A PUZZLING DEVELOPMENT
"Hooray!" Dick slapped Sandy's shoulder. "The 'man higher up' has come
down to earth! Here comes Larry!"
"You're a sight for sore eyes!" Sandy exclaimed as the youthful amateur
pilot joined his friends.
"I haven't seen much of you, I know." Larry sat down on the swing by
Dick on the latter's veranda. "Daytimes I've been studying rigging and
checking up on an airplane, because Tommy thinks a pilot ought to know
everything there is to know about his ship because he may have to do
things himself if he gets hold of a careless rigger."
"If the pilot didn't know the right way he couldn't say if his helper
was doing things the wrong way," agreed Sandy.
"But that hasn't kept you away evenings," objected Dick.
"Tommy has been very good to me, giving me his time, in his room, so he
could tell me all the 'fine points' he has picked up about flying."
"Sky Patrol's report received, considered and accepted," Dick stated.
"Now for yours," Larry smiled. "What has the Ground Crew done?"
"Watched, evenings, turn and turn about, till midnight," Dick told him.
"Mr. Whiteside took the day shift and came on to relieve us every
midnight."
"What progress have you made?"
"None at all!"
Sandy, responding to Larry, added:
"But you wouldn't expect anything to happen if you'd seen all the
reporters who have been 'hanging around' the old estate. Why, one has
slept in that hangar a couple of nights."
"No ghost with any self-respect would make a show of himself for
newspaper publicity!" Dick chuckled.
"Almost all we needed to do was to watch the reporters," Sandy said.
"But they have given up, I guess. There was only one out last night, and
he told me he thought the paper that ran that 'box' had played a trick
on the others and on the readers."
"That's good," Larry remarked. "Now the coast will be clear, the ghost
can walk, and I will be with my trusty comrades to trip him up."
"It seems queer to me," Dick spoke. "I've thought a lot about it. The
fellow who played ghost must be searching for something. What can it
be?"
"The emeralds?"
"But he was there before they were lost, Dick," Larry objected.
"That's so, Larry."
"Here's something that just came to me." Sandy bent forward in the
lounging chair. "Nothing has happened at night, for ten days. But all
that time, Mr. Whiteside has been on the 'day watch,' as he calls it."
"Golly-gracious!" Larry exclaimed. "Do you think?----"
"When Jeff flew us there, the first time, there seemed to be somebody in
that hangar when we started in," Dick added to Sandy's idea.
"You're right," Sandy admitted. "By the way, Jeff is back at Bennett
Field, taking up passengers for hire again."
"I'm not worrying about Jeff." Larry was caught by the suspicious action
of their "detective" in taking the day watch while nothing occurred at
night.
"What do you think of going out there to the hangar now?" he asked.
They thought very well of the idea.
It was close to noon when the 'bus deposited them at the town from which
they had to walk to the estate.
Strolling down the quiet street toward the main highway, Sandy's alert
eyes, always roving, caught sight of the estate caretaker. They hailed
him and ran to the corner where he had turned to wave to them.
He greeted them sourly. Plainly the caretaker was out of sorts.
"Humph!" he grunted. "More dern amachoor detectives!"
"What makes you say that?" Sandy's grin of salutation changed to a look
of hurt surprise.
"Why wouldn't I say it? Ain't it enough I had reporters an' all
rampagin' through the place without you three got to come, on top o'
that Whiteside feller and Jeff----"
"Mr. Whiteside--and Jeff?" repeated Larry.
"Yep! Nights it's been bad enough--now it's daytimes! Ghosts! Reporters!
Snoopers! And now you fellers in the daytime!"
"What about Mr. Whiteside--and Jeff?" Dick wanted to get to the bottom
of a startling situation.
"Well, if you must know--that Whiteside feller was there, as per usual,
and along come Jeff, limpin'----"
"Limping? Was he hurt?"
"Had his foot tied up, Master Larry. Said he was flyin' and his power
quit and he had to come down in a bad spot and a lot more."
Once started on his troubles and their cause, the caretaker needed no
more prompting. Jeff, he went on, had met Mr. Whiteside and said that if
he wanted to fly he'd have to go in that other thing that they put in
the water----"
"The hydroplane boat?" Sandy broke in to ask.
"No, the ampibbian----"
"The amphibian!"
The man nodded as they walked down toward the highway. After he helped
the others to get the water-and-land 'plane onto the field, he grumbled,
and had turned the propeller blades till his arms ached, the
superstitious pilot, saying he had stumbled and fallen that morning and
knew something would go wrong, had decided that they had no time to
repair or find the trouble in the amphibian.
They must get going, he reported that Mr. Whiteside had declared, and
Jeff had argued that if he had a six-B slotted bolt, he could fix his
motor.
"I never did hear of a six-B slotted bolt--or any slotted bolt,"
declared Dick, while Sandy and Larry assented.
"Neither did the hardware man here in town after that Whiteside feller
gave me five dollars to walk in the four miles and--back!"
Dick consulted his comrades with his eyes.
"That sounds to me like sending a new machine shop hand to the foreman
for a left-handed monkey wrench," he chuckled. "They've played a
joke----"
"That doesn't fit in," argued Larry. "A bandaged foot, a limping pilot,
an engine that wouldn't start--and sending this gentleman on an errand
that would take him away for a good while----"
"Where did Jeff say he set down?"
The caretaker turned and scowled at Sandy.
"He never set down nowhere. He leaned against the hangar!"
"I mean--where is his own airplane?"
"He never told me."
All three comrades wished heartily that Jeff had revealed the
information. Since he had not, each cudgeled his brains for some likely
place within walking distance of the estate.
"That 'six-B slotted bolt' makes me think his engine hasn't anything
wrong with it at all," Larry stated, finally. "Furthermore, I think he
put down his crate in some handy--good--spot!"
"A crackerjack pilot like Jeff could get in on a pretty small field,"
Larry argued. "One place I can think of that isn't a bad landing spot is
the fairway of the ninth hole on that golf course yonder." He indicated
the grounds of a golf club. "It's away from everything, and he might fly
over the course, see that no foursome or twosome was likely to get there
for some time--" Dick nodded, agreeing; but Sandy shook his head.
"What bothers me," he stated, "is that if his engine is all right, Mr.
Whiteside would have met him and gone in Jeff's ship."
"Unless--unless they wanted to make a water landing!"
"Golly-gracious, Dick! I think you've found the reason----"
"But, Larry--why wouldn't they use the hydroplane boat?" Sandy was not
convinced.
"I think the amphibian would be quicker--and maybe they don't want to
land but need the pontoons in case of----"
Dick, laying a hand on Larry's arm, stopped him.
"I have guessed the answer," he cried. "They wanted to get rid of this
gentleman," he nodded toward the caretaker. "Then they could search that
hangar----"
But they, themselves, had done that thoroughly! Larry made the objection
but Dick waved a hand to dismiss it.
"The ghost hadn't found anything. We hadn't!" he argued. "Maybe they've
decided there is something--and if it isn't there when they make a good
search, they think they know where else to look--and it's either in the
water--or over the water--or----"
"In the swamp where the seaplane crashed!" shouted Sandy, complimenting
Dick with a sound smack on his back.
"Then let's look on that fairway and see if the airplane is there, and
if the engine runs."
The airplane was there. The engine operated readily.
While they discussed these proofs of Dick's quick wit, the sound of an
airplane engine turned all eyes skyward.
"It's the 'phib'!" Sandy exclaimed.
"Come on--get in!" Larry urged. "I can fly this crate--and we'll see
what they're going to do!"