A STRANGE MESSAGE
“Too worried to eat,” spoke Hiram Dobbs to himself at supper time. “Too
busy to do any sleeping to-night.”
Dusk had settled down over the International grounds as he sallied
forth after an impatient hour spent in waiting for darkness. He locked
the hangar, and turned in the direction of the Syndicate camp.
“Slow, and cautious, and sure,” murmured Hiram. “I’ve got plenty of
time, and I must be careful not to muddle matters through any haste.
It’s Borden, first and foremost. When I locate him I’ll find some way
to attract his attention.”
Hiram followed the fence, keeping away from casual pedestrians and
crowds. He passed the hangar next in the line to the Syndicate camp.
About to approach nearer, Hiram stretched himself carelessly along a
slanting fence support as though taking a rest, for a man was coming
towards him. It was one of the “White Wings” battalion, Hiram at once
made out. The man wore the white khaki uniform of the men supposed to
keep the grounds in order. He had a pronged stick, and slung at his
side a light but deep basket.
Whenever he came to a piece of paper, rags, or the like, he would spear
the same, and transfer it to his basket. Daytimes the sanitary squad
kept the streets in order. Early in the evening they went about
gathering up the refuse that littered the grounds.
Hiram decided to wait till the man got out of the way before he
approached nearer to the Syndicate camp. He noticed that the man had an
uncertain gait. He missed spearing several pieces of paper. One the
wind kept scurrying along every time he neared it. Hiram would have
been amused at any other time. Finally, in trying to corner a whirling
fragment of paper, the man stumbled and fell flat, the basket on top of
him.
“Here, let me help you,” proffered Hiram.
“That you, Palen?” spoke a sharp voice, as the unfortunate man was
mumbling out his thanks to Hiram. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Hiram turned to observe one of the lieutenants in charge of the
grounds-workers.
“Late again, and in a fine condition, aren’t you?” demanded the
newcomer in a stern, censuring tone. “You’re discharged, do you hear?
You’ve been careless for the last two days.”
“Yes, sir—bad cold. Not feelin’ well. Don’t like this job anyhow,” the
man mumbled.
“Well, get through with your work, if you’ve sense enough to do it, and
draw your pay. We can’t have your kind around here.”
The official walked away with these words. His subordinate steadied
himself against a fence-support, and watched the other disappear. Then
he threw the spear-stick to the ground, tossed the basket after it and
muttered glumly:
“All right. Sick of the place anyhow. I’ll do no more work!”
Hiram had been casually interested in the episode. Suddenly it
suggested an idea to his quick mind. He took a dollar bill from his
pocket.
“Say, my friend,” he spoke, “I like exercise. You lend me your jacket
and hat, and I’ll give you that, and do the rest of your work.”
“Well!” murmured the man stolidly. “Must have lots of money to waste it
that way. That’s a bargain. Leave the old coat and hat where they’ll
find it, will you? There you are,” and the speaker divested himself of
the bulk of his uniform, and went off with the dollar, chuckling
gleefully.
Hiram waited till the man was out of sight. Then he went to the side of
a path and proceeded to daub his hands and face with dust. The clumsy
jacket came nearly to his knees. The hat was helmet-shaped. It dipped
both front and rear and well shadowed his face.
“I think I’ll do. I can surely pass for what I pretend to be, if I
don’t get where it’s too light,” decided Hiram.
A more industrious “white wings” never worked on the International
grounds. Hiram seemed to have eyes for every stray fragment of rubbish.
He boldly invaded the precincts of the Syndicate camp. Just inside
several hangar’s men were playing cards, smoking and conversing.
“I don’t see anything of Mr. Borden,” soliloquized Hiram
disappointedly. “There’s Worthington, though, and his special man,
Valdec.”
The humble, dust-covered grounds-man picking up rubbish, suggested
nothing suspicious to the two men, as Hiram poked around a bench on
which they were seated engrossed in earnest conversation. Hiram speared
an empty cigarette box not three feet away from the foot of Valdec. He
approached close to the side of the bench making a great ado of
kneeling, and picking up the fragments of a torn programme of the meet.
“Yes, I’ve got the altitude stunt fixed for good,” he overheard Valdec
observe.
“How is that,” inquired the big Syndicate manager.
“A dummy barograph,” chuckled the trick aeronaut. “Oh, I’ll beat ten
thousand feet easy as pie! The _Ariel_ might have made it, but—pouf!
We’ve got that off our minds, more’s the luck! You’re sure there’s no
chance of Dashaway coming on the scene to spoil things?”
“Dashaway won’t get away,” coarsely laughed Worthington. “I sent Borden
down with Terry to double the guard on him this afternoon.”
Some one hailed the manager just then and the talk ended. Hiram’s
spirits drooped. Borden had been sent away from the meet before he
could get any further word to the _Ariel_ hangar. For some time Hiram
hung around, hoping to overhear some indication as to the place where
his chum was undoubtedly held a captive. His energy was unrewarded, and
he returned to his own hangar.
“I know two things,” he reflected, but disconsolately, as he tossed
restlessly in bed some hours later. “Dave is alive—the _Ariel_ is gone.
Another thing; we won’t be in this meet. Poor Dave! How will it all
come out?”
Hiram was fairly frantic when the next day passed, and there was no
word from Bruce. The next morning he had decided to proceed to see Mr.
Brackett himself, fearing that something had happened to his messenger,
when Bruce himself appeared.
“What news? Quick!” spoke Hiram, in great excitement. “What kept you?”
“I was delayed. Mr. Brackett was away until yesterday afternoon. He
listened to my story and asked me a hundred questions. Then he sent a
note to you. Here it is.”
Hiram was so eager and anxious that he fairly tore a folded sheet from
the hand of Bruce. Quickly his eyes scanned its contents.
And thus it read:
“Go right on, the same as if Dashaway and the _Ariel_ were ready for
the contest.”
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