O'Brien burst out with an exclamation of anger, "By gosh, sir, this
thing is going too far! I don't intend to stand by and see you murdered.
You have had a close shave here tonight, and something has _got_ to be
done. Where is Mrs. Ridgeway?"
"She is in England visiting some relatives," said Mr. Ridgeway with a
triumphant laugh. "So you won't get any backing from her. I sent her
over there three months ago."
"Well, _something_ has got to be done all right, all right," said the
secret service man sullenly.
Mr. Ridgeway pressed his aching head. "I think this will end it," he
said. "They have found no papers, and they will let well enough alone.
You know as well as I do, O'Brien, that they will know that I will be on
guard after this. And I _will_ be. I will set a lot of detectives around
here, each with a badge as big as a dinner plate. And I will sit and do
nothing, and you can do the work."
"All right; that is more like what I want to hear," said O'Brien,
smiling at last. "You are doing enough, Mr. Ridgeway, when you finance
the affair. You have had all those airplanes built, and those
dirigibles, and if you sit tight and boss, that is all we will ask for.
Just you let me and Lawrence push the rest of the work."
"I will have to keep quiet for a day or two anyway," said Mr. Ridgeway.
"I feel sort of old tonight. I wish I had a son or two to look out for
me. But you are all right, O'Brien. Do whatever you like."
"Then to bed you go, first of all," said the practical Irishman, "and
whilst I get some plainclothes men here for a guard, you can sit with
him, Lawrence, and don't you let a soul in the room."
"The servants are all in bed and there is no one else to come," said Mr.
Ridgeway drowsily.
With a good deal of help he managed to get to the little automatic
elevator, and they put him to bed. While Lawrence put cold compresses on
the bruised head, O'Brien telephoned for the police and placed a guard
around the house. Then he summoned Mr. Ridgeway's doctor, who examined
the wound and assured them that there was no concussion. By the time all
this was done, it was nearly three o'clock in the morning.
"Let's to bed," yawned O'Brien. "It's coming home with you I am, Larry.
I expect you'll loan me the matter of some pajammies?"
"Sure!" said Lawrence. "But I don't know how they will fit."
"Fit, fit!" said O'Brien, hailing a passing taxi. "Fit? Sure, I could
sleep this night in lead pajammies, any size whatever."
True enough, O'Brien rolled into bed and was asleep in a moment, but
Lawrence tossed restlessly a long time before he could quiet himself. He
was worried about Mr. Ridgeway, and he wished O'Brien would wake up and
tell him just what he feared from the spies or conspirators, or whatever
they were. And he wondered about Mr. Ridgeway, and was sorry that he had
no sons, and wished, poor Lawrence, that _he_ was Mr. Ridgeway's son.
How proud he would be! But he knew that he would always be Lawrence
Petit, the waif, with only a pictured face for a family.
O'Brien snored on gently and endlessly, and at last, lulled by the
sound, Lawrence went to sleep. When he awoke, O'Brien was in the
bathroom running a bath, and singing _Sweet Rosy O'More_ in a mellow
baritone. He sounded like a man who has not a care in the world.
Lawrence jumped up. It was eight o'clock. They had overslept an hour.
But when he asked O'Brien how he had happened to sleep so late, that
songful gentleman declared that there was nothing to do but enjoy
themselves and he intended to go to a movie and sit through it twice, so
he could think.
"Will you go along with me?" he asked.
"I would rather fly," said Lawrence. "I wish I could get hold of a
plane. I would feel better if I could get off the earth for a while. I
can never think so well as when I am up a few hundred feet."
"Go as high as you like," said O'Brien. "Here, I will give you a bit of
a paper, and just you go out to the field and give it to the man in
charge there, and all that you will have to do after that is to pick
which plane you want. You can't use the dirigible because it is smashed
up."
"I would rather have a plane to-day," said Lawrence. "I want to get used
to the country around here. I shall drive the dirigible when it is in
order, but I like to take my bearings first. It is funny, I have flown
all over the United States and Europe, but this is the first time I was
ever in Washington."
"Well, take one of the little sky-flivvers and have a good time, but be
careful about landin'. A nose-dive or a tail-spin makes good readin' in
the Sunday papers, and you get a grand write-up all about the darin'
young aviator So-and-So, but it's little interest _you_ feel in the
article yourself."
Lawrence took a street car out as far as he could, and after a brisk
walk reached the field. Everything was going smoothly. He offered his
paper to the man in charge, and that individual, after grumbling a
little at letting a kid go up with a perfectly good machine, let
Lawrence look the twenty planes over and choose the one he fancied.
Lawrence refused a passenger, and with a good start soared off the field
and rose until the city of Washington lay far below him. He had not made
a flight for a couple of weeks, and his heart thrilled. After a few wide
circles that took in the shipping at the Navy Yard and all the outlying
parts of the city, he flew over Baltimore. The return he made low, and
studied the woods and landing places, to make himself sure of his
ground.
As he neared Washington again, he saw a plane approaching from the
south. It came straight for him, and he had an idea that it was trying
to communicate with him by means of the wireless. He glanced down and
found that, contrary to usage, his own machine was not equipped. So he
paid no attention to the stranger other than to swerve out of the way.
But the plane turned and followed. Lawrence, curious to know what it was
up to, slowed down and allowed it to overtake him. His trained ear told
him by the sound of the engine that his own plane was the faster and
more powerful but he had no intention of racing as he thought the other
pilot wanted to do.
So he slowed down, and as the other machine came alongside he saw that
they were flashing messages with a mirror, using the Morse code, which
had become one of the requirements in the public schools.
"Who are you?" demanded the stranger. "Who are you?" over and over.
Lawrence had no mirror and for a moment was at a loss how to reply.
There was something threatening about the manner of the other plane, and
Lawrence had no desire to get into a combat in the clouds over nothing.
He had an idea, and as the other plane imperiously repeated the words he
managed to take off the muffler, and in the roar of the engine he
spelled out:
"A tourist seeing the sights. Who are you?"
"Where from?" demanded the mirror.
"Louisville. Who are you?" repeated Lawrence.
The plane evidently had the answer they wanted and, sheering off, shot
away without a reply. Lawrence set his teeth. If they could be so
discourteous he could follow at all events, and see where the curious
plane hailed from. He wheeled his machine and, taking a higher level,
sailed off in pursuit, keeping a good distance behind. An hour's flight
brought them above a small open field and here the plane suddenly
dipped, and going at a breakneck angle dropped to the ground. Then as
though by magic it disappeared. There was no hangar, yet the machine
went under cover as though the earth had swallowed it.
Again and again Lawrence circled the field, and it worried him to
imagine the chuckles the other pilot was indulging in at his expense.
Try as he might, he could not locate any sign of life. It struck him as
a rather queer thing. He turned his nose upward again, and located the
field by some trees and other landmarks, then turned toward the home
field.
Dropping easily down, he found O'Brien surrounded by a group of men, all
of whom seemed to be watching him with a good deal of interest.
"Hey, young felly," called O'Brien, "do you always make so neat a
landing as that last?"
"I suppose so," answered Lawrence. "What was there about that one?"
"It was all right; that was it," said O'Brien. "If that's the way you
fly, you can have all me pretty toys at once, on a string."
"One is enough," laughed Lawrence. "Don't you want to go up?"
"I wouldn't mind a short flight, just to see how you manage it," said
O'Brien, gently relieving the man next him of his helmet and goggles.
Rising once more, Lawrence waited until they had gained a good height,
then as they sailed along in a steady current, he told O'Brien of his
encounter and the curious thing about the landing place of the strange
car and its sudden disappearance.
"Let's go over there," said O'Brien. "It's just the sort of thing I have
to look after. What with the country full of Reds, and all other colors
of the rainbow, we want to keep as many of the wild lunatics under
observation as possible."
They soon reached the spot where Lawrence had seen the plane land and,
sure enough, there was not a sign of anything that could be taken for a
hangar.
"You sure this is the place?" asked O'Brien.
"Sure!" replied Lawrence. "What do you say to landing? I can make it
easier than he did."
"Land away if ye like, and let's have a look," said O'Brien, "but don't
you smear me all over that nice green grass, I warn you."
"I won't," promised Lawrence, and dropped to earth as lightly as a bird.
As the plane slid along the grass and came to a standstill, O'Brien gave
a smothered exclamation.
"That's funny!" he said. "Look!"
Stepping out of the machine, Lawrence turned in the direction O'Brien
was looking. The hangar they were looking for was there, but covered
with a thick-set camouflage of brush. The doors were open, as though no
one would possibly find the place, and inside the hangar were three
cars: one a dirigible, one the car Lawrence had encountered, while the
third was a long, rakish model mounting an aircraft gun.
One quick look, and O'Brien backed out, drawing Lawrence with him. He
motioned him into their own plane, gave it a push and hopped into his
place as the speedy little flyer danced along for a moment, then rose
into the air.
As they fled, O'Brien mopped his brow.
"I didn't feel that place to be so healthy for us," he said. "And a gun
looking so fit! Who said the war was over these five years? Now what in
the world of wonders does all that mean? I dunno. Do _you_?"
Lawrence shook his head.
"Don't go there again," warned O'Brien. "Whether I'm with you or no. Do
you mind? We have got to find out about it. Did you notice anything
funny about that dirigible? No? Well, you don't know as well as I do,
but that old tube is exactly like the one that got cut up last night.
Down to the last seam, and even a dent in the steerin' gear that I made
meself trippin' against it with a hammer in me hand."
"How do you suppose that happens?" asked Lawrence, his eyes fixed in the
distance.
"That's what I dunno," said O'Brien. "But the joke is that I don't think
it happens at all. There is something funny about that. Dang funny!"
"Where do you suppose the people were?" asked Lawrence.
"Off amusin' themselves, or up to some mischief," answered O'Brien.
"They have such a good hidin' place that they don't bother to guard
their cars at all, at all."
They landed, O'Brien still sputtering. But Lawrence was silent. He
quizzed O'Brien about the locality and learned that it was not far from
the railroad. Then finding that O'Brien had an engagement for the
evening, he went quietly away. He first went to his rooms, took some
money from the trunk, and put on a dark suit. Then he hurried down town,
and reaching the Union station, boarded a train and was soon out of the
city. He had dinner on the train, and at about nine o'clock reached the
little station of Linden, where he dropped off and not waiting for the
train to pull out, slipped across the track and was swallowed up by the
shadows.
For all his athletics, Lawrence hated walking, as most aviators do, and
he groaned in spirit as he trudged over the country in what he hoped was
the direction of the mysterious aviation field. It had not occurred to
him to ask anyone how to reach it. Instinctively he knew that the
mysterious cars had not been heralded to the country at large.
He lost time, and several times had to turn aside and almost retrace his
steps, but at last he knew from the lay of the country that he was in
the right neighborhood. The moon had risen and was full. It cast the
densest shadows and Lawrence slipped from one patch of blackness to
another. He felt silly. He was not sure that this was not a wild goose
chase. The cars might be the property of some eccentric man who wished
to keep them in seclusion, and possibly he was trespassing on private
ground. He plodded on, however, urged by an impulse he could not
understand.
At last he emerged suddenly on the very aviation field itself; and on
the other side he saw the big bulk that was the hangar. Once more
plunging into the underbrush, he skirted the field and circled it until
he found himself at the back of the hangar. There was a small door here,
half open, and from within he heard voices.
He could not hear what was being said, however, and he took the chance
an older man would have thought plain suicide. Entering the door, and
fairly holding his breath, he stepped slowly and carefully along the
side of the building, crept close to the little plane, and finally lay
down and wriggled beneath it toward the dirigible. On the other side of
the long body four men were sitting over a game of cards. Not until
Lawrence felt the cool box of the plane above him did he think of
danger. And then it came to him clear as the tolling of a bell ...
discovery meant his death!