A Promise of Trouble
“You can’t blame us for this smash-up!” exclaimed Frank Hardy. “Why,
that’s absurd! We were on the road, where we belonged. If you wanted to
land, you should have landed in a field. There’s plenty of room.”
“I’ll land my plane wherever I please,” raged the pilot.
“Why pick on us?” asked Joe. “We did our best to get out of your way. I
think you deliberately tried to run us down.”
“Never mind. You’ll hear more about this affair. I’m going to report
this to the air mail service and they’ll come on you for damages.”
“Try to get ’em,” returned Frank.
A lanky farmer stepped forward.
“I saw the whole thing from the top of the hill,” he said slowly. “If I
was you, Mr. Airplane Man, I wouldn’t try to collect no damages from
these lads.”
“Why not?”
“Because they wasn’t to blame for the accident. The whole thing was your
own fault. And, by jing, if you _do_ try to blame them they can count on
me for a witness to prove that they did their best to get out of your
way. They was ridin’ peacefully along the road, and then you come
swoopin’ and bouncin’ out of the sky and come slap down on the road
where you shouldn’t be. You airplane fellows give me a pain. You’ve got
the whole sky to move around in, and yet you think you have a right to
chase people off the earth too.”
“Is that so?” sneered the pilot. “Well, you’ll have a chance to give
your evidence, seeing you know so much.”
“I’m glad of that, Giles Ducroy,” said the farmer. “I’m glad I’ll have a
chance to give evidence, for then I can tell ’em how drunk you were when
you crawled out from under the plane.”
This shot told.
“I’m not drunk,” stormed Ducroy. “I’m nervous.”
“You must have a pretty bad case of nerves to make your breath smell so
strong,” rejoined the farmer calmly. “I’ll bet the air mail service
won’t keep you on very long after this, when they hear what I’ve got to
say.”
The pilot turned his back.
“I haven’t got time to bother with you. It’s these boys I’m dealing
with. I warn you,” he said, glaring at the Hardy boys, “you haven’t
heard the last of this. There’s going to be plenty of trouble for you.”
Just then there was a roaring and clattering as a huge truck lumbered
down the road, bound from the airport. The driver stared at the scene in
amazement. Some of the farmers moved the wreckage of the plane out of
the road to enable the truck to pass. Giles Ducroy strode forward
arrogantly.
“Driver!”
“Yeah?”
“There are some bags of air mail in my plane. I want you to bring them
to Bayport.”
“Who says so?” asked the driver calmly.
“I do. I’m pilot of this plane.”
The driver regarded the wreckage.
“Looks like you made a pretty good job of the crack-up,” he said
finally.
Some of the bystanders grinned. Giles Ducroy flushed angrily.
“No nonsense about this,” he snapped. “It’s my duty to see that the mail
bags reach the city.”
The truck driver sighed.
“Why didn’t you bring ’em to the airport in your plane?” he inquired.
“Can’t you see? I’ve had an accident.”
“You picked a nice day for it,” observed the driver, glancing up at the
sky.
Giles Ducroy lost patience. He went over to the wreckage of the plane
and burrowed among the débris until he found the mail bags. These he
hauled forth and tossed into the truck.
“There!” he said. “Get them to Bayport as quick as you can.”
“Yes, Commander!” said the truck driver, with an elaborate salute. “The
air mail must arrive on time. If I run out of gas I’ll come down in a
parachute.” And the big truck lumbered off.
This exchange of witticisms, in which Giles Ducroy had come out second
best, judging by the snickers of the farmers who were now crowding
about, did not leave the pilot in a very good temper. He stormed into
the middle of a group of men who were examining the wreckage, ordered
them to stand back, and promised all sorts of dire penalties if anyone
touched the airplane until he returned from the airport.
“As for you,” he said, turning to Frank and Joe Hardy before he stalked
away, “you’ll hear more about this. You’re to blame for the whole
business and I’m going to see that you suffer for it.”
He went away, walking rather unsteadily down the road.
The lanky farmer who had befriended the boys came over to them.
“A man like that oughtn’t to be allowed in charge of a plane,” he said
gravely. “I’ll bet if the air service people knew about him being drunk
he wouldn’t hold his job two seconds.”
“Do you think he can make trouble for us?” asked Frank. “It wasn’t our
fault that he crashed. We did our best to get out of his road, and it
was just by luck that he didn’t smash right on top of us. I nearly
wrecked our roadster getting out of the way.”
“I saw it,” said the man. “I saw it all from the top of the hill. And
it’s just like I told Ducroy. I’ll be a witness for you if there’s any
trouble. My name is Jim Perrin and people around here know my word is as
good as my bond. You lads were no more to blame for that smash-up than I
was, and I’ll tell ’em so.”
“It’s mighty good of you, Mr. Perrin,” said Frank gratefully. “If we
have any trouble about this matter we’ll certainly call on you.”
“Be sure you do. I’ll help you all I can.”
The farmer went back toward the wreckage. Frank and Joe decided that
their trip to the airport might as well be called off for the time
being, as they had no desire for a further encounter with Giles Ducroy.
So they went back to the roadster and extricated it from its position
among the rocks, backed it out into the highway and headed toward
Bayport again.
In spite of Jim Perrin’s reassuring words, the lads were disturbed.
They had no idea how far Giles Ducroy might go and they realized that
the man would certainly stretch the truth in order to clear himself with
the airport officials. Like most boys, they believed that a man in
uniform was vested with powers beyond that of the average citizen and
they reflected that the officials might be more inclined to believe
Giles Ducroy’s word than theirs.
“I think we’d better tell dad about this,” said Frank. “We know we
aren’t to blame, but this thing might be serious if Ducroy makes any
charge against us.”
“Good idea,” replied Joe.
When they reached home they ran the roadster into the garage, then went
into the house. Fenton Hardy was working in his study, but he put aside
his papers when the boys came in and looked up at them with an inquiring
smile.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “You both look as if you have something
on your minds.”
“We have,” said Frank.
“Been in an accident with the car?”
“There was an accident, but we weren’t in it. We saw an airplane crash
and we’re blamed for it.”
Mr. Hardy looked serious.
“How on earth could you be blamed for an airplane smash when you were in
your roadster?”
Frank then explained the circumstances and told how they had been
obliged to take refuge in a lane in order to avoid the descending plane.
“It certainly wasn’t our fault,” he concluded. “We might have been
killed if we hadn’t reached the lane in time.”
“You say Ducroy was drunk?”
“He had been drinking. We could smell liquor on his breath.”
“I don’t think he’ll get very far if he tries to lay any charges against
you,” said the great detective. “The post office authorities won’t be
very easy on him if they discover he had been drinking. And, then, you
have this witness, Mr. Perrin. I’m inclined to think they’ll accept his
word about how it happened.”
“I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see what Ducroy does,” said Joe.
“Perhaps I can fix things up,” said Mr. Hardy. “I happen to have a good
many friends in the postal department. I cleared up a big mail robbery
here a few years ago and they appreciated it. I’ll go down right away
and have a talk with some of the officials and I’ll try to explain
things to them. Don’t worry too much about it.”
“That’s mighty good of you, Dad,” said Frank.
“I’ll say it is!” chimed in Joe.
“Well, I certainly can’t see my sons accused of wrecking an airplane
when they didn’t have anything to do with it,” said Mr. Hardy warmly. He
got up and reached for his hat. “I’ll go and see what can be done about
it right away.”