Dorothy Dixon and the Mystery Plane

“Oh, Miss Dorothy, I’m so sorry. Sure and I forgot to tell ye – Mr. Dixon won’t be home for dinner.”

“Did he telephone?”

“No, miss. He came home about quarter to five and packed his suitcase. He said to tell you he’d been called to Washington on business and he’d be gone a couple of days. Arthur drove him to Stamford to catch the New York express – he didn’t have much time.”

Dorothy helped herself to a spoonful of jellied bouillon. “Any other message?”

“Yes, miss. He said that Mister Terry hadn’t been found yet. I asked him b’cause I thought you’d like to know. That was all he said. I’m sure sorry I forgot it when you came in, but I – ”

“That’s all right, Lizzie, I understand. You come back for the tray in half an hour, will you? And if you find me asleep, don’t wake me up. I’m tired to death. I need a long rest and I’m going to take it.”

When Lizzie came back she found Dorothy deep in the sleep of exhaustion. She lowered the window blinds against the early morning light and picking up the tray from the end of the bed, tiptoed from the room.

Morning broke bright and clear with no sign of yesterday’s mist and rain. Dorothy remained in bed for breakfast and it took but little persuasion on the part of Lizzie to keep her there till lunch time. She still felt stiff and bruised and was only too content to rest and doze.

Toward noon she rose and dressed in her flying clothes. Immediately after lunch she went out to the hangar. She slipped into a serviceable and grubby pair of overalls, and spent the afternoon in giving Will-o’-the-Wisp a thorough grooming. At quarter to five she was in the air and headed for Long Island Sound.

Half an hour later, with an altitude of ten thousand feet, she was cruising over yesterday’s course above the Long Island shore, when she spied a biplane coming across the Sound. In an instant she had her field glasses out and focussed on the newcomer.

“That’s him!” she murmured ungrammatically, though with evident relief. “Now for a pleasant little game of hide-and-seek!”

The Mystery Plane was flying far below, so continuing on her course at right angles, she watched it with hurried glances over her shoulder. When she reached the Long Island Shore line, it was a mile or so behind and below Dorothy’s tailplane. So waiting only long enough to be sure that her quarry was headed across the Island, she banked her plane and sent it on a wide half circle to the right. Long Island, at this point, she knew was about twenty miles wide.

Dorothy’s plan for trailing the Mystery Plane and doing so without being seen, was as simple as it was direct. The farther end of her circular course would bring her over Great South Bay and the South shore of Long Island at approximately the same point for which the other plane seemed to be bound. She would arrive, of course, a minute or two behind the other aviator. And as she planned, so it happened.

From her high point of vantage, Dorothy, swinging on her arc a mile or so to the east, was able to keep the other amphibian continually in sight. She watched him pursue his southerly course until he came over the town of Babylon on Great South Bay. Here her glasses told her that the bearded aviator turned his plane to the left, heading east and up the bay in her direction.

Below her now lay the Bay, hemmed in from the Atlantic by long narrow stretches of white sand dunes. For a second or so Dorothy thought they would pass in the air, her plane far above the other. But before she reached that point, she saw the other make a crosswind landing and taxi toward a dock which jutted into the Bay from the dunes. Just beyond the dock an isolated cottage stood in a hollow on the bay side of the dunes. There was no other habitation in sight for over a mile in either direction.

“Aha! Run to earth at last!” muttered Dorothy contentedly. Maintaining her altitude, with Babylon across the bay to her right, she continued her westward course above the dunes.

A few miles past the cottage she flew over Fire Island Inlet. When she was opposite Amityville, she came about. Shutting off her engine, she tilted the stick forward and sent Will-o’-the-Wisp into a long glide which eventually landed her on the waters of Babylon harbor.

Dorothy stripped off her goggles and scanned the waterfront. Slightly to her left she spied a small shipyard, whose long dock bore a large sign which carried the legend: “Yancy’s Motor Boat Garage.”

“Good. Couldn’t be better!” exclaimed Miss Dixon in great satisfaction. “Atta girl, Wispy! We’re going over to have a talk with Mr. Yancy.”

She gave her plane the gun and taxiing slowly over the smooth water, through the harbor shipping, presently brought up at the Yancy wharf and made fast.

“Hello, there! Want gas?” sang out a voice above her, and Dorothy looked up. A smiling young man, dressed in extremely dirty dungarees was walking down the wharf toward her.

“Hello, yourself!” she returned as he came up. “No, I’m not out of gas, thank you. I want to hire a boat.”

“Better come ashore, then.” The man wiped his palms on a piece of clean cotton waste and gave her a hand up. “We’ve got plenty of boats – all kinds, lady. Got ’em fast and slow, big and little. Just what kind of a craft do you need?”

“Something with plenty of beam and seaworthy, that I can run without help. I’m not looking for speed. I may want to take her outside – I don’t know.”

The young man pointed down the wharf to where a rather bulky motor boat, broad of beam and about thirty feet waterline was moored head out to a staging.

“Mary Jane– that’s your boat,” announced Mr. Yancy. “She’s old and she ain’t got no looks, but she’s seaworthy and she’ll take you anywhere. You could run over to Paris or London in that old craft if you could pile enough gas aboard her.”

“She looks pretty big,” Dorothy’s tone was dubious. “Think I can handle her by myself?”

“She is big,” he admitted readily, “but she runs like a sewing machine and she’s all set to be taken out this minute if you want her.”

“I’ll look her over anyway,” she declared and led the way to the landing stage.

Stepping aboard the Mary Jane, she peeped into the small trunk cabin which was scarcely bigger than a locker, but would give shelter in case of rain. She observed that there were sailing lights, compass, horn and a large dinner bell in a rack, and two life preservers as well. In one of the lockers she came upon a chart. Stowed up in the forepeak were an anchor with a coil of line and three five-gallon tins of gasoline. A quick examination showed the fuel tank to have been filled.

The motor was a simple and powerful two-cylinder affair, with make-and-break ignition, noisy, but dependable; the sort of engine on which the fishermen and lobstermen along the coast hang their lives in offshore work. It seemed to Dorothy that it ought to kick the shallow old tub along at a good ten-knot gait. The boat itself though battered and dingy, appeared to be sound and staunch so far as one could see.

“I’ll take her,” decided Dorothy. “That is, if she’s not too expensive?”

“I guess we ain’t goin’ to fight about the price, mam,” asserted Yancy. “How long will you be wantin’ her and when do you expect to take her out?”

“Not before nine tonight – and I’ll hire her for twenty-four hours.”

“O. K. mam. You can have her for a year if you want her. How about your air bus?”

“She’ll be left here. I want you to look after her. I don’t think there’ll be any wind to speak of. She’ll be all right where she is.”

“We’re going to get rain in a couple of hours, so if you’ll make her secure, I’ll have her towed out to that buoy yonder. I’ll rest easier with her moored clear of this dock.”

“I’ll pull the waterproof covers over the cockpits and she’ll be all right,” returned Dorothy. “Then we can go up to your office and fix up the finances.”

Chapter VI

THE HOUSE ON THE DUNES

Having come to agreeable terms with Mr. Yancy and having secured the name and location of Babylon’s best restaurant, Dorothy left the waterfront and walked uptown. A glance at her wrist-watch told her it was not yet seven o’clock. She was in no hurry, for she had more than two hours to wait before it would be dark enough to start. So she strolled along the bustling streets of the little city, feeling very much pleased with the way things were progressing.

Arrived at the restaurant, she ordered a substantial meal and while waiting for it to be served, sought a telephone booth. She asked for the toll operator and put in a call for New Canaan. A little while later she was summoned to the phone.

“Is that you, Lizzie? Yes. I – no, no, I’m perfectly all right – ” she spoke soothingly into the transmitter. “Don’t worry about me, please. I’ve had to go out of town, and I wanted to let you know that I won’t be back till morning. Never mind, now. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good-by!” She replaced the receiver and went back to her table, a little smile on her lips at the memory of Lizzie’s distracted voice over the wire.

“Poor Lizzie! She’s all worked up again at what she calls my ‘wild doin’s’,” she thought. And with a determined glint in her eyes, she proceeded to eat heartily.

When she had finished, she asked at the desk for a sheet of paper and an envelope. She took these over to her table, ordered a second cup of coffee, and began to compose a letter. This took her some time, for in it she explained her maneuvers during the afternoon, and gave the exact location of the cottage on the dunes, where she believed the Mystery Plane’s pilot had been bound. She ended with a sketch of her plans for the evening and addressed the envelope to Terry Walters’ father. With her mind now easy in case of misadventure, she paid her bill and walked back to the water front.

“Good evening, Miss Dixon,” greeted Yancy as she stepped into his office. “I’ve done what you asked me to. You’ll find a pair of clean blankets, some fresh water and eatables for two days stowed in the Mary Jane’s cabin. I know you don’t intend to be out that long, but it’s always wise to be on the safe side with the grub.”

“Thanks. You’re a great help. Now, just one thing more before I shove off. Although I’ve rented your boat for twenty-four hours, I really expect to be back here tomorrow morning at the latest. If I don’t turn up by noon, will you please send this letter by special delivery to Mr. Walters in New Canaan?”

“I sure will, Miss Dixon. But you’re not lookin’ for trouble, are you?”

Dorothy shook her head and smiled. “Nothing like that, Mr. Yancy. I just want Mr. Walters to know where I am and what I’m doing.”

“Good enough, Mam. Anything else I can do?”