MYSTERY OVER THE OCEAN
Three youths, thrilled by the prospect of a mysterious adventure, and a
war pilot, intent on a friendly service, discussed plans for protecting
the Everdail Emeralds.
"I don't see how anything can slip up," Larry gave his opinion.
"I don't know," Jeff spoke dubiously, uncertainly. "We've gone over all
the things we can think of that might go wrong--but----"
"But--what?" demanded Dick.
"I had a fortune teller read the cards for me," Jeff told him. "The nine
o' spades--the worst card of warning in the pack--was right over me and
that means trouble--and the ace of spades, a bad card----"
"Crickety-Christmas!" Larry was amazed. "Are you really telling us you
believe in all that?"
"I've seen that-there card fortune work out before."
"You've twisted things that happened to fit what you wanted to believe,"
argued Larry.
"Oh, well," Jeff did not want to discuss his superstitions, "maybe it
won't come out so bad. I met a pair of colored twins yesterday. That's a
good-luck sign----"
"Look here!" Dick began to chuckle. "We've got a queer combination to
work with--our Sky Patrol has! Suspicious Sandy--and--Superstitious
Jeff!" Sandy grinned ruefully, a little sheepishly. Larry smiled and
shook his head, warning Dick not to carry his sarcasm any further, as
Jeff frowned.
"How will you know when the yacht is due?" Larry asked.
"I fixed up Atley's old short-wave radio, in the old house--and I've
been getting dope from the yacht the last couple of nights. In about an
hour we'll take off, fly out beyond the lighthouse and patrol."
"Will you have enough gas?" Larry inquired.
"Had some delivered in cans early this morning--down at the boathouse,"
Jeff told him. "We can fill up the main tank and get a reserve in my
small wing-tanks--enough for ten hours altogether."
"Let's get busy!" urged Sandy.
The three comrades were busy from then on.
Only when Jeff was warming up the engine, checking carefully on his
instruments, taking every precaution against any predictable failure,
was there time for a moment together and alone.
"Now what do you think of your suspicions?" Dick demanded. Sandy shook
his head.
"Most of the time I think I was letting imaginitis get the best of
me--but every once in awhile I wonder--for one thing, why doesn't the
yacht sail right on to the New York wharf and let the captain take those
emeralds to safe deposit?"
"Golly-to-goodness, you're right, at that!" Larry nodded his head.
"For another thing," Sandy went on, "anybody could write that letter
Jeff showed me--and who is Jeff, when all is said and done?"
"Oh, I think he's all right," argued Larry.
"Well, then, let that go. But--he chews gum and there's gum stuck all
over in this amphibian--he's been here, nights----"
"Suspicion may be all right," Larry commented, "but what does it bring
out, Sandy? What is your idea----"
"This is my idea! Nothing is what it seems to be. Jeff pretends to be a
joy-ride pilot, but he never takes up passengers--hardly ever. The
engine dies, only it's Jeff stopping the 'juice.' This old amphibian
crate looks as though it's ready to come to pieces and yet, somebody has
been working on it--that chewing gum wasn't stale and hard, because I
made sure. Well--suppose that Jeff was in a gang of international jewel
robbers----"
"Next you'll be saying the letter was in a registered envelope from
California and was written in Cairo!" laughed Dick.
"Or in New York!" corrected Sandy meaningly.
"Jewel robbers," Larry was serious. "I don't think that holds water,
Sandy. First of all, Jeff claims to know that the emerald imitations had
acid poured on them--acid to destroy them. That must be some chemical
that corrodes or eats emeralds. Now, robbers wouldn't----"
"Why not?" Sandy was stubborn. "Suppose they had gone to all that
trouble to get into the suite and discovered the false emeralds? What
would you do?"
"I might rip them apart--but do you think robbers carry acids along to
eat up emeralds if they think they are going to profit by taking them?"
"Suspicious Sandy," Dick began to chant a rhyme he invented on the spur
of the moment, "Suspicious Sandy, Suspicious Sandy, he thinks everything
is like April-Fool candy! Nothing is what it seems to be and soon he'll
suspect both Larry and me!"
Sandy turned away, hurt, and strolled to the amphibian with its
retractable wheels for land use and its pontoons for setting down on
water.
Jeff called and signaled that all was ready. Larry summoned Sandy but
the latter lingered, while Dick, a little sorry he had taunted so much,
followed Larry toward the waiting airplane. But Sandy, scowling,
hesitated whether he would go or be angry and refuse to join the Sky
Patrol. Then, as he clambered onto the forward bracing of the under wing
and leaned on the cockpit cowling, his face assumed a startled, intent
expression.
There was no chewing gum in the craft!
His first impulse was to rush out and declare his discovery.
His next was to keep silent and avoid further taunting.
"Jeff chews gum," he mused. "He pretended not to know any was in this
amphibian. But it's gone! Well," he told himself, "I'll watch and see
what he's up to. He'll give himself away yet!"
Assuming an air of having forgotten all about Dick's rhyme, he went to
his place in the seat behind Jeff and the instant his safety belt was
snapped Jeff signaled to a farmer who had come over to investigate and
satisfy himself that the airplane had legitimate business there; the
farmer kicked the stones used as chocks from under the landing tires and
Jeff opened up the throttle.
With wind unchanged the trees which had complicated their landing were
behind them. Jeff's only problem, Larry saw, was to get the craft,
heavier with its wing tanks full, off the short runway and over the
hangar.
"If he gets a 'dead stick' here," Larry mused, "it will be just too
bad!"
He had no trouble lifting the craft and flying for seconds just above
the ground to get flying speed after the take-off, then giving it full
gun and roaring up at a safe angle to clear the obstruction.
"We're off!" exulted Dick.
They were--off on an adventure that was to start with a mad race and
terminate--in smoke!
Down the backbone of Long Island, not very high, they flew. The farms,
landscaped estates and straight roads of the central zone were in
striking contrast to the bay and inlet dented North Shore with its
fleets of small boats, its fishing hamlets, rolling hills and curving
motor drives and the seaside with its beach resorts, yellow-brown sand
and tall marsh grass clustered between crab-infested salt water
channels.
Passing over the fashionable Summer homes of wealthy people at
Southampton, they held the course until Montauk Point light was to the
left of the airplane, then Jeff swung in a wide circle out over the
desolate sand dunes, the ooze and waving eel-grass of marshes and the
tossing combers of the surf.
"There's the hydroplane!" Dick, leaning over the left side, made a
pointing gesture. Larry, watching seaward, had not been looking in the
right direction. Sandy, alert to pass signals, touched Jeff and received
a nod from the pilot.
The first step of the plan was taken. They had made contact with the
small, speedy craft which, on a later signal that they had "picked up"
the incoming yacht, would speed out to sea to meet her.
"Now we'll climb!" decided Sandy.
Climb they did, until the sea dropped down to a gray-green, flat expanse
and only the powerful binoculars Larry was using could pick out the
cruising hydroplane slowly verging away from the shore in an apparently
aimless voyage.
"This isn't such a bad scheme, at that," Dick concluded mentally. "If
there should be anybody on the lookout--robbers or somebody who wants to
see what's going on--no one will see any connection between us passing
here and then climbing to get a good wind for a run down the coast
toward Maine, and a hydroplane that's acting as if it had some engine
trouble."
Higher and higher they went, probably out of sight of anyone without
strong field glasses, and while they swung in a wide circle, Larry's
binoculars swept the horizon.
"Smoke!" He turned the focusing adjustment a trifle. "Too soon to
signal--it may be an oil-burning steamer and not the yacht--or a
rum-runner of a revenue patrol--it's thick, black oil smoke, the sort
the yacht would give--it is a small boat--yes----"
His signal, relayed through Dick and Sandy to Jeff, shifted the gently
banked curve into a straighter line and swiftly the lines of the
oncoming craft, miles away, became clear.
Larry verified his decision that the low, gray hull, with its projecting
bowsprit, the rakish funnel atop the low trunk of the central cabin, and
the yacht ensign, identified the _Tramp_.
The signal went forward.
Jeff, glancing back, caught Sandy's nod.
"Now we'll dive to where the hydroplane can see us, and the dive will
signal the yacht that we're the airplane they'll be watching for," Dick
decided.
The maneuver was executed, ending in a fairly tight circle after Jeff
had skilfully leveled out of the drop.
"Smoke was trailing over the yacht's stern," Sandy murmured. "Now it's
blowing off to the starboard side. She's swinging toward us."
Through his glasses Larry saw the hydroplane awaken the sea to a split
crest of foam, saw a cascade of moiling water begin to chase her, and
knew that the tiny craft was racing out to the meeting.
"All's well!" he grinned as Dick looked back.
Dick nodded and passed the report to Sandy.
Sandy did not smile. Instead, as they swung, he scanned the sky. That
was not his instructions, but it was his determined plan.
"I'll see the amphibian Jeff was working on, nights," he mused. "It
ought to be in sight now----"
Convinced that both the hydroplane and the yacht would have located the
spot on the sea where they would meet, Jeff broke the tedium of his
tight circle by a reverse of controls, banking to the other side and
swinging in a climbing spiral to the right.
Closer and closer together came the swift turbine propelled yacht and
the surface-skimming hydroplane.
"I was right!" shouted Sandy, unheard but triumphant--and also a little
startled that he had so closely guessed what would happen.
He swung his head, signaled Dick, waved an arm, pointing. Dick and Larry
stared, while Sandy poked Jeff and repeated his gestures.
On the horizon, coming at moderate speed, but growing large enough so
that there could be no error of identification, came the amphibian. Its
dun color and its tail marking were unmistakable.
"The amphibian!" cried Larry. "I wonder why----"
"I wonder who's in it?" Dick mused as Jeff cut the gun and went into a
glide, the better to get a look at the oncoming craft low over the
seashore.
Larry realized with a pang that he was neglecting Jeff's plan.
He looked down.
No glass was needed to show him the yacht, swiftly being brought almost
under them by its speed and theirs. A quarter of a mile away was the
hydroplane, coming fast. A mile to the south flew the approaching
amphibian. And in every mind--even Jeff's, had they been able to read
it--was the puzzled question, "Why?"
Jeff began to climb in a tight upward spiral to keep as well over the
scene of activity as he could without being in the way.
"And to be high enough to interfere if something has slipped," Larry
decided on the purpose in Jeff's mind. Then, as the amphibian came
roaring up a hundred yards to their left, and in a wide swing began to
circle the yacht, Sandy screeched in excitement and pointed downward.
"Something's happening!" he screamed.
Swiftly Larry threw his binoculars into focus as he swept the length of
the yacht to discover what caused Sandy's cry, for with a wing in his
way he did not see the stern. They swung and he gave a shout of dismay
and amazement.
"Somebody's overboard!"
Instantly he corrected himself.
"No--but there's a life preserver in the water--it was thrown over but
the yacht isn't stopping." His glasses swept the bridge, the deck.
"No excitement--now, I wonder----"
The lenses brought the stern and after cabin into view.
Turning away, back to his view, in a dark dress, a woman who had been at
the extreme after rail was racing out of sight behind the cabin.
"There's a life preserver in the water!" Dick could see it without
glasses. Sandy looked.
"The amphibian is making for it!" he yelled.
"The hydroplane can't get there in time!" shouted Larry.
None of them realized that Jeff's roaring engine drowned their cries.
"Jeff! Look----" Wildly Sandy gesticulated.
Fast and high, in a swift glide, coming like a hawk dropping to its
prey, a light seaplane, skimming the edge of an incoming fog bank,
showed its slim, boatlike fuselage and wide wingspan, with two small
pontoons at wingtips to support it in the surf.
There was a swift drop of their own craft as Jeff dived, came into a
good position and zoomed past the yacht, close to it.
Wildly, as those on the bridge came into clear view, Sandy, Larry, Dick
and Jeff gesticulated, pointing astern. Bells were jangled, the yacht
was sharply brought up by reversed propellers and a tender was swiftly
being put down from its davits, an excited sailor working to start its
engine, even as it was lowered.
Then, helpless to take active part because they had no pontoons, the Sky
Patrol witnessed the maddest, strangest race staged since aviation
became a reality. And the prize? A mysteriously flung life preserver!