THE ARRIVAL OF TROUBLE.
It would be tedious to dwell upon the details of the construction of
the craft which the boys, by unanimous vote, had decided to call the
Electric Monarch. The work went steadily on and Prof. Chadwick, who
had returned soon after the boys started work, rendered them valuable
assistance. The previous experience with aerial craft, which the Boy
Inventors had had, made the work progress far more rapidly than would
otherwise have been the case, although the plans and drawings left by
Jeptha Nevins were so detailed and exact that they encountered but few
very knotty problems.
One day, not very long before the Electric Monarch, which had been
finished in scarlet and silver, was ready for her trial trip, two
strangers appeared at the Hinkley House. One was a broad-shouldered,
clumsy-looking young man with a shock of black hair and carelessly
brushed clothes, the other a tall, cadaverous-looking person of about
the same age with shifty, rat-like eyes and a general air of furtive
watchfulness.
Some time before this event, Ned, as an active partner in the firm of
the Boy Inventors, had taken up his residence at High Towers. There
were two reasons for this. One was that it was far more convenient to
the work which was being rushed to completion, the other that as the
Electric Monarch neared the day for her trial trip, Ned grew more and
more nervous about leaving the craft unwatched.
Accordingly, he had a small cot fixed up in the corner of the workshop
where he slept at night. Ned himself would have been at a loss to
account for this nervousness; nevertheless he felt a vague mistrust.
It was not that he feared any harm Sam Hinkley might do to the craft,
for although there was no love lost toward Ned on Sam’s part, Ned was
pretty sure that the Hinkley boy would not dare take active reprisals.
But yet he felt that it was well to observe caution.
Sam came and went to his work as usual, and as he, as well as the other
workmen, had given their words not to let anything leak out about the
Electric Monarch till she was ready for a flight, no uneasiness was
felt about this circumstance.
As a matter of fact, even if it had been known that a big air craft
was being constructed at High Towers, it would not have excited much
comment in the village. The inhabitants of Nestorville had grown too
used to hearing about strange inventions being built at the big house
on the hill to feel any undue curiosity about them. And yet, Ned
vaguely felt that danger threatened.
The two strangers gave out at the Hinkley House that they were
traveling for a drug firm. They made themselves friendly with the
proprietor who, after being presented with cigars, voted them two
“good fellows.” Perhaps he might have thought them “inquisitive
fellows,” too, if soon after his new guests’ arrival, when he had been
summoned to answer a long-distance telephone, he had noticed one of
them slip up to the register, open it and search hurriedly for a name.
“It’s there all right,” whispered the one who had examined the book
as he slipped out from behind the desk again. “‘Ned Nevins--Boston.’
I suppose he registered from there because he didn’t want to run any
chances of being asked questions about Millville.”
“Shouldn’t wonder, Miles,” was the rejoinder of Hank Nevins, “but he
didn’t reckon that we was just as slick as he is.”
The two “drug drummers” were Hank and his unsavory lawyer friend, Miles
Sharkey. The two had been delayed in their pursuit of Ned by a very
important handicap, namely, lack of funds. But on Hank having written
to Mr. Mellville that they were on the track of the plans and had a
good chance of securing them, the money for their expenses, (much to
the surprise of both of them,) had been forwarded. They then lost no
time in heading for Nestorville and laying plans for the recovery of
the papers of the dead Jeptha Nevins.
When Landlord Hinkley came out of the telephone-booth, one of his new
guests stepped up to him.
“Recollect a young chap named Nevins?” he asked. It may be said here
that Hank and Miles had registered under assumed names.
“Nevins?” repeated the landlord. “Nevins? Well, I should just say I
did.”
“Stop here long?” asked Miles insinuatingly.
“Quite a few days till he went to live with them Chadwick boys up on
the hill yonder.”
Hank and Miles exchanged significant glances. They were on the trail
indeed now.
“Um-er, the Chadwick boys,” began Miles at a venture. “Chums of his,
eh?”
“Yes, I guess so, in a manner of speaking. My son Sam works for ’em,
too. He’s a bright lad, is Sam. Why, sir, I tell you around a bit of
machinery that boy’s a marvel. Only last week my wife’s sewing machine
went out of whack and gosh ter mighty ef that boy Sam didn’t have it
all fixed up hunky dory in two shakes of a duck’s tail. Nuther time----”
There is no knowing how long Mr. Hinkley might have gone on extolling
his son’s virtues had it not been for the fact that Miles and Hank were
far too impatient to listen to a lengthy catalogue of Sam’s bright
doings.
“Yes, yes,” rejoined Miles. “I’ve no doubt your son is a mighty bright
boy, Mr. Hinkley.”
“Gets it from his father,” put in Hank with a clumsy attempt at a
compliment.
Crude as the attempt at flattery was, Landlord Hinkley swallowed it
whole. He smirked his acknowledgments.
“Thank you, Mr. Avery,” this was the name Hank had registered under.
“Very handsome of you, I’m sure. Won’t you gentlemen hev a cigar?”
Both the gentlemen accepted with thanks, and while they puffed at
Landlord Hinkley’s aromatic weeds, they pursued further the subject
that was closest to their hearts.
“Fine cigars, these, Mr. Hinkley,” commented Miles, with a wink at Hank
to show that the remark was ironical.
“Oh, yes indeed,” responded the landlord, “Flor de Telphono, we call
’em. Telephone cigars, you know.”
“Telephone cigars, that’s an odd name,” said Hank, with a wry face
over his weed. Hank was one of those hollow-chested, pale-faced youths
who think it smart to smoke but do so only with a great effort of will
power.
“Yep, they calls ’em that, the boys says, because you can smoke ’em
here and smell ’em in Boston.”
This choice witticism having being properly laughed at, Miles and Hank
went further on their “fishing expedition.”
“These Chadwick boys now,” pursued Hank, “friends of young Nevins
likely?”
“Wa’al, I dunno. I reckon he’s working for ’em on some sort of
contraption. You know these Chadwick boys is right smart lads on such
doodads. The Boy Inventors, they call ’em. Reckon maybe you’ve heard on
’em.”
“No, I don’t know that I have,” rejoined Miles. “So young Nevins is
working for them, eh?”
“Er-huh. Has bin fer quite a spell.”
“Sort of mechanic, I suppose?”
“Wa’al, thar’ you got me,” admitted Mr. Hinkley. “I hearn’,” he went
on, sinking his voice and growing confidential, “that them boys is
working on some sort of er flyin’ machine er some sech foolishness.”
Miles and Hank flashed a glance of comprehension between them. They had
reached their goal, then.