Dorothy Dixon and the Mystery Plane

“You stay where you are, young woman.” As the man’s anger grew, his accent became stronger. “I haf no time to bodder wid you. Go away – and stop away!”

“But I just want – ”

“I don’t care what you want. Come alongside, and I’ll use this wrench on you!”

“Oh, no you won’t!”

Terry Walters slipped round the engine and tripped up the aviator. Before that irate person knew what was happening he found himself flat on his back with a hundred and sixty pounds of young American kneeling on his chest, menacing him with his own monkey-wrench.

“That’s not a nice way to talk to a lady!” Terry remarked dispassionately eyeing his victim. “Ask her pardon like a good little boy. Do it quickly, my friend, or I’ll plant this wrench in the middle of that bush you call a face!”

“I didn’t mean nossing,” the man grunted.

“Try again!” Terry whacked his captive’s shin with the wrench. “Also try to cut the double negatives. Our English teacher says they’re bad form and – ”

Terry’s banter stopped with a yelp of pain as the man’s head jerked upward and his teeth snapped on the hand which held the wrench.

Dorothy, who had swum to within a few feet of the amphibian, saw Terry thrown to one side. Like cats, the boy and the man seemed to land on their feet – but now it was the strange aviator who held the monkey-wrench.

“Look out, Terry!” shrieked the girl as she saw the man’s arm swing upward.

The small deck forward of the lower wing section was far too narrow to permit dodging. Terry did the only thing possible under the circumstances to save himself. Three seasons on the football team of the New Canaan High had made that young man a quick thinker. He dove below the swinging blow and tackled the aviator just above his knees. It was a well aimed tackle and the two went hurtling overside to disappear with a splash.

Terry’s blond head was the first to appear. Then as the aviator’s came popping up, facing the other way, young Walters seized him by the shoulders and sent him under once more.

“Let the man alone, Terry!” commanded Dorothy. “Can’t you see he’s swallowed half the Sound?”

“But he’d have brained me with that wrench, Dot – ”

“I’ll ‘Dot’ you if you take liberties with my first name!” Miss Dixon shook her fist above her head, “Anyway, it’s my fault. I butted in. That man and his plane are none of our business.”

They were swimming back toward the float now and a glance over her shoulder told Dorothy that their late antagonist was pulling himself aboard the amphibian.

Terry saw him too, and waved a hand. But the foreigner, occupied in wringing water out of his clothes, disregarded them.

“I’ve had enough of the water for one day,” declared Dorothy between strokes. “How’s the wrist? You might have been badly hurt, Terry.”

Terry motioned toward the float. “But I wasn’t, old thing,” he chuckled. “Come over to the raft a moment, before we go ashore. I’ve got something I want to show you.”

“Make it snappy, then,” she rejoined. “You and I have got to be at Silvermine by seven-thirty, you know. Curtain up at eight-thirty – and you remember what Mr. Watkins said about any of the cast being late?”

Terry swung himself up on the decking and gave a hand to Dorothy.

“I’m only a chorus man,” he grinned. “We’ll both get to the Sillies in time. Look at this – ”

He opened his hand and held it out, palm upward.

“I’m not interested in seaweed!” Dorothy’s tone was full of disgust.

“Seaweed, nothing! That’s a piece of your friend’s beard!”

“You don’t mean to tell me you pulled it out?”

“Not out, dearie – off. That wasn’t his own hair that lad was wearing.”

“A false beard?”

“What else?”

Dorothy pursed her lips. “Well, that amphibian and its pilot are two of the most mysterious things I’ve ever run into.”

“I wonder what he is up to, Dot – I mean, Dorothy?”

“I wonder, too. By the way, how did you happen out there – and just at the right minute? I thought I saw you start a race for the beach with Betty and Phil?”

Terry nodded his wet head and laughed. “That was only a bluff to make you think I wasn’t coming after you. As I saw you were having an argument with him, and I didn’t like the way he was acting, I swam around the tail of his plane and got aboard on the farther deck – and – well, you know the rest. Why did you want to go aboard?”

“Curiosity, pure and simple. Have you any idea why he flies over the Club nearly every afternoon, and always at the same time?”

“No – have you?”

“Not the dimmest. But now that I know friend pilot wears false whiskers, I’m certainly intrigued.”

“Come again,” frowned Terry. “I didn’t get that last one. Did you say intrigued?”

“Cut the clowning. This is serious, Terry. That fellow is up to some mischief, or he wouldn’t disguise himself.”

Behind them the amphibian’s engine sputtered, then roared.

“I’ve got an idea,” said Terry as the two watched the plane taxi out toward the takeoff. “Why don’t you get your bus and follow that bird some afternoon?”

“I’d already decided to do it tomorrow. Want to come?”

“You bet! How do you expect to work it?”

“Look here, if we’re going to make that show on time, we’d better go right now. We’ll make our plans later. Come along.”

Their bodies cut the water with hardly a splash as they raced for the beach. Out in the inlet the amphibian rose gracefully into the air and headed into the mist which was creeping up Long Island Sound.

Chapter II

THE THREE RED LAMPS

In the wooded valley of the Silvermine, some three miles from the village of New Canaan, lies the famous artists’ colony which bears the name of that rippling little river. In the midst of this interesting community, the artists have built their Guild House, where exhibitions of paintings and sculpture are held. And here it is that once a year they give that delightful entertainment known as the Silvermine Sillies.

The casts of the Sillies invariably comprise the pick of local talent from the two communities. Dorothy had starred in the musical show given by the New Canaan High School the previous winter. She had a lovely voice and a natural talent for acting. She loved amateur theatricals. But that she should have been assigned a part in the Sillies while yet in High School was a compliment beyond her expectations. She had worked hard at rehearsals and under an assumed calm was wildly excited on this, the opening night of the show.

She left Terry on the beach, after cautioning that young man again not to be late, and ran up the shingle to the Dixons’ cabana, which, together with its gaily painted counterparts, flanked the long club house at the top of the beach.