A FAMILIAR FACE
Our friends exchanged glances. The brow of every one of them
contracted into so plain a frown that Mr. Masters, the superintendent
of the airdrome, could not help noticing it.
"I hope nothing is wrong, gentlemen," he ventured half-interrogatively.
"So do we," responded Mr. Giddings, "but if there is, it is nothing
concerning you, sir, at least. We thank you for your attention to our
machine, and wish you to take the best care of it while it is here.
Don't let anybody meddle with it, will you?"
"We'll look after it right, you may depend upon that," said the flying
official; and the party turned and left the building.
Outside, where they would be secure from the hearing of others, all
came to a pause, for there was a lot on their minds.
"Well, boys," said the publisher, "you see our suspicions back there in
Miami were certainly well-founded. It seems that in some manner those
stolen blue-prints have fallen into the hands of our rivals, and they
have been wise enough to profit by the fact."
"Do you think, dad, that Mr. Wrenn could have been back of this theft?"
propounded Bob who, although the publisher was a business rival of his
father's, had always thought him above such operations.
"I really do not know what to think," was Mr. Giddings's answer. "I
have always entertained the greatest respect for this gentleman's
honesty, if he does differ with me politically. But I must admit that
since this thing has happened--"
"Sh-h!" warned Bob suddenly. "Here comes Mr. Wrenn now!"
It was as he said. Turning his head in the direction of the entrance
to the landing-field, Mr. Giddings instantly recognized, in the short
figure in linen coming toward them, the person of the publisher of the
_Clarion_.
"I shall have this matter out with him right now," was the grim
declaration of the _Daily Independent's_ director.
"Well, well! how are you, Giddings? How are you, Robert?" cried Mr.
Wrenn, sticking out his pudgy hand when he came up to the little group.
Such was his gusto that he did not seem to notice the lukewarmness of
the father's and son's greeting. Mr. Giddings introduced John, Paul,
and Tom, and then the publisher of the _Clarion_ continued with
good-humored raillery: "I'm mighty glad to see you fellows here, for I
began to think you would get scared and flunk us at the last moment.
Was over on the hotel veranda when I saw a plane land here, and I
guessed it might be you, and hurried right over. Put your machine up
yet?"
"We did," said Mr. Giddings rather sourly. "And do you know, Wrenn,
when we ran the Sky-Bird in the hangar we saw yours in there and
received quite a disagreeable surprise--I may say shock."
Mr. Giddings and the boys watched the broad face of their rival very
narrowly as this statement was put. Would he act guilty?
There was an explosion of laughter, the heartiest of laughter, from the
_Clarion_ director. "Oh, say, that's one on you, Giddings! I knew
you'd be down in the mouth when you saw our machine and realized that
you would have to contend against one as good or better than your
own--one of the same type!" And he laughed again, until he had to wipe
tears from his little blue eyes.
This was incomprehensible conduct from a guilty conscience! What could
it mean? Surely Mr. Wrenn, of the _Clarion_, was either the coldest
and deepest-dyed rogue in the world or a man entirely innocent!
"How did you know that we had an airplane like yours?" asked John
sharply.
The fat man broke into renewed chuckles at this question, and it was a
moment or two before he could find words. Then he said:
"There's a little story connected with this, and now that we're right
on the eve of the race and there's nothing to be gained by further
secrecy, I'll tell it to you. You see, about a year and a half ago,
possibly two years, a young man came to me for a job as sporting
reporter; said he had been a flyer in France and that the Government
wanted him as an Air Mail pilot, but he would rather take up the
newspaper game. I put him to work, and he proved very good in
gathering news of sports, especially aviation stuff. A week or so
after you challenged me to this race--which I would have liked to back
out of, but couldn't and save my honor--this chap showed me some
blue-prints of a novel kind of airplane which he claimed to have
co-devised with a flyer friend who, he said, was helping to make you a
machine of the same type for this contest. He--"
"What is this young man's name?" inquired John Ross excitedly.
"Peter Deveaux."
"Peter Deveaux!" exclaimed John and Paul at once. And John added: "Mr.
Wrenn, that fellow did not refuse to fly in the Air Mail service; he
_did_ fly, and was dishonorably discharged for drunkenness.
Furthermore, he stole those plans from our hangar!"
The publisher of the _Clarion_ opened his eyes wide. "Can you prove
those assertions?" he inquired. "That last one is a serious charge,
sir."
"Nevertheless we can prove it when we get back to New York," declared
John warmly.
"Well," said Mr. Wrenn, "I'll finish my story, and then we can talk
over this new development more understandingly. As I said, Deveaux
claimed to have a half-right in the plans, and having no reason to
doubt it, I told him to proceed, when he proposed to make an airplane
for us from the designs and to head a crew for the _Clarion_ in this
race around the world. Now you will understand my position in the
matter."
"Wrenn," spoke up Mr. Giddings with quick frankness, "I beg your
pardon. The young men here and myself fancied you must have had a
guilty part in the production of this fac-simile of our airplane. We
now see who is really to blame."
"I do not blame you for your suspicions," was the candid reply of the
fat man, "if things are as you state; and I will do you the honor,
Giddings, to say that, although we are business rivals, your word is as
good as gold with me. This is a lamentable situation. What shall we
do about it?"
Mr. Giddings studied deeply before making answer. Then he observed:
"Wrenn, this contest, as you know, has been too widely advertised to
wreck it just as it is about to begin by the arrest of this man, Peter
Deveaux. Say nothing to him about it; in fact, we will none of us
mention a word of this to anybody; but when the race is over you can
quietly dismiss him from your service, if you wish. As I now look at
it, no great harm has been done, if any, by his duplicity; with two
planes practically alike, the race will really be a fairer one, and a
more exciting one for the public who read our newspapers, and supremacy
will probably go to the better crew."
"I don't know about my crew, as Deveaux picked them up; but they did
good work when they brought me down here the other day in the plane,"
said Mr. Wrenn. "Giddings, I think your plan is all right, and we'll
let the race go on as if nothing had happened; but you bet your last
dollar I'll fire Pete when it's all over, if he has done what you say!"
With that the publisher of the _Clarion_ accompanied our friends back
to the hangar, where he had a good look at the Sky-Bird II, and showed
his own airplane, which was in all essentials an exact copy of the
other. Following this they left the airdrome and went to their hotels.
All had a good night's rest--probably the last one they would have on
earth for more than a week,--and after a hearty breakfast they
proceeded to get what supplies they would need to last them until they
should reach Georgetown, British Guiana, on the north coast of South
America. This would be their first stop. Somehow the townspeople
quickly guessed their identity, and they were followed from store to
store as they shopped by a curious and motley throng of dark-skinned
natives, among whom were noticed quite a few white children, presumably
belonging to American employees of the Government.
With such eatables as they had bought stored in a basket, and carrying
a few other packages, the boys went out to the airdrome. A guard stood
at the door to keep out those having no business in the hangar, and as
the young flyers passed in they noticed that Mr. Wrenn and a group of
four fellows in flying-suits were going over the rival airplane.
"Here, boys, come over here a minute!" called the fat man. As they
approached, the aviators with him turned from their work. One, a
slender fellow with swarthy skin and a scrubby black mustache, scowled
when he looked at John Ross, and as Bob Giddings and Tom Meeks got
their eyes on him, they gave an involuntary start, for they recognized
in the man the fellow they had seen hanging around the fair-grounds in
Yonkers when their machine was in process of construction.
"It's time you fellows got acquainted with each other," said Mr. Wrenn,
and he forthwith proceeded to introduce his crew as Pete Deveaux, Chuck
Crossman, Oliver Torrey, and Sam Lane.
"How are you, Ross?" greeted Pete Deveaux. He uttered a sour sort of
laugh, as his companions offered their hands around the group. "I
won't do any shaking," said he, "as my hands are kind of greasy."
"Don't worry, Deveaux," advised John quickly. "We won't feel bad over
a little thing like that."
"That your plane over there?" asked the swarthy fellow.
"That's it; quite a strong resemblance to yours here," said John with
cutting sarcasm.
"That's so," was Deveaux's comment, casting a quick look toward Mr.
Wrenn. Apparently he was as anxious to drop the subject as a chicken
would a red-hot kernel of corn, for he immediately observed, with an
ill-concealed sneer: "I suppose you guys think you're going to leave us
a good ways behind in this race?"
"We're not telling what we think," put in Paul; "but one thing is sure:
we're going to keep you hustling some."
"Oh, that's too bad, now, ain't it?" drawled Oliver Torrey, as he
leered out of one eye.
"Say, kid, we'll beat youse so bad you'll be squallin' before you're
half-way round the globe," put in Sam Lane.
"You bet! Ain't no use o' flying against such veterans as us,"
supplemented Chuck Crossman, with a wag of his frowsy head.
Mr. Wrenn frowned. While these might be his own men, it was hard to
countenance such bragging.