The Flying Boys in the Sky
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“You have gauged his character correctly.”
“As I did yours.”
“Don’t be too certain of that; you were correct at least in believing you would enlist my efforts in your work.”
“When will you be ready to begin?”
“To-morrow morning, – provided the weather proves as clear as that old farmer declared it would be.”
“I heard his prophecy; his neighbors believe him infallible; I think you can count on favoring conditions. Bear in mind that your task is simple. You cannot halt and rest in the air, because you have to travel rapidly to sustain yourself, but you see the enormous advantages your position gives you. Wherever a house, even the smallest one, stands in the woods, the roof or some part of it must be visible from above. The abductors of the child will treat her well so long as there is a prospect of obtaining the ransom, for it is to their interest to do so. There must be cooking done in the dwelling, and the smoke will show; washing and other things are necessary, – all of which you can learn without the aid of glasses from a perch of several hundred feet. Are you acquainted with an aviator known as Professor Morgan?”
The abrupt question startled the youth.
“I met him last night and again this forenoon. He is a crank.”
“Rather; his mind is unbalanced, but for all that it is a brilliant intellect which has been knocked topsy-turvy by studying out inventions in aviation.”
“And he has made some wonderful ones. He told me he had discovered a chemical which mixed with gasoline will keep him in the air for twelve hours, and he is confident that he will soon double and triple its effectiveness. He has already learned how to sustain his machine for some time motionless.”
“Have you seen him do it?”
“I have,” and Harvey related the incident of the Professor dropping the giant crackers among the group on the edge of the wood.
“It is a most extraordinary achievement. I suppose he has managed to secure in some way the action of supports which operate like the wings of a bird, when he holds himself stationary in the sky.”
“Furthermore, he runs his machine without noise, which is another feat that no one else has been able to attain. It seems to me also that his ‘Dragon of the Skies,’ as he has named it, can travel faster than the swiftest eagle.”
It was in the mind of Harvey to ask the detective how he came to form the acquaintance of Professor Morgan and to inquire whether he knew the crank was in Chesterton at that moment, or had been there during the afternoon; but, as the caller did not volunteer the information, the youth forbore questioning him.
“We shall not forget that whenever and wherever we meet outside of this room, it will be as strangers. If you wish to speak to me on anything, you will take off your cap and scratch your head. If I see that, I shall accept it as notice that you have something important to say. As soon as you can do so without attracting notice you will go to your room. When the coast becomes clear I shall follow you, but prudence may require me to delay doing so for an hour or for several hours.”
At that moment both were startled by a loud knock on the door. On the instant, Detective Pendar whispered:
“Make believe you are asleep.”
Waiting, therefore, until the summons had been twice repeated, Harvey asked mumblingly:
“Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Bunk.”
“What do you want?”
“Didn’t yo’ tole me dat I warn’t to bodder yo’ and yo’ would call me in de morning?”
“Of course I did; what’s the matter with you?”
“I woke up a little while ago and couldn’t disremember for suah what it was yo’ tole me, so I slipped to yo’ door to find out. Dat’s all; good night!”
And his heavy tread sounded along the hall to his door through which he passed. The colored youth had slept so much during the day that he needed little more refreshment of that nature.
“What do you think of that for stupidity?” asked Harvey.
“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.
“What can he be driving at?” Harvey asked himself; “that wink looked as if it was an invitation for me to follow him.”
Thus early in the day the two were the only ones in the sitting-room, so that no one could have noticed the action of the two. Nor is it easy to understand why Bohunkus should have relied upon a wink of the eye, when it was as easy and would have been much clearer had he used his gift of speech; but we know how fond his race are of mystery.
When Harvey reached the top of the stairs, where the view was unobstructed along the hall, he saw Bunk standing at his door, as if waiting for him. The space between the two was such that this time the dusky youth instead of winking flirted his head. Then he stepped into Harvey’s room and stood just beyond the partially open door and awaited his friend.
Harvey did not forget that they were near the apartment of Detective Pendar as well as that of the suspected parties, and while moving along the passage way he did his utmost in the way of looking and listening. He made no attempt to soften the noise of his footsteps, for that of itself would have betrayed him. He strode forward and through the doors and stood beside the waiting Bohunkus, who stealthily turned the key in the lock. Then he beckoned to Harvey to bring his chair and place it alongside the one in which the African softly seated himself on the far side of the room.
By this time the white youth was beginning to lose patience.
“What is the matter with you, Bunk?”
“Sh! not so loud,” replied the other, placing a forefinger against his bulbous lips.
“Use a little common sense if you have such a thing about you. If you don’t speak out and explain things, you must get out of my room.”
“All right den; Harv, I know who smashed yo’ airyplane!”
“You do! Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Wanted to break it to yo’ gentle like.”
“Who was it?” demanded the astounded youth.
“Perfesser Morgan!”
Harvey stared in amazement for a moment and then asked:
“How do you know it was he who did it?”
“I seed him!”
“Are you crazy or only a fool, Bunk? Explain yourself. Do you mean to tell me that you saw Professor Morgan destroy my aeroplane?”
“Didn’t perzactly see him doot, but I seed ’nough.”
“How much did you see?”
“When I fust went out ob de hotel and round de corner in de yard by de sheds I seed a tall man, wid his long linen duster, slip fru dat place where two boards had been ripped off. Jes’ as he was slipping fru, he turned and looked at me; dere was de long part-gray whiskers and de black debilish eyes. Oh, it war him and no mistake, Harv,” added Bohunkus with an air of finality.
CHAPTER XX
A PUZZLING TELEGRAM
Harvey Hamilton was astounded. In all his imaginings he had never dreamed of this explanation of the destruction of his aeroplane. One admirable trait of the thick-witted Bohunkus Johnson was his truthfulness. His friend knew he was not trying to deceive him and what he had told could be accepted as fact.
“Why did you wait so long, Bunk, before telling me this story?”
“Wal, Harv, I didn’t want to ’bleve it myself; I didn’t at first, – dat is, I didn’t think de Perfesser was as mean as all dat, but it was him and no mistake.”
“I am sure you are right, though I can’t understand why he should do such a thing.”
“Guess he war jealous ob us.”
“Possibly so, but even then it is hard to understand.”
Harvey still refrained from giving the obvious explanation that presented itself. A man who is mentally unbalanced cannot be held accountable for his acts. It was impossible to feel the resentment toward Professor Morgan which he would have felt had the man been in his right mind. Harvey sighed.
“Only one thing remains for us to do, Bunk.”
“What is that?”
“Go home and give up our outing. Hist! some one is coming.”
Footsteps were heard ascending the stairs. Whoever the person was, he came with deliberate tread along the hall, and halting in front of the door, knocked smartly. Harvey sprang to his feet and opened. The landlord stood before him.
“Here’s a telegram for you; I signed; nothing to pay.”
The wondering youth accepted the yellow envelope and tore it open. He read:
“Go to Groveton and wait. You will learn something to your advantage.”
“Gabriel Hamilton.”The message was dated at his father’s place of business in New York, and as shown was signed by him.
“There is no answer,” said Harvey to the waiting landlord, who departed.
“This is beyond me,” he remarked after reading the telegram to Bohunkus, who of course was as much mystified as his companion. “Why we should go to Groveton and what is there that can be of advantage to me, is a greater puzzle than the wrecking of the aeroplane.”
“What am yo’ gwine to do, Harv?”
“Obey orders. Come on.”
The two traveled with so light baggage that they had only to fling their extra coats over their arms, the few minor articles being in their pockets, and descend the stairs. Harvey paid his bill and explained that he had been called suddenly away by the telegram from his father, but it was possible he might return. The landlord expressed his sympathy for the loss of the aeroplane and promised to do all he could to find out who the criminals were.
“Don’t bother,” said Harvey airily, “it’s lucky it didn’t happen when we were a mile or two up in the sky.”
“I understand that you will pay a reward of two hundred dollars for the detection of the scamps?”
“Yes, the offer stands,” replied Harvey, confident that the really guilty individual would never be discovered. “You have my address on your register; if you learn anything, write or telegraph me. By the way, how far is Groveton from here?”
“Twelve miles by railroad.”
“Is it much of a town?”
“Not quite as big as Chesterton.”
“What time can we leave for the place?”
The landlord glanced at the clock behind him.
“If you walk briskly you can catch the next train.”
Harvey engaged the man to take care of the remains of the aeroplane during his absence, and having been directed as to the right course, the two hurried along the single street and turned off to the station on their right. They were just in time to buy tickets and take their seats. Their course was to the westward, which was the direction of the wide valley between the mountainous ridges. Twenty minutes later they stepped out on the platform and inquired the name of the nearest hotel. As in the town they had just left, there was only one hostelry, the Rawlins Hotel, to which they made their way.
Wondering and perplexed to the last degree, Harvey entered the place of board and lodging. He explained that he did not know how long he would stay, and as it was only the middle of the forenoon, he did not register, saying he would do so at noon, in the event of his remaining that long.
The day was so pleasant – the prophecy of the weather prophet having been fulfilled to the letter – that they sat down on the long bench which ran along the front of the hotel, and waited for whatever might turn up.
“If any one is to meet me, he would come here,” reflected Harvey; “I can’t imagine who he is or what news he will bring, but I shall learn in due time.”
A half hour later, while the two were seated side by side, occasionally making a guess as to what it all meant, which guess both knew was wide of the mark, Bohunkus said:
“Seems to me dem folks out dere am looking at something.”
Excitement was fast spreading through the town. Groups stood on the corners, halted in the middle of the street and at every coign of advantage. All were peering into the sky, where some object attracted their attention. Naturally Harvey and Bohunkus rose from their seats and passed out to the front where their view was clear.
“Gee! it am anoder airyplane!” exclaimed the negro.
“You are right; they seem to be growing plentiful in this part of the world.”
“Wonder if it am de Perfesser.”
Harvey whipped his binoculars around and leveled them at the object, whose outstretched wings identified it as one of the most modern ships of the air. A brief scrutiny showed that it was not the extraordinary invention of that extraordinary man who had crossed their path more than once. It was a biplane, and though still a considerable distance away the noise of its motor was audible. It was traveling fast and heading for the little town of Groveton.
It was evident that whoever was guiding the aerial craft was an expert. Harvey saw that it carried only the operator, who described a large circle over the town at a height of nearly a thousand feet and then began descending.
“He’s gwine to land here!” exclaimed Bunk.
“And has picked out his spot,” added Harvey.
Such proved to be the fact. There was a broad, open space in front of the Rawlins House, where a large number of teams could find room, the area being such as to offer an ideal spot for the landing of an aeroplane. The aviator, who was now seen to be a youth not much if any older than Harvey himself, guided his machine with consummate skill, and lightly touched the ground within fifty feet of where our young friends and half a hundred others were standing. The aeroplane ran a few yards on its wheels, and then came to a halt. The young man stepped lightly to the ground and smilingly greeted the crowd. His next words were:
“I am looking for Harvey Hamilton and his colored companion.”
“Dat’s us,” whispered the startled Bohunkus.
Harvey stepped forward.
“That is my name; what do you wish with me?”
“I have orders to hand over this biplane to you.”
“To me!” repeated Harvey, who felt as if wonders would never cease; “why to me?”
“Your father, Mr. Gabriel Hamilton, ordered it by telegraph to be sent here this morning. I understand your machine has been wrecked.”
“It has, but how did you learn it?”
The handsome youth smiled as he offered his hand.
“I am Paul Mitchell, from Garden City; we received a telegram from your father this morning asking us to send a biplane to you at once, as yours had been knocked out of commission. We happened to have one ready and I started right off and have made pretty good time to this spot in Pennsylvania.”
“I should say you had, for it is several hundred miles from Long Island; but how in the name of the seven wonders did father come to know of my mishap?”
Young Mitchell laughed.
“He gave no explanation, but some one must have told him.”
“Who could it have been?”
“I give it up.”
“Were you asked to come to Groveton?”