Suspicions
Andy, Bert and Harry talked until far into the night, discussing the
proposed meeting of the Goliath and the submarine Neptune at the North
Pole.
“There’s no doubt in my mind,” said Andy, “that the Goliath will be able
to make the trip on schedule. What I’m wondering about is the tin fish.”
“You can cease worrying right now,” replied Harry. “The Neptune isn’t
a cast-off navy submarine refitted for a polar cruise. It’s a
long-distance underwater cruiser of the latest type and only a
multi-millionaire explorer like Gilbert Mathews could afford to operate
such a craft. Believe me, it’s some boat.”
“And believe me,” added Bert, “the Goliath is some airship. Wait until
you see it in the daylight. Its size will fairly take your breath away.”
“I can believe you easily enough,” replied Harry, “for the eastern
newspapers have been carrying a great many feature stories about the
Goliath. Only the National Airways haven’t been giving out a lot of
actual facts and with reporters barred from the plant here, they’ve had
to guess at part of the stories they’ve been printing. Everyone is
anxious for an actual view of the big ship.”
“You’ll be in on all of the previews,” Andy promised, “and if you stay
with us long enough I can promise you several trial flights.”
“Bert and I will probably be through in a month,” said Harry. “Then I’ll
have to hop down to Brooklyn and make the final adjustments on the set
aboard the Neptune. After that’s done I may be able to get back here for
a few days. I’d certainly like to go along on the trial runs.”
There were no more alarms that night and finally the three young
enthusiasts ceased talking and dropped into deep slumber.
The next day was clear with a warm sun and a definite note of spring was
in the air. Birds, on their northward flight, wheeled over the hangar
and the grass was a fresher, brighter green.
Andy made the rounds at the hangar with Harry, an eager observer, at his
side. Assembly of the main gondola was starting, a task which Andy was
to personally supervise. In this large car would be located the control
room and the passengers quarters with their individual staterooms,
dining salons and lounging quarters. Quarters for the crew were built
inside the hull and in the middle of the ship between the banks of gas
cells.
Harry was properly impressed with the size of the Goliath and exclaimed
at the engineering progress which had been made in its construction.
Andy explained how the double-strength duralumin had increased the
strength of the frame to such a point that a disaster such as had
befallen the Shenandoah could not strike the Goliath.
“How many passengers will you be able to carry when the ship goes into
transcontinental service?” Harry asked.
“We’ll have sleeping accommodations for 200,” replied Andy, “and during
daytime runs between large cities will be able to carry an extra 100.”
“Will the fares be pretty stiff?” asked Harry. “Not as much as you would
expect. They will average railroad plus Pullman.”
“In that case,” said Harry, “you can be sure of capacity business for a
good many years.”
“We’ll have to if National Airways is to break even on the operation of
the Goliath,” said Andy.
Bert, who had remained in the office to check over blueprints on an
especially complicated piece of radio equipment for the Goliath, hurried
up.
“Andy,” he said. “Herman Blatz is here.”
“Who?” asked Andy.
“Blatz,” repeated Bert, “Herman Blatz. He’s the civilian observer from
Friedrichshafen.”
“Of course,” grinned Andy. “I’d forgotten the name for a moment. What
does he look like?”
“Fine looking sort of a fellow,” replied Bert. “He’s just about our own
age; not quite as tall as you are and dark; brown eyes and hair that is
almost coal black.”
“If you don’t mind running back to the office,” said Andy, “tell him
that I’ll be along presently. I want to make sure that the assembly of
the gondola starts smoothly.”
Andy became engrossed in the direction of the subforemen and their crews
and he even forgot Harry, much less the newcomer who was waiting for him
in the office.
An hour later Bert returned.
“What’s the idea?” he demanded. “I thought you said you’d be along right
away. Blatz has been cooling his heels for more than an hour.”
“Sorry,” grinned Andy, who had been helping with the assembly. “I was so
interested I forgot all about him. I’ll come along with you.”
The young engineer crawled out from beneath the duralumin frame on which
he had been working, wiped his hands on a piece of waste, brushed off
his dungarees, the universal uniform of engineers, foremen and mechanics
at the Bellevue plant.
Andy stepped into his office, blinked his eyes to accustom them to the
dark interior, and looked into the face of Lieut. Serge Larko, secret
agent of Alexis Reikoff’s Grega, who had been assigned the task of
bringing about the destruction of the Goliath. But Andy was to know the
visitor as Herman Blatz, civilian observer from Friedrichshafen, and he
stepped forward with a cordial greeting.
“We shall be delighted to have you with us,” said Andy, “and I must
apologize for my tardiness in greeting you. We have just started the
assembly of the main gondola and I have been giving it my personal
supervision.”
“The Goliath is that near completion?” asked Lieutenant Larko, who from
here on we shall speak of in his new role as Herman Blatz.
“We’ll be making trial flights in less than two months,” replied Andy
enthusiastically.
“It was well that I arrived at this time,” said Blatz, “for I will be
able to remain long enough for the trial flights.”
“The war department communications indicated that you would probably
accompany us on the test trips,” said Andy.
“Yes,” replied Blatz. “Europe is greatly interested in the Goliath and I
feel it a rare privilege that I have been assigned here.”
The young German’s pronunciation of English was clear and precise, his
words close-clipped in the Teuton manner.
“I understand that you have been at Friedrichshafen some time,” said
Andy.
“Yes,” replied Blatz, who dreaded questions about the Germany airship
base. He wondered how much this young American might really know about
him; how much he might suspect for he had sensed instantly that Andy was
suspicious of every newcomer.
“I spent a year at Friedrichshafen,” said Andy. “It is possible that we
know a number of the same men there. Do you recall Bauer and Schillig,
who were the aces of the navigation class in 1929?”
“The names are familiar,” replied Blatz, “but I went through navigation
the preceding year.” Harry and Bert came into the office and Andy
introduced the German expert and the radio operator of the Neptune.
“You are going to carry a submarine radio operator on an airship?” asked
Blatz.
“Oh, no,” replied Bert quickly. He was about to explain that the Goliath
and the Neptune were to meet at the North pole that summer but a warning
glance from Andy silenced him, and he added, rather lamely.
“Harry and I were department of commerce operators and he’s down here
helping me with the final assembly of the set for the Goliath.”
“Very fortunate. I’m sure,” said Blatz.
“You understand,” said Andy, “that there are certain construction
secrets which I can not divulge?”
“Of course,” replied Blatz, “and I assure you that you need have no
worry on that score.”
Andy suggested that they make a tour of the plant and Blatz readily
assented for he was anxious to see the Goliath. He had received some
idea of the size when he had flown over at sunset two days before and
glimpsed the hangar. As they walked toward the huge structure, he
wondered who had chased him in the red plane. He had been tired after
the long flight across the Atlantic and had lost his way after striking
the Atlantic coast. He had not intended coming as close to Bellevue but
when he finally got his bearings he was less than a hundred miles away
and he could not resist the temptation. But it had been a foolish move
for a little red plane had darted out of the shadows below and pushed
him hard before he had escaped into the coming night. Another hundred
miles and he had slipped out of the cockpit of the Blenkko which had
served him so faithfully in the long flight from Rubania, and had
dropped through the night in his chute. He had clutched a suitcase with
fresh clothes and his precious identification papers as Herman Blatz in
his arms.
The landing had been easy and after washing the grime of the long flight
off in a nearby creek, he had changed clothes; then burned his old
clothes, the parachute and the suitcase. Into the fire had gone
everything which would identify him as Lieut. Serge Larko of the
Rubanian air force on special duty as an agent of the Gerka. Out of the
timber and onto the highway had stepped Herman Blatz, who had
hitch-hiked to the nearest town where he had rested for a day, bought a
fresh wardrobe, and then continued by train and auto to Bellevue.
A suppressed excitement gripped his whole being He had done the
seemingly impossible, flown the Atlantic and made his way into this
carefully guarded dirigible plant, thanks to the clever subterfuge
Reikoff must have used in getting permission for a civilian observer to
visit Bellevue. He would get in touch with Boris Dubra, the mechanic who
was a member of the Gerka, at the first opportunity.
They entered the hangar and Blatz stopped involuntarily. Andy had
expected that reaction and it told him that the newcomer was a true
airman for the majestic bulk of the Goliath usually struck those who
were viewing it for the first time speechless.
“It’s inspiring,” gasped Blatz. “I never dreamed an airship could be so
large.”
“Of course it looks larger in the hangar than it really is,” said Andy,
“but we’re rather proud of the Goliath.”
“Friedrichshafen has never done anything like it,” said Andy. “Or, for
that matter, has anyone else in the world.”
“You’re right,” nodded Blatz. “I wonder that you ever tore yourself away
from here and came out to meet me.”
“I’ve just about lived with the Goliath,” admitted Andy, “for Dad and
Captain Harkins have been forced to make many trips to see about
materials. They will return this afternoon to greet you.”
“I look forward to meeting two such famous men. The honor is great.”
They continued through the hangar, Andy pointing out and explaining the
progress which had been made on the component parts of the great
airship.
“One of the pleasantest years of my life,” said Andy, “was the one
passed at Friedrichshafen. I recall the day I went up in one of the
small dirigibles, the Strassburg, I believe. Karl Staab was at the
controls and a wind squall hit us. It pushed us clear across Lake
Constance and we were lucky to get home the same day. Karl was a great
joker but a wonderful navigator despite that.”
“Yes, you’re quite right,” nodded Blatz. “He always enjoyed a good
laugh.”
Andy’s eyes narrowed and he looked closely at the newcomer. He started
to say something; then thought better of it and quickly switched the
conversation from reminiscences of days at Friedrichshafen to the
present.
Andy, Bert, Harry and Blatz lunched together at the hotel where Andy
introduced the German expert to the heads of the construction staff at
Bellevue. Blatz was accorded a warm welcome and after lunch resumed his
tour of the plant with Andy.
In mid-afternoon a National Airways plane dropped in from the north. The
army flyers, warned of its coming, did not roar into the sky in angry
pursuit, but squatted beside their planes and watched the cabin
monoplane skid to a stop in front of one of the smaller hangars.
Andy excused himself and ran toward the plane. The first man out of the
cabin was his father, and Andy received an affectionate greeting.
“Everything going O.K. son?” asked the vice president of the National
Airways.
“We’ve had a little excitement. Dad,” replied Andy, “but it didn’t
affect the work on the Goliath. We’re well ahead of schedule.”
“Fine,” replied Andy’s father. “We’ll need all of the extra time for
trial flights before we start our northward trip.”
“Then it’s definitely settled that we’ll meet the Neptune at the North
pole?”
“Very definitely settled,” replied Charles. High. “The contracts were
signed yesterday. Captain Harkins has our copies with him.”
The tall, bronzed airman who was the chief designer and captain of the
Goliath stepped out of the cabin of the monoplane.
“Hello, Andy,” he said, extending his hand for a cordial greeting. “Have
you started the assembly of the main gondola?”
“Work got under way on that project this morning,” replied Andy, “and
the crews are making unusually good time.”
“I’ve decided on several minor changes,” said Captain Harkins, “but they
need not delay the general construction work on the main car.”
As they walked toward the office buildings, Andy briefly explained what
had happened during their absence, how Dubra had attempted to damage the
hangar, the passage and pursuit of the foreign plane, the arrival of the
army patrols and Dubra’s admission that an attempt was under way to
destroy the Goliath.
“The wonder of it is,” said Andy’s father, “that some foreign power
hasn’t made the attempt before. Now that we are fore-warned, there is
little chance of success in damaging the big ship.”
Andy saw Herman Blatz waiting for him some distance away and he spoke to
his father and Captain Harkins in low tones, explaining that Blatz had
been sent to Bellevue on special orders of the war department.
“I can see no objection to that,” said Captain Harkins. “Doctor Eckener
at Friedrichshafen has placed us deeply in his debt through suggestions
on the improvement of our general design and one of his observers is
welcome as far as I am concerned.”
“National Airways feels the same way,” added Andy’s father.
Andy took his father and Captain Harkins over to Blatz where he made the
necessary introductions. They were soon engaged in a spirited discussion
of the improvements in aircraft building which were represented in the
Goliath and Andy left them to walk back to his own office.
The arrival of Blatz had disturbed him strangely. He had hoped that he
would be able to welcome the newcomer with real cordiality but instead
he found a mounting barrier of resentment rising between himself and the
German.
Blatz’ story didn’t ring true. Andy had tested him that afternoon when
he had recalled the incident at Friedrichshafen when he and Karl Staab
had been blown across Lake Constance in the old Strassburg. Blatz had
recalled knowing Staab when, in reality, there was no such navigator at
Friedrichshafen. The whole story and the name had been invented by Andy
to test Blatz. If, as he claimed, he had been connected with the
Friedrichshafen plant for a number of years, he could not have
remembered a man who did not exist. Blatz had agreed too readily. Andy’s
suspicions were aroused and he promised himself an investigation.