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[Illustration: "Oh--my shoulder!" the man cried out in sudden anguish.
(Page 93)]
THE
HAUNTED HANGAR
By VAN POWELL
[Illustration: Biplane]
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
Akron, Ohio New York
Copyright MCMXXXII
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
The Haunted Hangar
_Made in the United States of America_
CONTENTS
I "Suspicious Sandy" 5
II Ghosts, Gum--and Gems 13
III The Sky Patrol Organizes 21
IV Mystery Over the Ocean 30
V Mystery in the Fog 42
VI The End of the Chase 50
VII The Swamp Gives Up a Clue 54
VIII Sandy Meets a "Suspect" 64
IX Jeff Encounters a "Jinx" 73
X Larry's Capture 82
XI "Pop! Goes Our Mystery!" 95
XII The Hoodooed Airplane 103
XIII The "Hoodoo" Strikes 112
XIV Dick Handles a Control Job 121
XV A Trap is Baited 131
XVI The "Bait" Vanishes 139
XVII A Fight for a Fortune 146
XVIII Outwitted! 155
XIX A Baffling Discovery 160
XX Sandy Turns Over a New Leaf 168
XXI The Sky Patrol Gives Up 176
XXII The "Ground Crew" Takes Hold 182
XXIII Larry "Solos" 190
XXIV A Puzzling Development 196
XXV High Wings! 204
XXVI The Race 212
XXVII Sandy's Discovery 220
XXVIII Night in the Hangar 228
XXIX Sandy's Trail 239
XXX Dick Encounters the "Ghost" 245
XXXI A Triumph for the Enemy 250
XXXII A Double Pursuit 255
XXXIII A Battle Above the Clouds 263
XXXIV The Emeralds Are Found 270
THE HAUNTED HANGAR
CHAPTER I
"SUSPICIOUS SANDY"
"Steady, all! Engine's quit and left us with a dead stick! No danger."
Neither sixteen-year-old Larry Turner nor Dick Summers, a year his
junior, had any more fear than had Sandy Maclaren, hardly thirteen and
seated just back of the pilot who, in flying the four-place, low-wing
airplane, had called back reassuringly.
"Jeff's a war ace and knows his stuff," Larry mused, "and the engine
couldn't have died in a better spot. We are high enough and within
gliding distance of that old, abandoned private field."
Dick, who saw something to make light of in any situation, turned with
his plump face cracked by a broad grin.
"I always said whether you fly a crate full of passengers or handle one
full of eggs, you get a good break sometimes!"
Larry nodded in his calm, half-serious way.
Only the youngest member of the trio, as the craft nosed into a gentle
glide and banked in a turn to get in position to shoot the private
landing spot on the old estate, took the occasion as anything but a
lark.
Dick joked, Larry admired the skill of the pilot.
And Jeff, chewing his gum casually, justified their confidence.
Sandy Maclaren, with narrowed eyes and an intent frown, bent his gaze on
the pilot's back and muttered under his breath.
"That engine didn't die. I saw what Jeff did. He was as quick as a
cat--but he didn't fool me."
His expression altered to a puzzled scowl.
"But why did he shut off the ignition and pretend the engine had
stopped--so handy to this old, abandoned estate?"
No answer rewarded his agile thoughts as Jeff skilfully shot the small
field, compelled to come in to one side because of tall trees directly
in their line of flight, over which his dead engine made it impossible
to maneuver. Nor did he get a solution to his puzzle as Jeff cleverly
side-slipped to lose momentum, and to get over the neglected, turf-grown
runway down which, a little bumpily but right side up, he taxied to a
standstill.
"Well," Jeff said, with a grin, swinging around in his seat and drawing
off his helmet, "here we are!"
"If I ever get the money to take flying lessons," Larry said, "I know
the pilot I'm going to ask to give me instruction! When I can make a
forced landing like that one, Jeff, I'll think I'm getting to be a
pilot."
"If ever I get taken into my uncle's airplane passenger line," Dick
spoke up, "I know who'll be Chief Pilot--until Larry gets the experience
to crowd Jeff out."
Sandy, his face moody, said nothing.
The tall, slim pilot, grinned at the compliments and then went on
working his jaws on the gum he habitually chewed.
"Guess I'll have to trace my gas line and ignition to see if a break
made this trouble." Jeff began removing his leather coat. "Say! By
golly! Do you know where I think we've set down?"
"Yes," Sandy spoke meaningly. "This is the old Everdail estate--the one
that's been in the newspapers lately because the people around here
claim the hangar is haunted."
"I believe it is!" agreed Jeff. "Why don't you three take a look.
Yonder's a hangar and the roll-door is lifted a little. Maybe you'd spot
that there Mister Spook and clear up the mystery while I work."
"I'd rather go down by the water and see if it's cooler there," Sandy
said, trying to catch Larry's eye. "Since we got down out of the cool
air it's the hottest day this June."
"I'm for the hangar!" voted Dick. "If there's any specters roaming
through that hangar you'll get more chills there than you will by the
Sound."
"I could stand a shiver or two," commented Larry, leading the way toward
the large, metal-sheathed building at the end of the runway.
Facing them was a wide opening, sufficiently spacious to permit
airplanes to be rolled through: in grooved slots at either side the
door, made of joined metal slats working like the old-fashioned roll-top
desk, could be raised or lowered by a motor and cable led over a drum.
Sandy gave in, and as they walked toward the hangar they discussed the
stories that had come out in the news about queer, ghostly noises heard
by passers-by on the state road late at night, accounts of the fright
the estate caretaker had received when he investigated and saw a queer,
bluish glow in the place and was attacked by something seemingly uncanny
and not human.
The door, when they arrived, was seen to be partially open, lifted about
three feet.
"There's an airplane in there--it looks to be an amphibian--I see
pontoons!" Larry stated.
"Let's go have a look at it," suggested Dick.
"Don't!" Sandy spoke sharply. "Don't go in there!"
Larry and Dick straightened and stared in surprise. It was very plain to
be seen that Sandy was not joking.
"Why?" asked Larry, in his practical way.
"Think back," said Sandy. "When school vacations started and we began to
stay around the new Floyd Bennett airport that had opened on Barren
Island, Jeff had his 'crate' there to take people around the sky for
short sight-seeing hops, didn't he?"
"Yes," admitted Larry, "and we got to be friendly because we are crazy
to be around airplanes and pilots, and Jeff let us be 'grease monkeys'
and help him get passengers, too."
"Surely he did! But when we brought them to go up with him, did he take
their money and fly them around, the way others did? Or----"
"No," Dick admitted. "He generally had something wrong with the crate,
or the wind was too high, or he had stubbed his left foot and met a
cross-eyed girl, or saw a funeral passing, and thought something unlucky
might happen from those signs."
"Do you really believe anybody can be as superstitious as Jeff tries to
make us believe he is?"
"Yes. Lots of pilots are--they think an accident will happen if anybody
wears flowers in their 'planes----"
"All right, Larry, let that go. But why did Jeff bring us here?"
"He said, this morning, we had helped him a lot and he didn't have money
to pay us," Larry answered. "He offered us a joy-ride."
"But why did he come so far out on Long Island, and _then get a dead
stick_ so handy to this old estate that hasn't been lived in for years
and that has everybody scared so they won't come near at night?"
"'Then get a dead stick!'" Larry shook his head. "Why, Sandy! I know you
read detective stories until you think everything is suspicious----"
"So do you read them--and Dick, too!"
"But we read to try to guess the answers to the mystery," Dick declared.
"You've got the idea that real life is like those wild stories.
Everything looks as if it had some hidden mystery behind it--I know what
will be your new nickname----"
He chuckled to show there was no malice as he stated the new name.
"Suspicious Sandy!"
"That's good," Larry smiled. "Suspicious Sandy thinks a pilot gets a
dead stick to make us land near a haunted hangar----"
"I saw him cut the ignition switch!" declared Sandy defiantly.
"You thought you did!"
"I know I did--and, what's more, here we are at a spot where nobody
comes because of the ghost story--and he tells us to go into the hangar
and--the door is left up a little way----"
"Oh, Sandy, you're letting wild imagination run away with you!"
"Am I? All right. You two go on in--and be held for ransom!"
"Ho-ho-ho-ho! That's good. Suspicious Sandy--is that somebody inside the
hangar?" Dick changed his tone suddenly, dropping his voice to a whisper
as he stooped and saw something move behind the old amphibian at the
back of the building.
"I thought I saw--but it's gone!" Larry retorted, lowering his voice
also.
By a common impulse of curiosity they stooped and went in. Sandy, his
own impulse following theirs, was inside almost as quickly.
"There isn't anybody!" Larry's eyes became used to the duller light that
filtered through the thick dust on the roof skylight.
To their startled ears came a muffled clang, a queer, hollow sound--and
as they turned to run back under the rolled-up door, it slid rapidly
down in its grooves, dropping into place with a hollow rumble.
"Good gracious golly!" gasped Dick.
"That's queer!" Larry was a little puzzled.
Sandy, half frightened, half triumphant, spoke four words:
"I told you so," he whispered.