The Flying Boys in the Sky

He added in a lower voice:

“What is left of one of them lies a little way from here; the body must not be neglected.”

The announcement caused a striking change in the moods of all. Three of the men walked forth with the detective and viewed all that remained of the Black Hander. One of them carried a blanket which was tenderly laid over the body.

“It is best not to remove it until the coroner has given permission,” explained the officer; “since there has been a death he must make an investigation.”

The party straggled back to town, Uncle Tommy being the only one who stayed behind. Detective Pendar having decided upon his course acted promptly. When he entered the telegraph office he found a long message from Mr. Hastings awaiting him. It was so fervent in its expressions of gratitude that the eyes of the detective filled and he could not command his voice for some minutes. The telegram contained a loving message to the child, and the assurance that the father would start for Chesterton at once to bring her home.

Pendar sent notices to all the nearby towns and to the large cities, doing his work so thoroughly that he said to himself as he lighted a cigar and leaned back in his chair:

“If those two fellows can break through the net that I have spread round them, they will almost deserve to get away. They may keep in hiding for several days, but sooner or later they will be gathered in.”

Harvey Hamilton proposed to carry Grace in his aeroplane to Philadelphia, confident that by starting early the next morning he could reach her home by noon, but his friend showed him the folly of anything of that nature. She was unaccustomed to riding in the air, and an accident was more than likely. Moreover, her father was due in Chesterton on the afternoon of the morrow.

“The child has already passed through too much to incur any more danger from which it is possible to save her. And that reminds me, Harvey,” added the detective with a smile, “you have decided by this time who it was that chopped up your aeroplane.”

“It must have been Catozzi and Caprioni.”

“Beyond a doubt.”

“Why did they do it?”

“They may have seen a possible danger in the presence of a machine like that in the neighborhood of Chesterton and decided to put it out of commission.”

“Why didn’t they do the same with my second?”

“It would have involved a great deal more risk, and could have accomplished little or nothing for them. Besides, we mustn’t forget the element of unadulterated cussedness that actuates so many members of mankind. Professor Morgan took a fancy to inspect your machine at close range without the chance of meeting you, and so he made a visit early in the morning, only to find it smashed to everlasting smithereens. He left, your colored boy being just in time to gain a glimpse of him, and straightway telegraphed your father, and you know what followed.”

This part of my story may be summed up in a few sentences. On the morrow the coroner entered into an official investigation, as in duty bound, of the death of the Italian supposed to be Giuseppe Caprioni, blown up by the explosion of a bomb. The testimony of Professor Milo Morgan was much needed, but he had departed no one knew whither, and that of Simmons Pendar supplied its place. The verdict was in accordance with the facts, so far as they could be ascertained, and the body was buried in Potter’s Field.

The next day the gratifying intelligence came that both Catozzi and Pierotti had been captured in Groveton, only twelve miles from Chesterton. Driven out by hunger they had applied at a house for food, and were quickly arrested. They were tried, found guilty and sentenced to the longest terms possible in State Prison, where it is to be hoped they will spend the remainder of their days.

Horace Hastings reached Chesterton by special train earlier than was expected and took his child home with him.

CHAPTER XXXIII

WHERE IS BOHUNKUS?

Harvey Hamilton stayed in Chesterton till the close of the incidents just narrated. His interest was so stirred that he had no wish to leave before their conclusion. During the hours of waiting, he made several short flights in his aeroplane, and when he and Detective Pendar were called upon to give their evidence the flying machine was convenient. In addition, he gave several of the townsmen the most thrilling experiences of their lives. He invited Uncle Tommy Waters to accompany him on an aerial excursion, but a million dollars would not have tempted the old gentleman to take his feet off the firm earth.

A seemingly small matter gave the young aviator anxiety. Upon his return from the explosion of the shanty, he expected to find Bohunkus Johnson either sitting on the porch of the hotel or strolling about the town. Although the colored youth was offended by the brusque reproof of Harvey, it was not his nature to hold a grudge, and his friend was prepared to meet him half way and apologize for his hasty words, but no Bohunkus showed up. The night passed without his appearance. Harvey went to his room in the early morning only to find that his bed had not been occupied.

“He has gone home,” was the conclusion of the youth. “If he wishes to pout I shall not interfere, but he ought to have left some word for me.”

While waiting in Chesterton, Harvey wrote a letter to his father, giving a full account of the recovery of little Grace Hastings, her restoration to her parents and the capture of the two surviving members of the Black Hand, which, as has been stated, was duly followed by their sentence to long terms in the penitentiary. This letter was crossed by one from his father, which confirmed the explanation made by Mr. Pendar of the wrecking of the first aeroplane. He had received quick notice of the misfortune from Professor Morgan, and sympathizing with his son had provided him with a second flying machine in record time. When a young man who took an aerial ride with Harvey told him he had seen the two supposed commercial travelers in the vicinity of the hotel sheds at daylight of the eventful morning, the last shadow of doubt was removed as to the identity of the offenders.

Mr. Hastings paid over the entire reward to Simmons Pendar, who would have insisted that one-half of the large sum should go to Harvey Hamilton, had the latter not notified him that any such proposition would be accepted as an insult.

Despite a feeling of vexation, Harvey became so concerned over Bohunkus that he finally telegraphed to Mr. Cecil Hartley, the farmer to whom the colored boy had been bound years before, and asked whether he was at home. The reply was that he had not been seen since he left in the aeroplane with Harvey. This was disquieting news and the youth did not know what to make of it. Had not Detective Pendar been absent just then he would have applied to him for counsel. Enlightenment, however, came from an unexpected quarter.

It was on the evening of the second day, after the guests at the hotel had eaten supper and left the dining-room, that the landlord came out and sat down near Harvey, who occupied a chair at the farther end of the porch. The boniface was chuckling as if in good humor over something. Harvey wondered what it could be.

“You ain’t worrying about that darkey of yours?” was the first question.

“I am not worried so much as I am curious,” replied the youth; “he took offense the other day because I reproved him for an act of stupidity, but it is not his nature to sulk so long. I thought he had gone home, but learned a short while ago that he hasn’t been there.”

“Oh, no; he’s a long way from home by this time.”

“Do you know where he is?” asked the startled Harvey.

“Not precisely, but I reckon I can make a good guess.”

“Please do so.”

“You remember that after that queer crank that they call Professor Morgan had blowed up the headquarters of them kidnappers, he did not stay in them parts.”

“No; I noticed he headed for Chesterton.”

“That’s where he came; he landed in the shed yard near the spot where your machine was smashed and had hardly touched the airth when that darkey of yours was there and the two begun talking together mighty earnest.”

“Do you know what it was about?” asked Harvey, in whose mind a sudden suspicion had formed.

“I don’t know what was said at first, ’cause they was too fur off for me to hear, but they hadn’t been talking more’n five minutes – maybe not that long – when they walked up on the porch and sot down. I was standing a few feet from them looking out at the things which was beginning to hum, so I heard about all that was said. What do you ’spose it was about?”

“I can make a guess, but I prefer you should tell me.”

“That darkey said something about his father that was a famous chief in Africa that he’d like to visit, and he asked the Professor if he couldn’t take him there. The Professor said nothing in the world was easier, though he wasn’t sure his machine was quite ready, but it would be very soon. He had made a lot of wonderful inventions and had figured out things so he could keep afloat in the air for nigh twenty-four hours. They would have to do better than that to cross the Atlantic Ocean, but he hadn’t any doubt he would soon have matters settled so there would be no trouble. As near as I could make out, the Professor invited him to go along and stay with him while he finished some experiments and got things fixed so he could remain aloft for two or three weeks, without taking aboard any new ile.”

“And Bohunkus agreed to that!” exclaimed Harvey.

“If that is the darkey’s name, he jumped at the chance. The Professor’s idea was to wait at the hotel here for two or three days, till matters sort of quieted down, but the African insisted they should start at once.”

“That perhaps was natural, but did he give any reasons for his haste?”

The landlord chuckled again.

“He said it was on your account; you was always interfering with his affairs, and you’d be sure to make objections; you meant well, but you didn’t know much and they would have trouble with you if they didn’t leave before you got back. I hope you ain’t offended with the words I’m telling you.”

“Offended!” repeated Harvey, “that good-hearted fellow couldn’t offend me; I only feel concern because he has placed himself in the hands of a lunatic.”

“That’s the Professor and no mistake. Well, the darkey had it all his own way. Not long after, they walked out to the shed yards and shot away in that outlandish machine that doesn’t make any noise and travels like a greased streak of lightning. Before they started, the Professor told the darkey he must not write any letter of explanation to you.”

“Did he do so?”

“He didn’t think of it at first, but the Professor had reminded him, so he went to his own room and wrote without his knowledge.”

“What did he do with the letter?”