THE SECRET BOOK
On the island of mysteries Jack watched with increasing astonishment as
the jet plane soared away. It climbed up until it looked to be the size
of a star, let out a scream, then faded with the speed of sound into the
blue sky.
"Some plane!" he exclaimed, straining his eyes for one last glimpse of
it. A plane like that could change the whole science of aviation. Yes,
it's a military secret, but whose secret? That's the question. He was
about to begin his homeward journey when a book, lying on the rocks,
caught his attention.
_Murder at Midnight_, he read on the cover. "So that's what they read!"
Picking up the book, he flipped it open, then a whistle escaped his
lips. Two thirds of the pages of the original book had been replaced by
pages on which clippings had been pasted. "A scrapbook! How strange!" He
stood staring at it.
A moment later he nearly dropped it in his excitement. "It's all about
that mysterious plane! What a find!" he whispered.
Sitting down upon a flat rock, he began to read. There were articles in
English, French, German, and Italian. Many he could not read at all, but
the articles in English were more than enough to satisfy his curiosity.
Much that he read about equalizers, reflecting blades, direpeller
blades, slip streams, and burbles he understood only in part. At last he
came to an article which gave him the desired information. This article
read in part:
"Rocket propulsion, of course, is not a new thing; the basic idea is
centuries old. As applied to aerial warfare it was employed on a crude
basis even in World War I. The Italians made public an experimental
flight of a propellerless jet-type plane several years ago. Long before
that, automobiles were driven by rocket engines, and special rockets for
making meteorological soundings in the substratosphere were in use....
"Nevertheless, the Anglo-American jet-propelled airplane represents the
broadest application of the principle yet achieved.
"The jet plane carries no oxygen for its engine: its jet propulsion
engine uses oxygen from the air. This engine has fewer parts and is of
simpler construction than the traditional engine. It operates a
mechanism which compresses the air. This air is mixed with atomized
fuels such as gasoline, kerosene, alcohol, or some other fuels of the
hydrocarbon family, rich in hydrogen. From that point forward the
operation is the same as in the rocket engine; that is to say, the gas
is released and ignited, the resulting expansion and emission through
the jet providing the power....
"The development of the jet engine was made possible by a number of
recent scientific achievements. One was the development of new alloys
capable of withstanding extreme heat. The gases in combustion produce
temperatures of 1500 degrees and over, and it is only in recent years
that materials to resist such temperatures have been produced....
"Smoothness, simplicity, and evenness of power are three of the
principal characteristics reported by pilots who have flown the new
fighter plane powered by jet propulsion....
"Says one flier who has flown this plane: 'It is the smoothest ride I've
ever experienced in any plane. The first time I climbed into the cockpit
I was naturally a little nervous about first contact with an entirely
new method of propulsion. My nervousness persisted while I started the
engines and until I started to taxi across the field for the take-off;
then it dawned on me that this plane was even simpler to operate than a
primary trainer. I flew it through all the maneuvers I wanted for twenty
minutes, then landed, and taxied up to the line.
"'I wanted to check the fuel before resuming flight, so before turning
on the main switch to read the electrical fuel gauges, I stuck my head
out of the cockpit and shouted, to warn the mechanics to stay clear of
the propeller, completely forgetting that I didn't have any
propeller.'...
"Jet propulsion is necessary if we are to exceed the possibilities of
propellers. A propeller literally screws its way through the air. The
blades cause a partial vacuum. The greater the density of the air, the
greater is the efficiency of the propeller. As we rise, the air becomes
thinner. Finally a point is reached at which no propeller will 'bite.'
The ceiling has been attained.
"With jet propulsion, exactly the opposite holds good. The less air
there is, the more efficient is the motor. If the ejected gas has an
expansion efficiency at rest of 40 feet in one-hundredth of a second--a
rate of 4,000 feet a second--the same force exerted in motion would
increase the speed up to a point where the maximum efficiency is reached
at something like 10,000 miles an hour. Jet propulsion gets better and
better as speed and height increase.
"As a matter of fact, with a fuel composed of liquid oxygen and
gasoline, jet velocities of 12,000 feet a second have been obtained."
There was one important question the article did not answer. How was the
plane operated? Could he drop into the pilot's place, set the plane
screaming, and sail away at once? Jack wanted very much to know. Already
he pictured himself slipping into the mystery plane and soaring away.
"For," he told himself, "we must get away from this island and back to
our ship. We can't miss the attack on Mindanao.
"Besides," he added, catching his breath, "what a sensation I would
create if I were to come swooping down to land that plane on the deck of
the old _Black Bee_!
"I'd probably get myself shot up before I landed." His face sobered.
"But that could be taken care of some way."
He tried to think what it would mean to come into possession of such a
plane. "All depends upon who those fellows are," he mused. "If they are
our allies and I swiped their plane, I would very likely be put in the
brig. But if they are Germans, and I got their secret weapon away from
them, my picture would make the front page of every paper in America.
I'd probably be made an admiral." He laughed huskily. "What a life!"
A protracted search was at last rewarded. An insignificant sketch
clipped from some British magazine told him that it had not been
necessary to change the manner of operation for this plane. "You turn on
the gas, release the brakes, step on the accelerator, and away you fly,"
he read.
"Just like that!" he exclaimed. "Perfect!"
As he returned the book to its place on the rock, then turned to go up
the trail, he realized that though the mystery of the strange plane had,
in part, been solved, that mystery had been supplanted by even more
important problems. Who were these men who came and went so
mysteriously? They had told him very little. The book had told him less.
Since the clippings were printed in four languages, and these men had
collected them, they might be friends or enemies--Englishmen,
Australians, or Germans. These islands were in enemy waters, but were
too small and rugged to be considered important. Perhaps these men were
Germans placed here to spy on Allied ships and to watch the islands.
But in that case they'd have nabbed me, he thought. Well, maybe not.
They knew I couldn't get away. Perhaps they thought they could find out
things from me, the ship I'd sailed on, number of ships in the task
force, and all that.
But then, they spoke English. He laughed lightly. Probably Englishmen.
But why are they here? He gave it up and started back toward their camp.
On his way back to camp he made discoveries that deepened the already
ominous mystery of the island. He had covered half the distance when a
fluttering bit of white against the dark trunk of a huge teakwood tree
caught his eye. He hurried toward it.
He discovered that it was pinned there by three thorns. It was a note
written on paper made from a thin slice cut out of the stem of a palm
frond and bleached in the sun. The message was printed, but not crudely
done. It read:
Don't trust those men with the strange plane. We think they are
dangerous. We have heard them talking German.
That was all. The note was not signed. Who were "we"? To this there was
no answer.
Jack felt a warm wave of friendliness sweep over him as he pocketed the
note. Some one on this island wished to befriend him. A vision of the
tall, slender girl whose roast pork had so excited the natives, and
whose smile was most engaging, came before his eyes.
She might have written it, he told himself. Then again, perhaps not.
There might be white people hiding on the island. Who knows?
Suddenly, as he rounded a coco plum bush, he caught a glimpse of that
same girl. She was on her knees at the foot of a great coconut palm
tree.
Seems to be praying to the spirit of the palm, he thought, as he watched
her from the shadows.
He knew soon enough that his guess was poor. The girl was removing dried
leaves and palm fronds from a spot at the foot of a tree. After throwing
aside a square of brown canvas, she carefully lifted something white
from its place of hiding.
Jack could not see what this was, but he was not long in finding out,
for the girl stood up and held before her a white dress.
"An Army nurse's uniform," Jack whispered to himself. He shuddered
involuntarily.
In a twinkling, without removing her thin, one-piece garment, the girl
had the white dress on, and a cap of white on her hair.
After that, attired as a nurse, she did a strange little dance all by
herself. Stooping over, she took a small square mirror from the hiding
place. This she hung against the tree. Standing there, she surveyed
herself in the mirror. Jack too, caught a glimpse of her face in the
glass. Her dark face stood out strangely against the stark white of her
dress. There was a curious look of animation and amusement on her face.
Once she laughed, then shook her fist at the face in the mirror.
Then, as her shoulders drooped in an attitude of utter sadness, she
removed the dress and nurse's cap, to return them to their hiding place.
Realizing that she might come out on the trail at any moment, Jack
hurried past the spot while she was covering her treasures. Jack
hurriedly and quietly put some distance between them.
His head was in a whirl. Who was this girl? Why had she come here, and
how had she come into possession of the nurse's costume? It was all very
strange and disturbing. Dark forebodings took possession of him as he
hurried along over the damp, heavily shaded path.