Twenty-five miles east of the place where the bandits had stolen the
_Good News_, Tim, Ralph and the state police came upon the crumpled
remains of the plane.
From all indications the bandits had landed safely, then opened the
throttle and sent the _Good News_ charging into a clump of trees. The
wings of the crimson plane had folded back along the fuselage, the
propeller was splintered into a thousand bits and it was generally ready
for the scrap heap.
Tim went wild with rage and wept in his futile anger. When he finally
calmed down it was with a quietness that foreboded no good for Shanghai
Sam and Pierre Petard.
"We can't learn anything more by inspecting what's left of the _Good
News_," he said. "Let's circle around and see if we can find trace of a
car they might have had waiting for them to make their getaway."
Captain Raymond agreed that Tim's suggestion was a good one and the
state police spread out in their search for clues.
Tim and Ralph, working together, found the only clue of the afternoon.
Half a mile beyond the wreckage of the _Good News_ they found two marks,
about six feet apart and nearly forty feet long, in a small field which
was hidden from the nearest road by a heavy growth of trees. Tim made a
careful inspection of the marks.
"That settles it," he said finally. "I'm going east tonight and when I
come back we'll make it hot for the fellows who stole the _Good News_
and then deliberately crashed it."
When they returned to Atkinson, Tim carried his story to the managing
editor and Carson was wrathfully indignant. He had no word of censure
for his flying reporters. Instead, he praised them for their daring and
urged them to new efforts in the detection of Shanghai Sam and Pierre
Petard.
"I'm playing a long hunch," said Tim, "but I feel that if I can go east
tonight, I'll be able to learn information there that will bring about
the arrest of this pair of air pirates."
"Go as far as you like, Tim," said the managing editor, "just as long as
you deliver the goods."
"Thanks, Mr. Carson. I'll leave on the early night train for New York."
Ralph helped Tim throw a few things in a traveling bag and saw his
flying companion to the union station and aboard the limited which would
carry him on his quest for new clues.
"What's clicking in the old bean?" Ralph asked as they stood beside the
Pullman.
"Just a wild hunch," said Tim, "and I don't want to be laughed at if it
goes wrong. That's why I'm keeping it under my hat. If there is anything
to it, you'll be the first to find out. And say, while I'm away, beg a
plane off Carl Hunter and have it ready when I return. We may need a
ship in a hurry. We've done plenty of favors for Carl and he'll be glad
to help us out."
"I'll have a ship ready before you're back," promised Ralph as Tim swung
up on the steps of the slowly moving train. "Good luck."
The limited picked up speed and its tail lights vanished as Ralph stood
on the platform, wondering what queer mission had taken Tim east so
suddenly.
Thirty-six hours after leaving Atkinson Tim awoke to find his train
pulling into the outskirts of New York. The steam locomotive was
uncoupled from the long string of Pullmans and an electric engine took
its place at the head of the train for the few remaining miles into the
heart of the city. The train picked up speed rapidly and rolled steadily
into Manhattan, hesitating only a moment before it plunged into the
darkness of the tunnel under the river. Then they were in the great
terminal, where trains were arriving or departing continuously
throughout the day.
Tim went to a hotel the managing editor had recommended and after
leaving his traveling bag set forth in quest of the information which he
felt would result in the apprehension of Shanghai Sam and Pierre Petard
and put an end to the series of crimes which they had carried out
successfully in the middle west.
The flying reporter's first call was at the office of the largest
aircraft manufacturer in the United States. After some insistence he was
admitted to the office of Herman Bauer, the chief designer, a quiet,
gray-haired man. In a few words Tim explained his mission.
"I'm glad you came to us," said Bauer. "I've been reading of these
robberies and once or twice the stories have mentioned how completely
the bandits disappear and that the only marks they leave behind are
those parallel lines in small clearings."
"Then you've guessed what they must be using?" asked Tim eagerly.
"Yes," assented Bauer, "but I'm afraid I can't help you much more than
to say that I believe you're on the right track. Our company doesn't go
in for that sort of thing and if we did we'd have to have assurance that
the machine would be used legally."
"I hardly expected that your firm was involved in any way," explained
Tim, "but with your knowledge of the companies capable of doing such a
job I thought you might be able to give me some valuable leaders."
"I can't off hand," replied the designer, "but if you'll come back this
afternoon I'll make some inquiries in the meantime and may have
information that will help you."
Tim thanked the aviation expert and passed the remaining hours of the
morning walking through the streets of busy, restless New York.
At two o'clock he returned to Herman Bauer's office. The designer
greeted Tim cordially and turned to introduce a younger man who was in
his office.
"I want you to know Mac Giddings," he told Tim. "Mac is one of my
assistants and has managed to uncover some information that should help
you."
Tim and the assistant designer shook hands cordially. They were of the
same type, tall and slender, with a seriousness of purpose that brought
an immediate and warm friendship.
"I've heard rumors for some time that a little company back in the
Jersey mountains was up to some kind of a trick that wasn't altogether
above board," said Giddings. "One of our draughtsmen was fired by them
but before he left he saw enough of the plans to see what they had in
mind. If you say the word, we'll hop in my car and drive out. We can
make it before sundown."
Tim agreed to the assistant designer's suggestion and they were soon
threading their way through the heavy mid-afternoon traffic. Once out of
the heart of the city they struck a thoroughfare and sped across the
Jersey flats.
The flying reporter told his new friend of their experiences with
Shanghai Sam and Pierre Petard and gave him an outline of his own
conclusions.
"Seems to me you've found the solution," said Giddings as he swung his
machine off the main highway. "And I wouldn't be surprised if we verify
it within the next two or three hours."
The roads became rougher and their car labored up steep grades. Farm
houses looked less prosperous and by six o'clock they had reached a
section of Jersey with which few people were familiar. They were almost
to the Pennsylvania line in a wild, sparsely settled region.
"We'd better leave my car here," said Giddings, "and go the rest of the
way on foot."
He drove his car behind a thicket that screened it from the view of any
chance passerby and they continued their journey afoot.
Half an hour later they topped a ridge and looked down on a valley,
flanked on each side by small clearings. To the right of the creek were
several frame houses while on the left side was a wide, low building,
half frame, half canvas, which could be nothing but a hangar.
"Take it easy," cautioned Giddings. "These people don't like strangers
and they're apt to shoot first and ask questions afterwards."
Tim and the assistant designer made their way toward the clearings with
great caution. Fortunately they were on the left bank of the stream and
would not have to cross it in order to reach the hangar.
A small crew of mechanics who had been at work in the hangar came out of
the building and made their way across the rough bridge and to one of
the houses which evidently was used as a mess house.
"Now's our chance," whispered Giddings as he moved toward the hangar.
"You don't need to go," said Tim, grabbing at his companion. "There is
no need for you to take any chances. This is my game and I can see it
through now."
"I've voted myself in on it," said Giddings. "Let's go."
They moved quietly through the underbrush and made their way toward the
rear of the hangar. There they stopped and listened to make sure that no
one had been left on guard.
"All clear," whispered Tim. "I'm going in."
The flying reporter found a place where he could wiggle under the canvas
wall at the rear of the hangar. Giddings was right behind him and when
they stood up it was to look upon the most unusual workshop either of
them had ever seen.
Workbenches and lathes were along the walls of the makeshift hangar but
the object which held their attention was the monoplane in the center.
"I'm right!" exclaimed Tim jubilantly, "I'm right!"
"You sure are," agreed Giddings. "I'm going to have a look at this
contraption."
The monoplane was the strangest plane either of them had ever seen. They
pinched themselves to make sure that they were not dreaming for it was
such a bizarre looking craft.
"Old Man Bauer will have a fit when he hears about this," chuckled
Giddings, "for he has always had a pet theory that this type of machine
would never fly. Said you couldn't get enough power into the wing
propellers."
"I'd like to try it," said Tim as they started a quick inspection of the
monoplane.
The machine had been camouflaged by an expert. On the ground it would
have been invisible from the air while in the air it would be
practically invisible from the ground, so cleverly had the colors been
mixed and camouflage been applied. But the feature of the monoplane
which drew their attention was the wing propellers. At the outer tip of
each wing were mounted horizontal propellers, each about four feet in
diameter. Small, powerful air cooled motors supplied the power for the
wing propellers while a standard whirlwind was the motive power for the
main propeller in the nose of the ship.
"Talk about autogyros," exclaimed Tim. "Why this thing could take off
and land in a flower bed. I'll bet those wing propellers can pull it
almost straight up."
"That's the theory," said Giddings, "and from the robberies that this
gang you're after has been getting away with successfully it looks to me
like they've been using one of these machines, probably the first one
this outfit ever turned out."
"When I first saw those parallel tracks after the attempt to rob the
midnight mail I figured they must be using some kind of a machine like
this," said Tim, "but I knew it would have to be more efficient than
anything sold on the commercial market."
"Let's get out of here before dark," said Giddings. "We've got a long
trip back to the city and we can discuss plans on our way back."
Tim agreed and they made their way out of the hangar and back to the car
without detection.
On the trip to New York Tim discussed plans for the capture of Shanghai
Sam and Pierre Petard with the young aircraft designer.
"I've got something I've been fooling with for a long time," said
Giddings. "It's a sort of radio detector designed for use in time of
war. When it is fitted into a plane you can ascertain whether any other
ships are in the air and by adjustment of the detector tell how far away
they are."
"Just the thing I'll need," said Tim enthusiastically. "Is there any
chance that you'll lend it to me for a few days?"
"That's why I mentioned it," said Giddings. "The device needs a thorough
testing and once I've proved its value I'll have no trouble in selling
my patents. We'll both profit by your using it."
When they reached the city Giddings drove to his apartment, which
contained living quarters and a room which he had fitted up as an
electrical laboratory.
Far into the night they worked in the laboratory, Giddings explaining
the use of his radio detector and Tim working with it to be sure that he
could handle it to the best advantage.
When the flying reporter left Giddings' apartment he was burdened with
the radio detector, which, although placed in a compact cabinet, was
heavy.
"I'm going to report this outfit over in the Jersey woods," said
Giddings, "and it won't take Uncle Sam long to put a damper on their
activities. There will be no objection to their manufacture of their
plane for commercial use but to make them especially for aerial bandits
is a proposition that Uncle Sam won't stand for."
"I'm glad you'll take care of that," said Tim. "They really have a
wonderful plane and it's a shame that a crooked outfit has gotten hold
of it. Undoubtedly money which the Sky Hawk obtained when he was at the
peak of his career is behind them."
"Which will be just one more reason why Uncle Sam will be glad to shut
them up," said Giddings. "By tomorrow afternoon the woods will be full
of federal men for a surprise raid. Be sure and let me know how you come
out and send the radio detector back as soon as you're through."
"I'll do that," promised Tim, "and thanks so much for all you've done
for me."
When the flying reporter reached his hotel, he found a telegram.
"We've been trying to find you since late afternoon," said the clerk who
handed him the message. "It was marked important."
Tim tore open the yellow envelope and read the brief message. His senses
reeled as the import of the telegram flashed through his mind.
Ralph had been kidnapped!