Ellis Edward Sylvester
The Flying Boys in the Sky

CHAPTER XVI
A MYSTERIOUS COMMUNICATION

Harvey Hamilton stood speechless. When he spoke to Professor Morgan, they were no more than a rod apart, with only the broad open space in front of the hotel between them. Upon hearing himself addressed, the man had looked straight into the face of the lad and then, as already said, passed on without the faintest sign of recognition.

A more direct snub cannot be imagined, and yet it was not in the nature of a snub. Nothing had occurred that could justify so marked a slight. The humiliation which Harvey felt for a few seconds quickly passed away.

“He must have been too absorbed in reverie to see me, and yet that can’t be possible, for he showed that he heard me call him by his title.”

By and by the young aviator reached the only conclusion that seemed reasonable.

“He is a crank in every sense of the word; he is as crazy as a June bug; he was friendly enough last night and this forenoon, and now he is in a different mood. Well, I shall always feel grateful for the good turn he did me. If we meet again, he may be in a more genial frame of mind; at least I hope so.”

The downpour was increasing and the air had become so chilly that Harvey passed inside to the sitting-room. The same number of men were present as before, smoking, chewing and gossiping. He glanced into their countenances, as he moved his chair beside the sleeping Bohunkus Johnson, prepared to pass the dismal hours as best he could without finding any reading matter in the form of books or newspapers. He had registered before dinner and engaged a room for himself and another for his companion. His letters were given to the landlord, who promised to send them to the post office in time for the afternoon’s mail.

Somehow or other, there was one man among the group in whom Harvey felt a slight interest, though he attributed the fact to the lack of anything else to engage his mind. This individual was standing at the desk, when Harvey came from the outside, studying the dog-eared register, as if he too was guided by some idle impulse. He glanced at the newcomer and followed him into the larger room, where he lighted a cigar and took a seat against the other wall.

He was of slight frame, in middle life, dressed in a gray business suit, with clean shaven face, a thin sharp nose, good teeth and keen blue eyes. He was alert of manner, and might well have been a drummer held in town for a brief while against his will. When Harvey glanced at him again he quickly averted his eyes. Apparently he did not wish to be detected in the act and he came within a hair of succeeding in his attempt. He gazed in an absent way through the door leading to the bar-room and smoked his cigar like a man who thoroughly enjoyed the weed.

Being in an idle mood, Harvey twisted the corner of his handkerchief into a tight spiral, making the end quite stiff and pointed, and, leaning forward, began drawing it back and forth against the base of the sleeping Bohunkus Johnson’s nose. Immediately every other person in the room began watching the proceedings.

For a little while the negro slept on undisturbed. Then he suddenly crinkled his broad, flat nose and flipped his hand at the fly or mosquito that was supposed to be tickling him. The spectators grinned, and Harvey waited till Bunk was slumbering as heavily as before. Then he resumed his role of Tantalus. This time he tickled so energetically that Bunk struck impatiently at his tormentor and banged the top of the chair a vigorous blow – so vigorous indeed that several of the men snickered and the dusky youth opened his eyes and raised his head, as wide awake as ever in his life.

“Think yo’s smart, doan’ yo’?” he growled, donning the cap that had fallen to the floor and shaking himself together.

“The next thing, Bunk, you’ll fall asleep in the biplane and tumble out head first.”

“I doan’ see dat it’ll make any difference to yo’ if I do,” replied the other, nettled by the general laughter more than by the manner of his awaking.

“It won’t, but it will to you. If you want to sleep all the time go to your room.”

Bohunkus mumbled something, shifted his position, sank down in his chair until he seemed to be sitting on the upper part of his spine, and in a few minutes was nodding again. Harvey molested him no further, but looking up discovered by a furtive glance that the thin young man in gray had been studying him for an indefinite time, though quick to shift his gaze as before.

Harvey drew his note-book from his pocket, and, bringing his chair to the table, began making sketches with his pencil, wholly from imagination. The stranger, a little while later, drew up his seat opposite and busied himself in the same way. Thus the situation remained for perhaps ten minutes.

Suddenly a pellet of paper the size of a dime was flipped across the brief space and fell upon the page that was covered with Harvey’s tracings. He knew it came from the man on the other side of the table, and he understood it was meant to be secret. It was an extraordinary way by which to communicate with him, when it would have been easy to speak one or two words in so guarded tones that they could not be overheard. But the man must have had his reasons, which would appear later.

With that quickness of resource that has been shown to be a marked trait of Harvey Hamilton, he did a bright thing. Without betraying any haste or interest, he picked up the tiny wad and slipped it into his waistcoat pocket. He did not even look at the stranger, but nodded his head, keeping his eyes on his note-book. A minute later the man rose from his chair and sauntered into the bar-room, turning off to one side so as to be out of sight of the youth had he looked for him while still in his seat, which he did not.

It was with curious emotions that Harvey saw he was called upon to play a peculiar role. He had been given a written communication in such a manner as to make it certain the sender wished no other person to know what had taken place. The youth must read the message, but do so secretly. To untwist the bit and examine it while in the sitting-room would betray everything. Only one course remained.

It was not yet dark, for it will be remembered it was summer time, but stepping to the bar, behind which the landlord was standing serving a customer, Harvey asked for the key to his room. It was handed to him from a nail and he was directed to ascend the stairs to the upper hall, along which he was to walk until he saw the number “34” on the door.

As Harvey started to follow directions, he glanced about the bar-room, in which there were six or eight persons, but the author of the mysterious message was not among them. He was standing on the porch outside, and looked for an instant through the window at Harvey, but no sign or signal was exchanged between them.

Not until he had entered his room and locked the door did Harvey unroll the paper pellet, and, standing by the window where the light was good, read the following words:

“I shall knock at your door at nine o’clock this evening. Keep your colored servant out of the way. I have something important to say to you. When we meet outside of your room neither must show that he has ever met the other. Don’t fail me.

S. P.”

After the perplexity caused by these curious sentences, Harvey Hamilton’s feeling was that of amusement.

“I have come to Chesterton in my aeroplane, and dived head first into one of the most tremendous mysteries that ever was. Bunk and I set out to find adventure and it looks as if we had struck it rich. But what the mischief can it all mean?”

Try as hard as he might, he could not take the matter as seriously as it seemed to him he ought to do. The time was well on in the twentieth century, he was in one of the most civilized sections of the Union, and things as a rule were conducted in accordance with law. Surely “S. P.” was not hinting at murder, or burglary, or incendiarism, or any other heinous crime.

“What is he driving at and who is he?”

Harvey Hamilton would not have been a bright, high-spirited youth of seventeen years had he not been stirred by the curious communication that had been delivered so oddly to him. He speculated and theorized, and the more he did so the more he was puzzled.

“Some folks like to be mysterious,” he said, “and the less cause they have for being so the more secret they are. Why didn’t ‘S. P.’, whoever he is, drop me a word, which he could have done without it being noticed by any one else?

“It must have been there was another person in the room that he was afraid would become suspicious, but I have no idea who he was. It is odd that this fellow is the only one who interested me.

“What can his business be with me? I was never in this part of the world before and haven’t had anything to do with the people here, nor anywhere in the neighborhood, except those young men this forenoon. It can’t have any relation to them, for they have not had time to reach Chesterton since our run-in.”

“How about Professor Morgan?” Harvey asked himself with a start. “I know he is in town and didn’t show any pleasure when I recognized him. Can it be that he and ‘S. P.’ have anything between them in which I am concerned?”

He sat for a long time turning over the perplexing subject in his mind, with the only result of becoming more befogged.

“Pshaw! what’s the use?” he exclaimed impatiently, as he came to his feet and donned his cap; “it is nearly night and I have to wait but a few hours, when he will make everything clear. So here goes.”

He locked his door behind him and started down the long hall. At the head of the stairs, whom should he meet but the alert looking man in gray? Harvey was about to suggest that they return to his room together and have their conference, but the other did not seem to see him; and recalling the warning, the youth passed down the steps as if he had encountered an utter stranger. The latter did not show up at the supper table and Harvey was relieved, for it would have been some embarrassment to him. It may have been the man’s knowledge of this fact that caused him to keep out of the way.

Time passed slowly. When Harvey looked at his watch and saw that it lacked fifteen minutes of the time appointed, he started for his room. Bohunkus had already gone up stairs. When he bade his friend good night, he said to him:

“I need sleep, Bunk, so stay in your room till I call you in the morning.”

“All right; I hain’t no ’bjection; I sha’n’t get up till yo’ bang on my door.”

CHAPTER XVII
CALLED TO THE RESCUE

Harvey Hamilton struck a match, after he had unlocked the door of his room and stepped inside. He lighted the gas and seated himself beside the stand in front of the mirror, to wait the brief interval. He continually glanced at his watch and twice held it to his ear to make sure it had not stopped. At three minutes to nine, he slipped it into his pocket, leaned back and listened.

“I shall soon hear his footstep,” was his thought; “everything is so still that if he comes in his stocking feet it will be perceptible on the bare floor – ”

But, though the listening youth had not caught the slightest noise, he now heard a gentle tap, tap. He stepped hastily across the room and drew the door open. The gas light in the apartment showed the man in gray wrapped in the fainter illumination of the hall around and behind him. He did not speak until he had stepped inside. Then in the lowest and softest of voices he said:

“If you don’t mind,” gently turning the key in the closed door, and stepping forward so as to be as far as possible from the threshold. As if still uneasy, he glanced under the bed as his head came on a level with the post. Then he rose and peeped into the closet, where nothing hung but the outer coat of the rightful occupant.

“You will excuse me, Harvey, but I must make sure we are alone,” said the man apologetically.

The host felt a touch of surprise at being addressed by his given name, but smiled as he also seated himself, with only the width of the little stand in the middle of the room between them.

“You need have no misgivings, sir; we are as much alone as if we were a mile high in my aeroplane.”

Asking permission, the guest lighted a cigar and hitched as near as he could to the young man.

“You were surprised to receive that note from me?”

“My surprise was due as much to the style of delivery as to its contents. Why didn’t you use your tongue instead of your pencil?”

“Two men in the room were watching me.”

“Didn’t they see you flip the paper?”

“No; without looking directly at them I knew when their heads were turned and they were occupied with that dispute in the bar-room. Then it was that the bit of paper which I was holding and awaiting my chance, dropped on the page of your note-book. Had I spoken, they would have heard me, though they might not have understood the words, but no sound was made by the tiny missive.”

“It would have been natural for me to betray you by my surprise, and to open the fragment and read it at the time their attention came back to the room in which we were all sitting.”

“I knew you were not that kind of a young man.”

The compliment did not wholly please Harvey.

“How could you know that? What means had you of learning anything about me? I noticed that you know my first name.”

“The hotel register told me that you are Harvey Hamilton, from Mootsport, New Jersey; a little study of you when you did not suspect what I was doing imparted the rest. We detectives become skilful in reading character.”

“So you are a detective?” said Harvey in surprise, such a thought never having come to him until this announcement was made.

“That is my profession, but you are the only person in Chesterton who suspects anything of the kind.”

“You mean you believe so, but, brilliant as are detectives – that is some of them – they occasionally make mistakes.”

“They would not be human if they did not.”

“But some blunder less than others. You signed your note with your initials, ‘S. P.’ I have some curiosity to know what they stand for.”

“The hotel register would have told you.”

“But I had not enough interest to look; I feel different now.”

“You may call me Simmons Pendar.”

“Knowing at the same time that it is not your real name.”

“But will serve as well as any other.”

“I am sure I have no objection; well, Mr. Simmons Pendar, I am in my room to keep the appointment you requested. I await your pleasure.”

It may be said that the professional detective, as he announced himself, was somewhat surprised by his reception. He supposed that his host – inasmuch as he was only a boy – would be markedly impressed when he learned the profession of his caller, but he seemed almost indifferent. Pendar was pleased, for it helped to confirm the opinion he had formed of the mental acuteness of the lad.

“I have no intention of assuming the mysterious, Harvey, as some people are fond of doing. Since I have told you I am a detective, you naturally wonder what possible business I can have with you.”

“You guessed right the first time.”

“I assume that you are willing to aid me in the cause of justice.”

“You have no right to assume that, for our ideas of justice, as you term it, may differ.”

The visitor laughed, but without the least noise.

“Well said! But I am sure we shall agree in this business.”

“That remains to be seen.” And Harvey continued his attitude of close attention. Detective Pendar came to the point with a rush:

“Some weeks ago Grace Hastings, the five-year-old daughter of the wealthy Mr. and Mrs. Horace Hastings, of Philadelphia, was stolen by members of the Italian Black Hand, who hold her for a heavy ransom. Perhaps you read the account?”

“I did,” replied Harvey, compressing his lips as his eyes flashed; “I was never so angered in my life. This kidnapping business has become so common during the last few years that I should like to help in burning some of the Mafia and Black Hand devils at the stake. There’s more excuse for such punishment than for burning those black imps in the South.”

The youth was so wrought up that he bounded to his feet and paced rapidly up and down the room. His caller coolly watched him and remained silent. The result of his revelation was what he wished it to be. The leaven was working. When Harvey became calmer, he resumed his seat, but his white face betrayed his tense emotion.

“Would you like to help to rescue the little girl and bring the scoundrels to justice?”

“I would give anything in the world for the chance.”

“You have it!”

“What do you mean?” demanded Harvey, bounding to his feet again.

“Just what I said; pull yourself together and listen.”

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

“You are making an excursion through the air with your aeroplane; this fact gives you an advantage which may prove a deciding one. I need not dwell on the grief of the parents of the little one, which is worse than death itself could cause. They will give any amount of money to recover their only child from the grip of those wretches. They have employed many detectives in searching for her; I have been doing nothing else for six weeks.”

“Why don’t they pay the ransom? That has been done in other cases, with the result of recovering the stolen one.”

“The father wished to pay the demand as soon as it came to him, but somebody or something has convinced him that it will prove only the first of other demands still more exorbitant, with the recovery of the child much in doubt.”

“Has no clue been obtained as to the whereabouts of the little girl?”

“There’s been no end of clues, but they lead nowhere. The mother in her frantic grief insists that her husband shall pay the price without more delay, and I believe he will not hold out much longer, satisfied that it is the only hope left to him.”

“But how can I give any help with my aeroplane?”

“I have reason to think the gang has its headquarters not many miles from this place.”

Harvey looked his astonishment.

“If that is true, what prevents you from running them down?”

“An almost insurmountable difficulty faces me. I am the only searcher who holds this theory, as I am the only one who has reason for it. But it is diamond cut diamond. These miscreants are alert, shrewd and cunning to the last degree. They have their watchers out, and upon the first sign of danger they will signal the others, who will make a lightning change of base, taking the child with them.”

“Have you any idea of the spot where they are?”

“Only that it is several miles away, in the depth of the forest which covers so large an extent of this mountainous country.”

“Then why in heaven’s name don’t you and a posse rush them?” asked Harvey, impatient with what seemed the dilatoriness of the officer.

“No one man nor a dozen men could find their way over the faint trails in time to surprise the gang. They keep lookouts on duty day and night. There isn’t a stranger who comes to Chesterton that is not watched. Two of their men are in the hotel this minute; they have had you and even your stupid colored youth under scrutiny.”

“Have they any suspicion of me?” asked Harvey with a grim smile.

“No; for you are too young and your actions are too open.”

“How about yourself?”

“I am hopeful that they are in the dark regarding me, though I am not positive; I am playing the role of a drummer for a hardware firm in New York. I have taken quite a number of orders, and all the time have been on the watch for a chance to go upon an exploring expedition through the surrounding wilderness. You understand the delicacy of my situation. A single attempt in that line, even if immediately abandoned, will give me away and end all possibility of my accomplishing any good. Still, I had made up my mind that the essay would have to be made, with all the chances against success, or I must abandon the business altogether. Your coming has raised the hope that you can aid me.”

CHAPTER XVIII
PLANNING THE SEARCH

Harvey Hamilton was about to speak when Detective Pendar raised a warning hand.

“Sh!” he whispered; “some one is in the hall.”

The youth listened intently, but could not detect so much as the “shadow of a sound.” None the less, his guest was right.

“He has gone by; listen!”

The faintest possible noise, as if made by some one opening and closing a door with the extremest caution, came to their ears.

“It’s one of them,” remarked the detective, in the same almost inaudible tone; “let’s sit as near together as we can, and not raise our voices above a whisper. I allowed you to do so a few minutes ago, because there were no listeners.”

“Are those two watchers as you call them staying at the hotel?”

“They occupy the fourth room beyond.”

“And my negro lad has the third.”

“And I the second; so we are all neighbors.”

“How will you manage to leave without detection?”

“I am used to that kind of business,” replied Pendar with a smile; “give it no thought. Let us return to the matter in which you are as much interested as I. My proposal is that in sailing over the surrounding country, you scrutinize it, so far as your keen vision, assisted by your binoculars, will permit, in search of the headquarters of this gang.”

“How shall I recognize the place if I see it?”

“You will have to follow the law of probabilities. The woods are uninhabited, except in the eastern part – that is, in this direction. If you observe any old house or cabin that shows evidence of being occupied, probably it’s the place for which we are looking. Locate it definitely, and then we shall have something upon which to act. As soon as you report to me, I’ll move with all the vigor and common sense at my command.”

Here was the proposal as clearly as it could be put. Harvey nodded his head several times and compressed his lips, as does one who is in deadly earnest.

“Heaven grant that I shall be able to do something.”

“Then I was not wrong in assuming you were interested in the cause of justice?” remarked Detective Pendar.

“Not by a large majority.”

“Whoever has a hand in restoring the little girl to her parents will receive a munificent reward. Perhaps this fact may be of interest to you.”

“None whatever. Now that I shall undertake the task, we must have an understanding; suppose I discover such a place as you mention, while cruising aloft, how am I to communicate with you without drawing suspicion to myself?”

“There will be no trouble in that. You can return to the hotel, as will be quite natural for you to do, take a room under some pretense such as not feeling well, and I shall get to you without much delay. That done it will not be long before we formulate a plan of action.”

“Will my negro prove any handicap to me?”

“On the contrary, I am hoping he will be of help.”

“In what way?”

“It is impossible for him to be secretive or cunning; he is so open that his honesty speaks for itself; no one can doubt that you and he are on a little outing, with no purpose except enjoyment.”

“You have gauged his character correctly.”

“As I did yours.”

“Don’t be too certain of that; you were correct at least in believing you would enlist my efforts in your work.”

“When will you be ready to begin?”

“To-morrow morning, – provided the weather proves as clear as that old farmer declared it would be.”

“I heard his prophecy; his neighbors believe him infallible; I think you can count on favoring conditions. Bear in mind that your task is simple. You cannot halt and rest in the air, because you have to travel rapidly to sustain yourself, but you see the enormous advantages your position gives you. Wherever a house, even the smallest one, stands in the woods, the roof or some part of it must be visible from above. The abductors of the child will treat her well so long as there is a prospect of obtaining the ransom, for it is to their interest to do so. There must be cooking done in the dwelling, and the smoke will show; washing and other things are necessary, – all of which you can learn without the aid of glasses from a perch of several hundred feet. Are you acquainted with an aviator known as Professor Morgan?”

The abrupt question startled the youth.

“I met him last night and again this forenoon. He is a crank.”

“Rather; his mind is unbalanced, but for all that it is a brilliant intellect which has been knocked topsy-turvy by studying out inventions in aviation.”

“And he has made some wonderful ones. He told me he had discovered a chemical which mixed with gasoline will keep him in the air for twelve hours, and he is confident that he will soon double and triple its effectiveness. He has already learned how to sustain his machine for some time motionless.”

“Have you seen him do it?”

“I have,” and Harvey related the incident of the Professor dropping the giant crackers among the group on the edge of the wood.

“It is a most extraordinary achievement. I suppose he has managed to secure in some way the action of supports which operate like the wings of a bird, when he holds himself stationary in the sky.”

“Furthermore, he runs his machine without noise, which is another feat that no one else has been able to attain. It seems to me also that his ‘Dragon of the Skies,’ as he has named it, can travel faster than the swiftest eagle.”

It was in the mind of Harvey to ask the detective how he came to form the acquaintance of Professor Morgan and to inquire whether he knew the crank was in Chesterton at that moment, or had been there during the afternoon; but, as the caller did not volunteer the information, the youth forbore questioning him.

“We shall not forget that whenever and wherever we meet outside of this room, it will be as strangers. If you wish to speak to me on anything, you will take off your cap and scratch your head. If I see that, I shall accept it as notice that you have something important to say. As soon as you can do so without attracting notice you will go to your room. When the coast becomes clear I shall follow you, but prudence may require me to delay doing so for an hour or for several hours.”

At that moment both were startled by a loud knock on the door. On the instant, Detective Pendar whispered:

“Make believe you are asleep.”

Waiting, therefore, until the summons had been twice repeated, Harvey asked mumblingly:

“Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Bunk.”

“What do you want?”

“Didn’t yo’ tole me dat I warn’t to bodder yo’ and yo’ would call me in de morning?”

“Of course I did; what’s the matter with you?”

“I woke up a little while ago and couldn’t disremember for suah what it was yo’ tole me, so I slipped to yo’ door to find out. Dat’s all; good night!”

And his heavy tread sounded along the hall to his door through which he passed. The colored youth had slept so much during the day that he needed little more refreshment of that nature.

“What do you think of that for stupidity?” asked Harvey.

“I am not surprised. I do not recall that I have anything more to say. Will you be good enough to glance up and down the hall in search of anything suspicious?”

The detective himself noiselessly opened the door. Harvey stepped outside and stood listening and gazing toward the rear through the dimly lighted avenue, that being the direction in which the rooms referred to were situated.

“I cannot see or hear anything – ”

Turning to face the man whom he addressed, and whom he supposed to be standing directly behind him, Harvey saw nobody. The room was empty. The amazed youth looked the other way, where the stairs lay. He was barely in time to catch a glimpse of his caller in gray as he turned the short corner and disappeared down the steps like a gliding shadow.

“That beats everything,” remarked the wondering young aviator, who now locked his door and prepared for bed.

It was a long time, however, after he turned off the light and stretched out on the soft mattress before he was able to woo slumber. Now that the detective had recalled the kidnapping of the Hastings child in Philadelphia, many minor particulars came back to the youth. All these helped to stir his feelings, until he longed for the morning when he could begin his work of bringing the unspeakable miscreants to justice. He comprehended vividly the anguish of those stricken hearts in their luxurious home, and shuddered to think that his own sister Mildred might have been the stolen child.

With his thoughts flitting with lightning rapidity from one subject to another, Harvey regretted that he had not questioned the officer about Professor Morgan. It would be interesting to learn how the two had become acquainted.

“I wonder,” added our young friend, following one of his innumerable whimsies, “whether the Professor is on this job too. He seems to be lingering in these parts, and he certainly has advantages which can never be mine. Perhaps when I called to him, he feared it would complicate matters if I was allowed to mix in. What’s the use of guessing?” he exclaimed impatiently, as he flung himself on his side and tried for the twentieth time to coax gentle slumber to come to him.

The coquettish goddess consented after a time, though the hour was past midnight when the youth closed his eyes. Such being the situation, it is not strange that Bohunkus Johnson was the first out of bed in the morning, and down stairs. He was thinking of the aeroplane and fearful that it had been molested during the night.

“I orter watched it agin,” was his thought as he dashed out of doors.

A few minutes later, Harvey Hamilton was startled by footsteps rushing along the hall, followed by a furious thumping on his door.

“Git up, Harv, quick!” he shouted; “somebody has busted de airyplane all to flinders!”