A MYSTERIOUS VISITOR
Dave Dashaway stood at the entrance to the hangar of the _Comet_ at
Sylvan Park. The machine had done nobly on the trial field near the
Capitol city. Now it was housed among the group of competitors in the
great race. The pick of the world’s best airmen was represented at this
international meet, and the scene was one of activity and interest.
The airship boys were comfortably housed in the living tent just beyond
the hangar. At first upon arriving it had been decided to have Elmer
stay away from the field until the final start was made. This procedure
was actuated by the fear that the troublesome Vernon might put in an
appearance and continue to annoy and hamper the young airman. The next
morning, however, Mr. Brackett arrived.
“I am here for two reasons,” he had announced. “First, I wish to see our
last word in biplanes, the _Comet_, sail off on the race I know you are
going to win. Next, I want to be on hand if that troublesome Vernon
tries any more of his tricks.”
“I hardly think he will attempt to follow us this far,” was the
expressed opinion of our hero. “It would cost him some money, and it
would be somewhat dangerous for him to work any trumped-up charge with
so many of our airmen friends around to defeat his plans.”
“There is still more than that,” remarked the airship manufacturer, in a
confident way.
“What do you mean, father?” inquired his son.
“Just this,” answered Mr. Brackett, “as I left home my lawyer, who was
looking up Vernon, put in my possession some documents that will enable
me to baffle this wretch at every turn. I only hope he will appear. It
will be to receive a final quietus, believe me.”
The big event was now only three days distant. The _Comet_ was in
perfect shape for its long flight. The boys had used prevision and
judgment in all their preparations; and had not really much to do. Dave,
however, was kept pretty busy with a constant stream of visitors.
Professional and otherwise, those who had seen descriptions of their
splendid machine in the public prints were eager to view that work of
mechanical perfection. A group of them were now gathered inside the
shelter building. Experts were examining and admiring the _Comet_.
It pleased Mr. Brackett to exhibit this last masterpiece from the
Interstate Aero Company’s factory. As a strictly passenger carrying
biplane it had never been equalled. Mr. Brackett showed all its
improvements, from the new chain drive apparatus to the high pitch
revolution screws. The original model of the _Comet_ had represented a
machine weighing over one thousand five hundred pounds with a spread of
thirty-eight by sixty-three and one-half feet, pitch speed five thousand
six hundred feet, average flight record fifty miles. The old style rear
propeller drive had been supplanted by tractor screws. The tubing truss
underneath the center section and skid bracing also in the rib or plane
section was a new feature. A divergence from the popular headless screw
traction design was the use of the Curwell type of outriggers. This did
away with an attachment at the end of a monoplane type of fuselage.
It was almost dusk when the visitors began to depart. Dave was giving
orders to two of the hangar men to lock up the machine for the night,
when an automobile drew rapidly up to the spot. As the young aviator
glanced casually at the machine, he saw that besides the chauffeur it
contained a veiled, girlish form.
The chauffeur stopped the machine directly before the living tent. He
leaped from the auto and approached Mr. Brackett, who was standing near
by.
“Can you direct me to the _Comet_ hangar?” he inquired, touching his cap
politely.
“This is the place,” explained the manufacturer.
“And Mr. Dave Dashaway—do you know where I can find him?”
The young airman overheard this conversation. He stepped forward at once
with the words:
“I am Dave Dashaway. What can I do for you?”
The chauffeur moved aside with a movement of his head towards the
automobile. Its occupant leaned slightly forward, and extended a
daintily gloved hand. As Dave advanced and lifted his cap she spoke to
him in a low, tremulous tone.
“I wish to speak to you for a few moments, Mr. Dashaway,” she said. “In
private,” she added, with a glance at the several persons in view.
“Certainly,” responded Dave readily, but in some wonderment. “There is
our office, miss. May I assist you?”
The little lady uttered a fluttering sigh as our hero helped her from
the machine and led the way to the living tent. Hiram had just lighted a
lamp. Both he and Elmer regarded their friend’s companion in some
surprise. They were too well bred, however, to stare at the newcomer,
who seemed timid and uncertain. The boys moved quietly from the tent,
Dave set a stool for his visitor and seated himself at a little
distance, awaiting her pleasure.
“You must not think it strange that I have come to you, Mr. Dashaway,”
she said. “I—that is, I was directed to you by a very close friend, who
knows you well.”
“Ah, indeed?” spoke the young airman.
“Yes, I bring you a letter from a friend of my dear father, who is as
well a close friend of your own—Mr. Robert King.”
“I am pleased and interested at once, Miss,” said Dave, trying to set
the young lady at her ease under such strange surroundings. “Mr. King
is, indeed, a close friend, and his friends are very welcome.”
“You are most kind,” said the visitor, nervously searching for the
letter in question, and in her confusion lifting her veil. From her face
Dave saw that she was about his own age. There was an anxious look in
her eyes. She finally found the letter, and handed it to the young
airman with the explanation:
“We went to Mr. King where he is sick at his home in New York City.”
“Yes, I know,” said Dave. “He wrote me only last week.”
“I am Edna Deane,” proceeded the young lady. “My father is himself
something of an invalid and could not come with me to-day. We went to
Mr. King to ask his help in a case where he only, or somebody like him,
could be of any assistance.”
“You mean in the aviation way?” inquired Dave, getting interested.
“Yes, Mr. Dashaway,” replied the young girl. “I want my father to
explain to you about it. He has written our address on the
envelope—Hampton Flats. He wishes to have you make an appointment to
meet him, if you will be so kind.”
“I certainly shall be glad to be of service to any friends of the
gentleman who taught me all I know about sky sailing,” began Dave, and
then he added very heartily: “Surely I will come, Miss Deane. To-morrow
morning, if you wish. Shall we say at ten o’clock? I have some few
things to attend to that will take up my time until then.”
“My father will be very glad,” murmured the girl, gratefully.
A glance at the letter from the veteran aviator, Mr. King, had at once
influenced Dave. The old airman wrote briefly, but to the point. He
stated, that were he in shape to do so, he would at once assist Mr.
Deane. He asked his former assistant to act in his place, could he at
all arrange to do so. Mr. King hinted that there was an opportunity for
a great humane act. He said he was sure that when Dave knew its details,
his generous heart would respond to an unusual appeal for help in a
strangely pathetic case.
Meantime Hiram and Elmer had strolled to a distance. They passed Mr.
Brackett, who was seeing to it that the hangar men safely housed his pet
biplane for the night. Hiram looked curiously at his companion.
“Well,” he observed, “sort of mysterious, Elmer; eh?”
“You mean that young lady?”
“I do. Automobile—mysterious veiled visitor,” said Hiram with a smile.
“Maybe it’s another of those venturesome college girls wanting to make a
flight for the name of it. Dave will tell us when he sees us. No
nonsense about him. He’s too busy for romance.”
“That’s so. There she goes, Elmer,” announced Hiram.
The boys made out Dave, cap in hand, walking beside the automobile as it
started up slowly, and conversing with its occupant. Then, curious and
eager to learn the merits of the interesting episode, they proceeded
towards the living tent, approaching it by a roundabout route so as not
to look as if they were “snooping around,” as Hiram put it.
Just as they neared it, Elmer grasped the arm of his companion, bringing
him to a halt with a startling: “S—st!”
“What is it?” demanded Hiram, staring ahead in the direction in which
the glance of his companion was fixed.
“Look for yourself,” whispered back Elmer, pointing to a crouching
figure just behind the tent. “See—a man, a lurker, a spy! Who do you
suppose he is; and what is he up to?”