It was not a particularly jolly meal at Major Honeywell’s that
night. The major was oppressed by grave fears of what might happen
to his young friends on their journey, and the Airship Boys felt the
seriousness of the step they were about to take. However, youthful
spirits are buoyant, and the good-smelling, appetizing dishes that were
served them soon drove away dull gloom and revived the boys’ spirits.
As Alan said:
“What’s the use of sitting here staring at each other across the table
as if we were at a funeral? Nobody is going to die or even get hurt.
It’s no use trying to be melancholy on a full stomach, and I, for one,
am going to laugh right now.”
The dessert course was just being served when there came a ring at the
doorbell, and a few minutes later the maid announced that a reporter
from the _Herald_ wanted to see either Mr. Napier or Mr. Hope.
“Show the gentleman right in here,” said Major Honeywell, after the
boys had agreed to see him.
The young man who came in was slightly larger and older than either
Ned or Alan. He was tall, wiry, and had the cool, assured bearing of
one who has survived many rebuffs and still got what he wanted. As he
entered the dining room door, both Ned and Alan sprang to their feet
and rushed impulsively to meet him.
“Buck Stewart!” they shouted joyously, pumping his arms up and down.
“Well, if this isn’t both the most unexpected and the luckiest thing!
We’ve been wanting to have a talk with you for two days past, and meant
to ask the managing editor about you Tuesday, only we were interrupted
and got so flustered over it that we left before remembering that you
were one of the main reasons for our call.”
“What good fairy brought you here to-night, Buck?” asked Ned, pulling
the newcomer down into a chair at the table and shoving a piece of pie
in front of him.
“I’d rather eat that pie than talk right now, but I suppose I’ve got
to answer your question first,” said Buck. “We reporters always are in
hard lines. You ask how I happen to be here? Well, it was this way:
The night city editor called me over about an hour ago and gave me an
assignment on you two chaps.”
“Why, what news is there about us that the _Herald_ could use?” asked
Ned, exchanging a rapid glance with Alan and the major.
Buck removed a longing eye from the piece of pie to reply:
“We learned in some way that unknown parties had made you a cash offer
of something like three hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars for
the _Ocean Flyer_ and that you turned them down cold. Is that true?
Also, who were the people who wanted to buy the _Flyer_ at such an
astounding cash figure, and for what purpose did they want it? If
you’ll give me full details I’ll be much obliged.” This as the reporter
pulled a folded bundle of note paper and a pencil from his pocket.
“These prospective buyers didn’t represent any one of the warring
nations in Europe, did they?”
“That’s just what we don’t know and what we feared,” said Alan. “I’m
afraid that we can’t give you much dope for a story, though, Buck,
because we know as little about them as you do.”
Then he went on to tell about Mr. Phillips, the go-between’s
mysterious call, and the telephone conversation with the man with a
strong German accent.
“I’m sure that I’ve heard his voice somewhere before and that not so
very long ago, too,” added Ned. “I’ve racked my brains ever since
trying to place him.”
“Huh, sounds funny,” commented the reporter musingly, “but you
certainly haven’t given me much of a lead for the ‘story’ I was after.
Well, I’ll be going and not interrupt your little party here any
further.”
“Wait a minute, Buck,” said Ned. “We haven’t told you yet why we wanted
to see the _Herald’s_ managing editor about you.”
“That’s so,” said Buck, sitting down more comfortably in his chair.
“Now if one of you gentlemen will hand me a fork, I’ll dispose of this
mince pie while you’re spinning the yarn.”
So, while the reporter was busy making the pie disappear, Ned told him
of Bob Russell’s predicament in Belgium and what they proposed to do
towards a rescue.
“We want you to go with us, Buck,” said he, “just as you did the time
we made the ‘twelve-hour’ London-to-New York flight two years ago with
the coronation pictures for the _Herald_. The managing editor will
surely let you go for the two or three days needful when you ask him,
especially as it will enable the paper to get a representative right at
the front, with no bull-headed censor to edit his ‘copy.’”
“If the boss won’t let me off, I’ll throw up the job anyway,” shouted
Buck, jumping up in great excitement. “Why, Bob Russell and I are old
friends, just as you are, and I don’t want to leave him in the lurch
any more than you do. It’s mighty good of you to give me this chance to
make one of the rescue party. Count on Buck Stewart, boys--hair, tooth
and nail!”
The reporter’s enthusiasm was contagious. All three sprang to their
feet, and, with exclamations of mutual pleasure, were shaking hands to
seal the compact when--
“Ting-a-ling-ling! Ting-a-ling-ling!” went the telephone bell.
“Ned,” called the major, who answered the call, “it’s somebody that
wants to speak with you personally--_a man with a marked German
accent_.”
The little company around the dining table stared curiously at each
other as Ned Napier took up the receiver.
“Hello! This is Mr. Napier.... Yes, I’m one of the owners of the _Ocean
Flyer_. Who is this speaking and what do you want?”
The voice at the other end of the line was harsh and guttural. The
words were spoken in a truly menacing tone:
“You do not need to know who I am. It is sufficient that I warn you. We
who are banded together in this country know this thing that you think
of doing. We know that you intend a trip in your flying ship to the
war zone. Take our advice and do not attempt it. You are being closely
watched and we will not hold ourselves responsible for what may happen
if you try to carry out your plan. You are young and life is dear to
you. Beware!”
The telephone clicked abruptly at the other end of the line and the
threatening voice was still. Ned sat as if petrified, his face a study
of mingled amazement, indecision and indignation.
“What’s the matter, Ned? Who was it? Was it that same person who called
up about the _Flyer_?” cried the others crowding around him.
“Yes,” replied Ned, “it was the same voice and I am sure that I have
heard it before.”
Then he went on to tell them of the ominous threats of the mysterious
stranger. A chorus of exclamations followed his recital.
“The blackguard!” ejaculated Major Honeywell. “We ought to set
detectives on his trail.”
“Small chance of ever catching him that way with the meagre clues we
have,” said reporter Buck. “Besides, we haven’t time to monkey with
anything like that,--unless, of course, you boys decide that it is
better not to risk the enmity of these unknowns. They evidently mean
business.”
Ned’s lips had fixed themselves into a grim, straight line, and Alan’s
frown was no less determined.
“All he hopes to do is to frighten us into selling the airship to him,”
said Alan, “and I don’t believe that his big threats were anything but
sheer bluff. Why, they wouldn’t dare attack us right here in the heart
of civilized New York.”
“Whoever they are, or whatever they may try to do, we’re not going to
let a phone call scare us out of this effort to save Bob Russell,” said
Ned. “We’re all ready to start now except for getting the _Herald’s_
permission to let Buck here go with us. He can see the managing editor
about that the first thing in the morning, and then we’ll be off
immediately.
“But if this gang really has you boys spied upon, they will certainly
make some attempt to stop you,” argued Major Honeywell.
“Nobody stands any chance of stopping us once we get up in the air,”
answered Ned, “but, as you say, we may as well try to make our get-away
as secretly as possible. I would suggest that instead of starting out
by daylight to-morrow, as we planned, that we wait until midnight. Each
of us can leave his house at a different time during the day and go
about as if we have changed our minds and called the trip off. Then,
just in time to reach the Newark factory, each one can start off alone.
We should be able to disarm any suspicion in that way.”
Everybody approved heartily of Ned’s scheme and parted that night
with a little more earnestness in their handshakes than usual. All of
the road back home the Airship Boys cast furtive glances over their
shoulders every now and then, but no sign of any followers was visible.