  Without a struggle Bob gave up. In the dark he did not know who his captor might be; but he reasoned that if it turned out to be Barney resistance would be less sensible than explanation. To struggle for escape if the hand on his collar belonged to Mr. Parsons, would be foolish and might make it harder for his chum and his brother to explain their situation. In his mind’s eye Bob recalled how the office had looked as he left it. Griff had kicked at the safe door, believing the money had gone in; but it had not! It had dropped on the floor. Unquestionably Mr. Parsons, or Barney, or whoever held him, had come past that office but had not stopped there, preferring to make a capture of the only person he could put his hands on. Bob realized that non-resistance was a wise course. As he had surmised, he was led back toward the office. He was glad that he had done nothing, said nothing to explain the situation so far. The man who had hold of him, who urged him along the corridor, was Griff’s father, the man from whom they sought to save Griff. At the office door Bob, panting and choked a trifle by the tight grip on his coat, took in the situation swiftly. It looked, from all the appearances, as though Al were dictating from the slip while Curt manipulated the combination, to open the safe; on the other hand, from another point of view, it might appear that the pair had recently had the safe open and were closing it. What made that more probable to an outsider’s eyes was the package of greenbacks which Al held! “What does this mean?” Mr. Parsons, half dragging Bob along, made a quick, nervous advance, caught the package from Al with his free hand. “It means that your—” Al began in his imprudent haste; Bob gave him a sharp, meaning look. Al, catching it, realizing that he had almost mentioned Griff, whom they had previously agreed to aid, was silent. “It means that we came back here—” Curt began and was interrupted by the angry partner of Mr. Tredway. “Not content with taking those books,” he said angrily, “you want to take the company money—how did you get into my desk? Pick the lock? That adds another count against you!” He released Bob’s coat collar and strode to the desk, a flat-topped one in the center of the room. Catching up the telephone receiver, he made a call. “Hello—hello! Give me Police Headquarters! Yes, thanks!” For an instant the members of the Sky Squad were stunned. “What’s that?” Mr. Parsons spoke into the transmitter again. “He is out? How soon will he be back? Have him call Mr. Parsons, at the aircraft plant! Yes—perhaps I can give him some tenants for the new cells in the police station.” He hung up the earpiece. Bob, recovering his usual good judgment, began to consider the very difficult situation that faced the Sky Squad. Al, however, seldom thought before he spoke; more often than his brother, he was sorry for hasty decisions and sharp speeches. “You’ll be sorry if you tell the Chief of Police,” blustered Al. Curt, as thoughtful as Bob, trod on the foot of the younger captive and Al, jumping away, refused to be warned. “I don’t care!” he cried. “If he thinks two sons of a detective, and their friend will be put in cells for trying to save—oh, all right, Bob!—for trying to put money back into a safe—” he whirled on Mr. Parsons at the sound of the latter’s sarcastic laugh, “—that’s what we were doing! If the Police Chief arrests us—we’ll ask him to arrest you, too!” “Indeed! Why!” “For taking the company books away. For showing them to somebody outside the firm—planning how to get more cheap parts into the plant. Oh, we know all about you!” “How do you know I had company books?” “I saw the pages open on the table at The Windsock!” “Indeed! Young man,” he swung to Curt. “Please go into the bookkeeper’s room, unlock his book cabinet, and bring all the books you find.” Curt, surprised, took the small key from their captor, went in and lighted the adjoining office, returning, finally, with an armful of books. “Do you know the books of a complete set when you see them?” “Bob does,” declared Al, still angry, but becoming a little uneasy. He might have jumped to his decision about the books he had seen. He was always making snap decisions! “Examine that set, young man—er, Bob!” “It’s complete!” Bob admitted. “Exactly!” “Then why were you in such a sweat to get the others when we tried to—” Al’s voice tailed down to nothing; he began to see how really guilty they could be made to seem. There was entry into the offices at night, an open private desk, a tell-tale safe combination memorandum on the floor, a package of bills beside the safe, for one chain of evidence; there was an intrusion on a private conference, at The Windsock, and the subsequent escape with the books for a second, not to think of Bob’s use of the airplane with no permission from a higher authority than a watchman, and the infraction of State law by landing on a highway and deserting the ship in a traffic lane. Al’s bravado began to evaporate. Bob, who had remained cool, thinking, was able to see a brighter side to the situation. “Please, Mr. Parsons,” he began, “don’t call in the police. That would force us to defend ourselves. We could explain what we were doing and why. But we have a—a code of honor, and we would rather have you let things work out without the police—and reporters.” “You would really suffer more than we would,” Curt declared. “Is that so? We shall see.” The telephone bell blared. Mr. Parsons turned. “Hello!” he spoke into the instrument. “Father! Don’t! Those fellows are protecting me! I can’t let them!” Griff stood in the office door, his face white, his lips quivering. Mr. Parsons, catching sight of his son, stared. “Just a minute, Griff,” he said. “Hello—is the——” “Father! You shan’t! You mustn’t! Listen to me. I took that money!——” The telephone receiver dropped, hanging by its cord to swing unheeded against the man’s leg. “I’ll confess!” Griff, for all his fear of his father, of consequences, was showing his true manliness. “I ran away, Father, because I thought I had put the money back and locked the safe. I didn’t want to be caught. I thought I could go down the fire escape and get away. But when I saw you catch Bob I came back and listened—I must not let these fine friends stand a night in a cell for something I’ve done.” Then, haltingly, ashamed and despairing, but honestly, Griff cleared the Sky Squad and told the truth. “He was trying to get out of his trouble,” Curt said to end the deep silence that followed Griff’s explanation, “and he didn’t want to come to you when you had so many things on your mind.” “Our cousin has gone to get money for him from Father,” added Bob. “But Father must have started for home before Lang got there, and it was only when the man at The Windsock threatened to come and tell you and make it look worse than it is, that Griff lost his common sense. We came back here to meet each other and saw what he was doing and convinced him it was a mistake.” The impulsiveness of Al prompted him to “put in his oar,” but his earlier bluster was gone and he kept still. They watched Mr. Parsons. His face was set and pale, his fingers worked nervously. He had his head bent. Bob, quietly picking up the telephone as he heard the impatient voice of someone at the other end of the connection making it squeak, spoke into the transmitter quietly. “We’ll call you back. Something has come up to make things different.” He hung up the earpiece. Apparently Mr. Parsons did not notice him at all. Added to the blow given by his son’s confession that he had broken promises and gotten into deep trouble was the knowledge that three loyal companions, with full knowledge of his guilt had not only protected him from himself but had shielded him at the expense of being, themselves, suspected and unfairly accused. Mr. Parsons looked up. He held out a hand to Bob. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “I am sorry!” Bob, smiling with some relief, eagerly gripped the extended hand, to be followed by Curt and Al. Then the father turned to his son. Three members of the Sky Squad held their breath. “Son,” the voice seemed cool and sharp, but it changed suddenly, “Son, I guess I’d have done better to make a comrade of you than to try to rule you with fear and threats. Come here, Griffith.” The young man advanced, hopeful, but also shame-faced. “Son, we all make mistakes. If we learn not to make them again, that is life’s lesson. I am not a judge. I am—your father!” Griff’s hand reached out impulsively. “I had to tell you—but I guess if it hadn’t been to save these friends, I might have gone on. I guess I’m a coward.” “I should say not!” cried Al. “Not you!” Bob was equally emphatic. “It took more bravery to walk in under the circumstances than to tell your father any other time, I say!” Curt exclaimed. “I will settle with that fellow at the roadhouse,” Mr. Parsons stated, when forgiveness was assured to Griff and the five occupants of the office were determined to “work together” for a change, “If he has been paid——” “Why not meet the Police Chief somewhere and have Griff tell him the things that are done against the law at The Windsock,” suggested Al. “Then we could all go there and give evidence of how Jenks tried to collect twice from Griff—and maybe we would find out something about—our own mystery. I think he is in it, some way!” Mr. Parsons decided that he owed the Chief some explanation of his call and, somewhat over-excited, and not his usual sensible self, he failed to realize just what Al’s suggestion implied—that they make Griff incriminate himself, since he had played at the tables without informing against the hotel. The Police Chief agreed to meet them near the roadhouse, and when Mr. Parsons hung up and turned back to them he was much more calm than they had ever seen him. “If I explain my own purposes,” he said, “it will be easier for us all to understand and get together. I have been trying to protect my absent partner——” “Absent?” Bob repeated the word, “your absent partner?” “Yes. Arthur Tredway. He went into hiding.” “I know!” cried Al, “I know now! I thought the face of the man in that brown airplane—the one who flew it—was familiar. That’s Mr. Tredway!” “Yes, my boy, you are right.” “But—” Curt was rather stunned, “I don’t understand.” “Mr. Tredway—alive?” cried Griff. “Yes, alive. This has been a very mixed affair,” the partner declared. “I knew that Arthur Tredway was alive, but I could not speak of it or explain, because we did not know whom we could trust, and so told no one.” “Then he wasn’t—in the crash?” Mr. Parsons turned to answer Bob. “No.” “But why did he do it? Why did he hide and let everybody think he had ‘gone West?’” Bob demanded. “Don’t you remember—crossed wires?” Curt reminded him. That had to be explained. “So someone crossed wires that were scraped nearly bare, in Arthur’s own ship!” Mr. Parsons was dismayed. “That proves his suspicion that somebody meant harm to him. And that is what we hid him away to discover. If the accidents ceased with his disappearance, he was in danger; if not, the damage was aimed at the aircraft company.” “But you haven’t found out why he was in danger—or from whom?” declared Curt. “No,” admitted the partner. Al, fired with enthusiasm, added: “But we will!” Mr. Parsons was not so sure. |
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