfast.”

“I knowed dere was something I’d forgot, – and dat’s it. Seems to me I’m allers hungry, Harv.”

“I have thought that a good many times.”

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do, so’s to git rewenge on ’em.”

“What’s that?” asked Harvey, who, as is sometimes the case in mental stress, felt an almost morbid interest in trifles.

“Let’s eat up eberything in de house, so de rest ob de people will starve to def; de willain dat done dat will be among ’em and dat’s de way we’ll get eben wid him.”

“You might be able, Bunk, to carry out your plan, but I couldn’t give you much help. Come on and I’ll try to think out what is the best thing to do.”

The second descent of the boys was a contrast to their first. They showed little or no trace of agitation, as they walked into the dining-room and sat down at the long table where three other guests had preceded them. Harvey was so disturbed that he ate only a few mouthfuls, but hardly less than an earthquake would have affected the appetite of his companion.

In turning over in his mind the all-absorbing question, Harvey Hamilton could think of only one explanation. He believed the destruction of his aeroplane was due to simple wantonness, for many a man and boy do mischief just because it is mischief and they know such action is wrong on their part. It was impossible that he should have an enemy in this country town. It might be the guilty one or ones were actuated by an unreasoning jealousy or a superstitious belief that the strange machine was likely to inflict evil upon the community.

Something like this we say was his theory, though he was not entirely rid of a vague belief that some other cause might exist. This was an occasion when he needed the aid of the detective, Simmons Pendar, who was not in the dining-room nor had he seen him about the hotel. In the hope of discovering his friend Harvey strolled into the sitting-room and took the seat he had occupied the day before. The man in gray was invisible, as were the two foreign looking individuals who were under suspicion by the officer.

The question which the young aviator was asking himself was as to the right course for him to follow. Deprived in this summary fashion of his air machine, he was without power of giving Pendar any help in his attempt to recover little Grace Hastings from the kidnappers. Any essay on his part in that direction, now that he was confined to earth, was sure to hinder more than to aid.

He was still in a maze of perplexity when Bohunkus came ponderously to his feet and started through the door connecting with the hall which led up stairs. Harvey naturally looked up to learn why he did so. With the door drawn back and the negro in the act of stepping across the threshold, he turned his head, grinned and winked at his friend. Then he passed out, closing the door behind him, and the mystified Harvey heard his muffled footsteps along the hall and ascending the stairs.