Alan Hope reached the Newark factory of the Universal Transportation
Company shortly before eleven o’clock that night, after an uneventful
trip out via the suburban railroad service. He found the big plant
gloomy and silent, without a light to show that activity was really
going on within. In response to a prearranged code of rings on the bell
at the great main gates, he was admitted.
The _Ocean Flyer_ had been wheeled to the extreme end of the big
aviation field where she might have plenty of room for her initial rise
into the air, and the factory foreman informed Alan that all was now
ready for departure at any minute.
Ned Napier arrived within ten minutes after his chum. Although he had
sustained no actual mishap on the way out, it was by sheer luck only
that he escaped the trap which had been laid for him. He had attended
the performance at the Winter Garden, purposely leaving early. In the
foyer as he went out a stranger in full evening dress (apparently one
of the spectators finishing his between-acts cigarette) accosted him
with extreme politeness:
“Dear gentleman, your pardon,” said he, “but are you not Mr. Edward
Napier, the aeronaut?”
“No,” Ned answered him coldly. “My name is Lloyd Jenkins. I am a
traveling shoe salesman.”
“My mistake, then,” laughed the stranger lightly. “Just to show that
there’s no hard feelings, won’t you join me in a little drink down at
the bar?”
“No, thank you,” the boy answered, “I never use intoxicating liquors,”
and then, being already suspicious, brushed on past the stranger and
out into the street.
The usual line of taxicabs lined the whole curb on both sides of
Broadway for a block or more. As soon as Ned appeared there was a
hoarse-voiced chorus of shouts:
“Taxi! Taxicab, sir? This way, sir! Taxicab?”
Several of the chauffeurs crowded around Ned, trying to persuade him
to patronize them rather than their fellows. One driver, muffled deep
in a fur-collared overcoat, even went so far as to lay his hand on the
boy’s arm.
“I have a big, comfortable limousine car here,” he said. “Same price as
those stuffy little taxis.”
Out of the corner of his eye Ned just then saw the persistent stranger
of the theatre lobby coming out of the entrance towards him, and, not
being anxious for any further acquaintance, the boy turned hastily to
the chauffeur, saying:
“All right! Your limousine for me!”
“Where to, sir?”
Ned was properly cautious.
“The Grand Central Station,” he answered, intending then to change to
another taxicab which could double on his tracks and take him on to the
rendezvous in Newark.
The gentleman in evening clothes was hurrying towards Ned, signaling
wildly for him to wait.
“Drive ahead!” called the boy to his chauffeur, and plunged into the
black, cushioned depths of the big limousine. Ned kept right on going
through, however, tore open the door on the opposite side, and was
plunged headlong to the pavement by the sudden rush of the machine as
it fairly leaped into high speed. There in the gloom of the car he had
vaguely observed the uneasy stir of a man hidden beneath the heaped-up
rugs in the corner.
The boy raced across the street, dodging whizzing motors and heedless
of angrily-honking horns, sprang inside the nearest taxicab and yelled
to the driver:
“Give her all the juice you can! Five dollars extra if you can get me
to Brooklyn Bridge within twenty-five minutes!”
“I’ll do my darnedest,” the chauffeur, a grizzled man of fifty, assured
him.
They were off in a jiffy, amid a grating of gear-shifts and thunderous
explosions of the opened exhaust. The motor began to whine as the gas
was fed more and more rapidly; the white glare of Broadway slipped
past the cab windows in a dull blur. Traffic policemen’s whistles were
merely unheeded incidentals of the mad race.
Peering back through the little window in the rear of the machine, Ned
saw at least two other automobiles join in the pursuit from the front
of the theatre. The big limousine was one of them. The stranger in
evening clothes and another man were craning their necks out of the
other.
“Turn over onto Fifth Avenue and double up and down some of the side
streets as fast as you can,” called Ned through the speaking tube
to his chauffeur. “Never mind about Brooklyn Bridge. There are two
machines behind that I want to shake off our trail.”
“All right, boss,” replied the chauffeur. “You just leave it to Barney
O’Dorgan to lose any other chasing taxi in this old town.”
From then on it became a game of hide-and-go-seek. Finally away over
on the East Side, it looked as if the pursuers had been shaken off.
No sign of them had been apparent for at least half an hour, and Ned
was just congratulating himself, when the car turned a corner, and
right there, at a standstill under the arc-light, in the center of the
otherwise deserted street, stood the big limousine, with the three men
arguing violently beside it.
Chauffeur Barney O’Dorgan caught sight of it as soon as Ned did.
Simultaneously the trio recognized their lost quarry and started
towards it at a run. There was neither time nor space for Barney
O’Dorgan to turn his car about, so, as cool as you please, he simply
threw his gear lever as far as it would go, flooded the cylinders with
gas, and the taxicab began to race backwards at as furious a pace as
it had previously gone forward.
Seeing their prey escaping, all three of the pursuers jerked revolvers
from their coats and opened fire. Two bullets shattered the windshield
in front of intrepid Barney’s face; another tore its vicious way
through the wooden body of the cab and imbedded itself with a dull thud
in the back wall not a foot from Ned’s head. All of the other shots
went wild. Two blocks down this side street and the cursing pursuers
were left more than half of that distance behind. Then chauffeur Barney
reversed his gears, turned the machine about, and sped on his way, with
Ned exulting behind him.
“Barney, you’re a peach, and you won’t ever regret the way you’ve stuck
by me to-night,” Ned called gratefully.
“Oh, that’s all right,” the Irishman made answer. “I knew by your looks
that you weren’t a crook, and certainly I wouldn’t let that gang of
high-binders nab you. Where to now, sir?”
The driver certainly had proved himself trustworthy, so Ned decided to
tell him his true destination.
“Have you gasoline enough left to drive me to the plant of the
Universal Transportation Company in Newark?” he asked.
“Plenty of gas,” grinned Barney, “but I’m not so sure about the air in
my tires. Wait until I look at them.”
The tires proved hard and sound, however. Once more Barney took the
wheel, and from there on the ride to the rendezvous was uneventful.
Ned presented the chauffeur with thirty dollars as a reward for his
fidelity.
“That was a mighty close shave of yours, Ned,” said Alan, after he had
heard the story, “but where can Buck Stewart be? It’s already past the
time we agreed upon. Do you suppose they could have caught him?”
“Not yet, my boys,” cried a hearty voice behind them, and there stood
the reporter, his clothes rumpled, his hat dented out of shape and
with pockets a-bulge with notebooks. “There are only two parts of me
missing--my camera and cane, and I had to leave them in other hands
without stopping to argue about it.”
Then Buck told the story of his thrilling night’s experiences and
mutual congratulations followed.
“Well, I guess that we’ve given them all the slip at last,” said Alan,
“and since it’s away past the hour we fixed for starting, let’s take
our places aboard the _Flyer_ and be off. We haven’t any too much time
to lose, you know.”
“Right-o!” echoed Buck and Ned.
So the trio made their way to where the huge airship stood ready. They
swung up the ladder into the main port. Ned took his position in the
pilot room; Buck in the engine room. Alan made a hasty survey of the
vessel, poking around here and there with a powerful hand-searchlight
to see that all was as it should be. Their hearts beat high with
excitement, which likewise agitated the little group of factory
mechanics who had gathered to see them off. Just as Ned was about to
signal Bob for their start, there came a tremendous battering upon the
great barred doors of the factory.
“Open and admit us!” roared an authoritative, bull-like voice. “Let no
man leave here before we enter--in the name of the United States of
America!”