AT THE AERODROME
Dave Dashaway was greatly startled. All along the line of his airship
experience Jerry Dawson had crossed his path, always in a threatening
and troublesome way. A quick thinker, the young aviator traced a new
menace in this unexpected appearance of the scampish plotter.
“It certainly means no good for either my friends or myself,” reflected
our hero. “What mischief has he been up to inside the aerodrome? That
flash meant something. What?”
Dave ran on for a bit, but soon discovered that he was wasting time in
striving to overtake the fugitive. Jerry had made good his escape among
the scattered buildings beyond the street corner where he had
disappeared from view.
Dave hurried to the house nearest to the aerodrome. He ran up its steps
and knocked briskly at its door. A woman appeared in response to the
summons.
“I am looking for the people working in the old factory over yonder,”
explained Dave, hurriedly.
“Oh, yes, the balloon folks, you mean? They board at my sister’s house.”
“And where is that?”
“Second house from the next corner. Number twenty-seven.”
“Thank you,” said Dave and was off like a flash. “Oh, Mr. King!” he
called out a moment later, as he recognized the well-known figure of the
veteran airman crossing the street just ahead of him.
“Why, Dashaway!” exclaimed Mr. King, in a hearty way. “We’ve been
expecting you, and I’m glad you’ve come. Grimshaw and Hiram——”
“I’ll tell you later,” interrupted Dave, rather unceremoniously. “Mr.
King, get right over to the aerodrome. Something’s up.”
“Why, what do you mean, Dashaway?”
“Mischief is brewing, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Mischief? In what way?”
The young airman lost no time in briefly recounting his discovery. He
had Mr. King as thoroughly stirred up as himself by the time he had
concluded his graphic recital.
“This is serious,” declared Mr. King, very much disturbed. “Dawson
again, eh? It’s easy to guess trouble when that young scapegrace is
around. It fits in with—but that will keep. There is no time to wait.
Stay here for a minute.”
The expert aviator dashed into the house, while Dave waited in the
street. He kept his eye fixed on the aerodrome, half expecting every
moment to see it burst into flames.
“Here we are,” announced Mr. King, reappearing on a run with two
companions. One of them was Mr. Dale, who grasped Dave’s hand while
hurrying along. The other man Dave had never seen before.
“That is Leblance, our new man,” explained Mr. Dale.
“Don’t delay!” called out Mr. King, excitedly, leading the way, and the
group reached the entrance to the aerodrome in less than two minutes.
Mr. King unlocked the door. As he opened it he reached in and touched
the button controlling the electric lights. A blaze of radiance suddenly
illuminated the rambling place, making it as bright as day.
In the center of the shop, supported on a working frame and by the iron
girders aloft, was the skeleton of the giant airship. The young aviator
was eagerly ready for full attention to the object so dear to him. All
his faculties, however, were for the instant enlisted in an effort to
trace out the significance of the surreptitious visit of Jerry Dawson.
“There does not seem to be anything out of place,” said Mr. King, after
a swift survey of the dirigible balloon.
“Oh, but I smell powder,” observed Leblance, sniffing.
“Powder?” repeated Mr. Dale.
“Yes. There has been some kind of an explosion here,” insisted the
French engineer looking around.
Dave hurried over to the window where he had first discovered Jerry
Dawson. There were a number of tall, slim ladders all about the working
framework. He lifted one of these against the sill of the window aloft.
Then he ran up its rounds nimbly.
“Aha!” suddenly exclaimed the young aviator.
“Found something, Dashaway?” called out Mr. King.
“Yes, sir.”
“What is it?”
For reply Dave quickly descended the ladder. He held in one hand a
sooted tin disc. Its center showed a little heap of hard cinders.
“I found this on the window sill,” he explained.
“What is it?” questioned Mr. Dale.
“I think I guess the motive of Jerry Dawson’s visit now,” said Dave.
“The little black box he had under his arm was a camera. This is the
flashlight disc.”
“Hello!” exclaimed Mr. King, comprehendingly.
“They have been photographing our balloon!” cried Leblance.
“Exactly,” asserted the young aviator.
The engineer and Mr. Dale exchanged disturbed looks. Mr. King was
thoughtful.
“We might have expected it,” he said, but to Dave only.
“How is that?” inquired our hero.
“I’ll tell you soon as we reach the house. I am glad they did no harm to
the balloon. I hardly think they will try that, Leblance,” he said to
the Frenchman, “but you had better get one of your men to stay on watch
here nights.”
“Yes, yes,” responded Leblance earnestly. “We have been warned, we must
look out.”
“Come with me, Dashaway,” said Mr. King. “I have a lot to talk over with
you.”
Mr. Dale remained at the aerodrome until Leblance could hunt up one of
his workmen and place him on watchman’s duty. The aviator led his young
friend to the boarding house. Dave declared that he was not hungry, but
his host would not consent to this impending talk until he had
dispatched a good meal. Then he took him to his own room, locked the
door to secure them from interruption, and made him take a comfortable
armchair.
“You have arrived in the nick of time, Dashaway,” said Mr. King. “I’ve
felt the need of you for some days.”
“I can’t be of much assistance until the airship is finished, I should
think,” suggested the young aviator.
“That is true so far as the _Albatross_ is concerned,” agreed Mr. King.
“That end of the proposition is in capable hands, I am glad to say. We
have been very fortunate in securing the services of Leblance. He is an
expert in airship construction, helped to build several models in
Europe, and has some splendid new ideas. I am now satisfied that the
_Albatross_ will be all that we have hoped for.”
“That is good,” said Dave.
“It seems that our project has made quite a stir in the aviation world,”
proceeded Mr. King. “All the clubs are interested, the central
association has taken the matter up, and there is a chance of a bulk
prize of at least fifty thousand dollars being offered.”
“Grand!” commented Dave, with sparkling eyes. “It’s worth trying for,
isn’t it, Mr. King?”
“And we will get it, if there’s no miss in our plans—and no trickery,
Dashaway,” asserted the veteran airman, confidently. “I have counted all
the risks and chances. Given fair conditions, I believe our group will
successfully make the first airship voyage across the Atlantic.
To-morrow I will show you how far we have progressed, and how carefully
Leblance is planning to turn out the finest dirigible ever constructed.
It will make you as hopeful and enthusiastic as myself.”
“I’m that already,” insisted the young aviator.
“Very good, but I need your services for a certain phase of the
proposition that is worrying me.”
“What is that, Mr. King?”
“Well, Dashaway,” answered the expert airman, “I have reason to believe
that we will not be the only contestant in a race across the Atlantic.
In fact,” continued Mr. King, seriously, “I am quite certain that the
rival of the _Albatross_ is being built now.”