The Flying Boys in the Sky

“Not as yet; I count myself fortunate that I have thrown them off the scent completely. There is no doubt of that, though it looks as if there will be a waking up before to-morrow night.”

“You have played your part with skill, Mr. Pendar.”

“I’ll not deny that I feel some pride over my work thus far; but, all the same, I have as yet accomplished nothing, and it is by no means certain that I shall do anything more than pay a set of criminals fifty thousand dollars to give back the child they have stolen.”

At this point Harvey recalled the other matters that had slipped his mind during his previous talk with the detective.

“You know, Mr. Pendar, that since Bunk and I started on our little sail through the upper regions, we have several times run across a curious character called Professor Milo Morgan.”

“I know him well; he is a crank of the first order.”

“He was friendly at first and did me a great favor when I was in danger of being mobbed, but it is hard to forgive one of his acts.”

“What was that?”

“Wrecking my aeroplane, by chopping and battering it to pieces when it was housed under the sheds of this hotel.”

The detective rose from the side of the bed and stood upright in the gloom in front of his young friend.

“What in the name of the seven wonders put that fancy into your head?”

“Why,” replied Harvey hesitatingly, not expecting such an implied contradiction; “it couldn’t have been any one else.”

“Well, it was some one else; Professor Morgan had no more to do with destroying your biplane than King George V.”

The amazed Harvey stared in astonishment.

“Bunk saw him sneaking out of the back of the shed early in the morning, when he went to look at the machine.”

“Did the Professor have an axe or hatchet in his hand?”

“I believe not.”

“Having told you what he did not do, can you now form an idea of what he did do?”

“I suppose he went off in that marvelous monoplane of his.”

“But previous to that?”

“I haven’t the remotest idea.”

“He went to the telegraph office as soon as it was open, and sent your father a long message, giving the particulars of your misfortune. Your father, like the good fellow he is, immediately ordered a new machine, which reached you this morning.”

“I am amazed and gratified,” replied Harvey; “the first chance I have I shall apologize to Professor Morgan.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“He will know that you have been idiot enough to suspect him.”

“But, Mr. Pendar, do you know who did destroy my machine?”

“Don’t you?”

“I have no suspicion.”

“Well, I shall leave you to solve one of the simplest problems that was ever submitted to a ten-year old child. I was so certain you knew the truth at once, that I didn’t think it worth while to make any reference to it when we next spoke together.”

CHAPTER XXVII

BOHUNKUS AT THE LEVERS

Fortunately for Detective Pendar, the room which he occupied at the hotel in Chesterton gave him a view of the immense forest to the westward, over which Harvey Hamilton’s aeroplane was to sail in its search for the headquarters of the men who had kidnapped little Grace Hastings.

The keen-witted officer was right in his belief that he had diverted suspicion from himself, but how long this favorable situation would continue was problematical to the last degree. It seemed impossible to make any effective move without betraying his real character, as well as the business that had brought him to this little country town in eastern Pennsylvania.

Pendar easily learned one fact: neither Catozzi nor Caprioni had occupied their room the previous night, nor did they show up in the morning at the hotel. His theory was that the couple had gone to the retreat in the woods, where they were likely to stay until the ransom was paid for the child. The nearness of the crisis made this reasoning plausible. It followed, therefore, that at the time the detective was threading his way through the gloomy labyrinths, they were doing the same, though over a different course. They and he must have been near each other some time during the night, but it was well he saw nothing of them. While it may be difficult for one person to shadow another in certain circumstances, an Apache warrior could not have trailed two vigilant kidnappers, when they were alert against such a betrayal. The chances would have been in favor of the detective himself being discovered and all his schemes brought to naught.

In his exceeding caution, he continued to meet the two youths as if they were strangers. When the time came for the starting of the aeroplane, Pendar did not join the gaping crowd, but stayed in his room on the upper floor, awaiting the call to use his field glass. He heard the deafening roar of the motor, and a minute later saw the odd looking structure climb from the open space into the upper regions, and sail away to the westward. He saw Bohunkus Johnson, the proudest youth in the whole country, seated in front, with his hands upon the levers, behind him was Harvey Hamilton with a sharp eye upon his movements.

Detective Pendar saw the aeroplane slant upward and travel at a rapid pace. It was not necessary to employ his glasses, and he watched the flight of the machine until it was nearly a half mile away. Then he brought the instrument to his eyes, carefully adjusted the focal distance and did not allow anything to escape his searching vision. His first sensation was pleased surprise over the excellence of the instrument. Every outline of the aeroplane came out clear and sharp, and it seemed as if the two youths were near enough for them to hear him if he spoke in a conversational tone. He noticed that the negro continued to sit straight, as if under the eyes of the crowd that had seen him leave Chesterton, but Harvey Hamilton was leaning slightly forward, like one studying every feature of the landscape sweeping under him.

The several days which the detective had spent in the neighborhood had given him a good knowledge of its topography. He was quick, therefore, to observe that the aeroplane was following a course well to the north of its former one. This was prudent on the part of the young aviator, for it gave him new view instead of the old one which could serve him no further. He was approaching the ridge over which he had sailed the previous day.

As the distance between the watcher and the aeroplane rapidly increased, the detective almost held his breath. He was leaning against the window sill in order to make his posture firm and prevent the slightest wavering of the instrument. With one hand he occasionally turned the little cogged wheel in front so as to keep the focus right, and not allow the slightest detail to escape him.

“He is as far to the west as Uncle Tommy’s house, but a half mile north of that. This will show him all he needs to see in that direction.”

The watcher’s heart began to misgive him, for the machine was fast receding, and though Harvey must be intently watching he failed to make any sign. Even with the power of the field glass, the great bird with its spreading wings began to flicker, and Pendar was no longer able to clearly make out the forms of the youths seated therein.

Suddenly the aeroplane flickered, became indistinct and the nearer margin of the woods shut it from sight.

“Another failure!” muttered the watcher bitterly. “I may as well get ready to hand over that fortune to as vile a gang as was ever disgorged from the mountains of Sicily.”

The upper sash was lowered that he might obtain an unobstructed view of the soft tinted sky beyond. He took care to stand far enough back in the room to be out of sight of any persons in the street below. If either of the Italians had returned, he did not mean they should learn how he was spending the minutes.

“I did not provide last night what young Hamilton should do if he failed to make the discovery on his first, or rather second voyage over the woods. It will be risky for him to come back, but it may look as if he were on a little trial trip with his negro and wished to return so as to take charge himself. If he does that he will take a course to the south of his first trip, and, by Jove! there he comes!”

It gave the detective an expectant thrill to see the ship of the sky swim into his field of vision and head directly toward him. Harvey Hamilton was following the plan which had presented itself to the man. The first flight disclosed the home of Uncle Tommy Waters the weather prophet; the second revealed nothing, and the third, well to the south, must tell the tale. The crisis was at hand.

The officer did not call his field glass into play. The aeroplane was not only plainly visible, but was becoming more vivid every minute. Its elevation was five or six hundred feet, and the watcher breathlessly waited for the sudden shift that was to proclaim the discovery. The machine skimmed through the air without deviation, like a stone when it first leaves the sling, and then the abrupt shift came.

But to Pendar’s consternation the aeroplane instead of shooting upward dived toward the ground!

He snatched the glasses to his eyes. By their aid he saw Harvey Hamilton leaning forward and gesticulating excitedly to Bohunkus Johnson. The deafening racket of the engine rendered his voice useless, but he managed to make his wishes known. In desperate need he might reach the levers, and if anything had gone wrong with the machine this would have been done. But it was quickly evident that there had been a misunderstanding between the two. Bohunkus must have thought Harvey meant him to approach the earth, though it was impossible to land unless some open space presented itself. The dipping of the forward rudder brought the biplane half way down before the controller comprehended what was expected of him. Then he pointed the horizontal plane upward at so great an angle that the ascent became startlingly rapid.

Even in the extremity of anxiety, Detective Pendar could not repress a smile at the sight which the glass revealed. The head of Bunk kept flitting back and forth, in his efforts to handle the machine and to learn what Harvey was trying to tell him. Pendar saw the young aviator shake his fist angrily, and once he seemed on the point of cuffing the heavy-witted youth for his stupidity. For a minute or two the aeroplane wavered and swayed to that degree that it seemed on the point of capsizing, but Bohunkus gradually regained control, and began his manœuvers to land in the open space from which he had ascended. He made a mess of it, the wheels striking the ground so hard that both the boys came within a hair of pitching out. Then the biplane banged over the road, coming to a halt barely in time to escape a disastrous collision with a telegraph pole.