MYSTERIES DEEPEN
Standing beside the girl of "Mystery Isle," Jack stared down at the five
men and the jet plane in silence. "Here's a ticklish situation," he
thought. He was glad he had established friendly relations with the
natives. He and Stew, with only their sidearms, would be no match for
those five men.
Jack's amazement at this turn of affairs was great. He had been inclined
to accept the men who first had the jet plane as Englishmen or
Australians trying out a secret weapon. One thing was sure. This plane
was no haphazard affair built from parts of other planes. It was
brand-new and had been created in some up-to-date factory. There were
little points about it that seemed to say, "Made in America," but if it
had been, how had these fellows gotten hold of it? It was a priceless
possession, Jack was sure of that, for he had seen it perform. He'd seen
many types of planes climb toward the stratosphere, but none had become
a speck in the upper air as quickly as this one.
"I'd like to get my hands on it," he whispered to the girl.
"Wouldn't you, though!" she whispered back.
Then the tall man nearest the jet plane did what to Jack seemed a
strange thing. After lighting a large gas lantern that spread a white
circle of light all about him, he climbed to the plane's fuselage, threw
back the canopies, hung the lantern on a pole propped against the inside
of the cockpit, and then began tinkering with the controls.
"He certainly isn't afraid," Jack whispered to the girl. "Working in a
flood of light on a strange island. What an easy mark he would make!"
"Perhaps he does not know you are on the island," she returned.
"Wouldn't those other men tell him?" he wondered.
"Who knows?" The girl's words gave him the impression that she knew more
than she cared to tell. "The Germans are not afraid of natives," she
went on. "Besides, they have machine guns."
"On the plane?" Jack looked closely at the plane.
"Yes, two. I have seen them."
Jack unslung his binoculars. They brought the plane and the men closer
to him. A look of intense concentration came over the boy's face. He
watched every move the man on the plane made, studied and memorized the
instruments on the board, noted that they were fewer than on most
planes, then gave his attention to the controls.
As if conscious of the boy's intense interest, the man threw on the
power. The motor squealed. A fine, misty smoke half hid the plane. The
man threw off the power. The mist drifted away.
"That plane has no propeller," Jack whispered, half to himself and half
to the girl.
"No," she agreed.
"It's run by jets going out from the back," he went on. "If you held a
large balloon before you and it exploded, it would push you over. That
plane works something like that. The Italians tried it. Their jet went
straight back out of the fuselage. It ran the plane, but took too much
fuel. This one takes air from the sky into a large compressor. When it
is under high pressure it is mixed in a chamber with explosive gas from
kerosene. This mixture is ignited under terrific pressure, then carried
round a right-angle bend and blown through fans that somehow give it a
lot more power."
The girl was silent. Did she understand? He wondered.
But now the man in the cockpit was ready for one more move. Once again
he set the motor howling. This time however he released the brakes,
dropped his lantern into the cockpit, touched the accelerator, and went
gliding away into the night.
Jack had watched his every move. "That," he whispered, "is about the
easiest flying plane in the world. I could fly it right now."
"So could--" The girl stopped, then added, "Yes, yes, I am sure you
could."
"I will, too," Jack told himself, but did not say it aloud. No use
telling too much.
They listened to the plane until its strange wail faded into nothing.
"He's gone," the girl said, half rising.
"I think he will be back," Jack said, remaining in his place. "I want to
find out all I can," he added. The girl settled back in her place.
"That's the fastest plane in the world," Jack whispered. "I have seen it
take off in daylight. In the air close to earth, it takes lots of fuel,
but in the stratosphere, where other planes can't travel because there's
no air for the propeller to bite into, this jet plane goes like the wind
on just about no fuel at all."
"O-o-o!" the girl murmured excitedly.
"They left a scrapbook telling all about it down there on the rocks," he
explained. "I got a look at it. Wish I'd taken it with me, but you see,
I thought those first two men might be our friends. You don't take books
from friends."
"No, you don't," she agreed.
"Say!" he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. "Who are you? Where did you
come from? Those natives are not your people."
"They are not my people," she agreed. "My home is far away. When you
need to know more you shall be told. Is that fair?"
"Fair enough," said the boy.
The jet plane came screaming back. Jack watched intently while the pilot
put the ship to bed for the night. Then he said:
"We'd better go."
When they reached the well-beaten trail he said, "Thanks a lot. I'll be
seeing you."
"I'll be seeing you," she repeated. He went one way, she the other, into
the night.
As he approached his own camp Jack saw no sign of life there. The fire
had burned out. Nothing moved. All was silence and darkness.
"It's like returning to an empty house at midnight," he told himself.
Dark forebodings took possession of his mind. Had those original pilots
of the jet plane told the others of their camp here on the island, and
had the three Japs put an end to Stew's carefree life?
"Stew!" he called softly. "Stew! Where are you?"
"Can't have those fellows hearing me," he murmured. "What's happened to
Stew?"
All of a sudden there came the clatter of boots on the rocks. Instantly
he snapped out his light.
"That you, Stew?" he asked.
"Sure is," came in a familiar voice. "I thought they got you for sure."
"Who? Those jet plane fellows?"
"No. The cannibals."
"Forget that cannibal stuff," Jack laughed. "Those people are our
friends. But we've got trouble, all the same."
"Why? What's up?" Stew dropped to a place beside Jack on the rock.
"Plenty. There are five men over at the jet plane now, two Germans--"
"Ger--"
"Two Germans and three Japs, and they've got machine guns."
Stew whistled, then he exclaimed: "It's a good thing Ted's going to look
us up."
"Ted? Look us up? Where'd you get that idea?" Jack demanded in sudden
surprise.
"I got that Jap radio to work. There's been some sort of fight. Ted was
down in the water. Kentucky and his crew located him. They were talking
back and forth, Kentucky and Red were, so I butted in. I fixed up a sort
of code and told them where to find us."
"But I still don't see where Ted comes in."
"Kentucky located Ted and took him in his plane. He left his mike open,
so when Ted was in the plane I heard him say, 'Now that I'm rescued I'm
going to find Jack and Stew.'
"Kentucky said, 'That may require a lot of looking,' but Ted will find
us, never fear." Stew drew in a long deep breath of relief.
"Boy!" he sighed. "It will be great to get off this island and onto the
deck of the old _Black Bee_!"
"Good old Ted! He's a real pal," Jack murmured. "But whether he finds us
or not, I've picked my manner of leaving this island."
"How's that?" Stew sat up.
"I'm going in that jet plane," Jack declared stoutly.
"Sure. As a prisoner of the Germans and Japs." Stew laughed.
"On my own," Jack insisted.
"Sure! On your own." Stew did not laugh this time. "Two Nazis and three
Japs with machine guns! On your own! In the jet plane! No sir! Me? I'm
going to wear out my eyes looking for Ted."