  “Twin heads, Charlie!” said Bill, resuming his headphones sometime later. The Loening was flying in from the Atlantic. Bill had thought it wiser than trailing up the coast for all eyes to see. “Our house is over there to the left on the other side of those woods,” returned his companion from the rear cockpit. “Did you find the answer, old groucho?” “No, I did not, fat boy. As the poet has it, we’ll be guided by circumstances as we find them.” He banked to port and leveling off, sent the amphibian speeding over the treetops in the direction indicated. He was flying low now, barely a hundred and fifty feet above the ground. His intention was to make a quick landing if things looked propitious, rather than to advertise their presence to these mysterious enemies of Mr. Evans by spiraling down from a higher altitude. “There’s the house!” called Charlie. In a clearing Bill caught sight of a large red brick mansion, with jutting wings and high gables. All the windows were closely shuttered. The house stood back, quite close to the woods, amid unkempt lawns and shrubbery. A broad avenue lined with maples led across the clearing into the forest. He caught a glimpse as they shot over, of stables and a smaller building, also of red brick, two or three hundred yards to the left of the house. “And there’s Dad—see him?” shouted Charlie. A man walked from the front of the house across the drive and stood watching them. “Yes, I see him,” retorted Bill, “but stop your shouting or I’ll be deaf for a week. When we come back, strip your headgear and stand up, so he can recognize you. Hold on tight, though—it will be rough going.” Pulling back the stick, he climbed to five hundred feet. Then, leveling off, he made a quick flipper turn over the farther woods and headed back toward the house, nosing downward, throttle wide open. Just before reaching the garage, he zoomed, missing the roof by inches. As he banked again to circle back, Charlie’s excited voice spoke through his receivers. “He saw me—he saw me! Look at him now! Has he gone crazy, or what? Did you ever see anything so silly—waving his arms around his head like a windmill!” “Shut up! He’s wigwagging!” Banked to an angle of 45 degrees, Bill kept the plane describing a tight circle directly above the garage, spelling out Mr. Evans’ signals the while. Presently he waved his understanding of the message, leveled his wings and neutralizing his ailerons, headed the plane out to sea. “What’s the matter? What did he say?” piped Charlie. “His exact words,” returned Bill patiently, “were ‘Park plane Clayton. Walk back after dark. Enter through garage.’” “Then why on earth are we shooting off in the opposite direction?” “Because, young Master Mind, it’s a lead-pipe cinch we’re being watched—from the woods, probably. Maybe they’ll think we’re out for a transatlantic record—I hope so. The last place we want them to think of at the present time in connection with this plane is Clayton!” Bill kept the amphibian headed out to sea for the next half hour. Convinced at last that they were well beyond the ken of Mr. Evans’ enemies, he banked to starboard and headed his airbus on a course at right angles to the last leg. He continued to fly in this direction for some twenty miles, then turned back toward the coast again. When at last they passed over the shore line once more, it was at a point thirty miles along the coast from Twin Heads and the Evans house. Bill steered his craft inland, turned right again and came in sight of their destination as the hands of his wristwatch marked ten o’clock. “Clayton has a small airport,” said Charlie tentatively. “Thanks for that! If you’d told me before, you’d have saved me some worry. The last thing we want to do is to advertise the Loening in this neck of the woods. If we’d had to come down in a farmer’s meadow, it would have been all over town in half an hour.” They were over the landing field now, and as Bill circled the plane, preparatory to their descent, he saw that it was little more than a meadow, a mile out of town, with hangar capable of housing three or four planes. The flat roof of this building was painted black. Large block letters in white paint proclaimed the legend PARKER’S AIRDROME Near the highway that led into the town, and separated from the landing field by a white picket fence, stood a small farmhouse. As Bill swung his bus into the wind and nosed over, he saw a man open the gate in the fence and walk toward the hangar. The wheels of the Loening’s retractable landing gear touched the ground. The plane rolled forward, and came to a stop on the concrete apron of the hangar, before its open doors. “Very pretty, very pretty indeed!” remarked the individual who had come through the gate. He was a tall, rangy man of about thirty, wearing overalls much the worse for grease and hard usage. Bill and Charlie climbed down and walked over to him. “Good morning, and thanks,” smiled Bill. “My name is Bolton. Mr. Parker, isn’t it?” “It pays to advertise,” grinned the lanky individual, and he gripped Bill’s extended hand with a horny fist. “Parker’s the name. I guess, by the way you brought that Loening down, it isn’t flight instruction you’re after!” “No,” said Bill, “not this time. What I need is gas and oil and a place to park the bus for a few days. Can you fix me up?” “Sure can, Mister. Business round here this summer is deader than a doornail. Specially in my line. Want the bus filled up, looked over and put shipshape, I take it?” “That’s it. One of her plugs is carbonized a bit. I’d attend to it myself, only I’m too sleepy. We’ve been in the air most of the night. Anywhere we can turn in for a few hours? Our friends don’t expect us till this evening.” “Well, I can rent you the spare room over to the house for as long as you want it. And how about something to eat before you turn in?” “Lead me to it,” Charlie spoke up for the first time. “Good enough!” Parker chuckled. “Come on, Mrs. P. will be glad to dish up something tasty for you fellows.” The Parker homestead proved to be as neat and clean as a new pin. Mrs. Parker, a buxom young woman with dimples and a jolly smile, served the hungry lads with wheatcakes and coffee until they couldn’t eat another mouthful. Then she led them upstairs to the low-ceiled bedroom, where two white beds invited them to rest. She promised to call them at seven that evening and left them. Five minutes later, Bill and Charlie were sound asleep. “Seven o’clock—time to get up!” called a cheery voice which Bill sleepily realized was Mrs. Parker’s. “All right, thanks,” he called back. “Be down in a jiffy. And would it be too much trouble to fix us a couple of sandwiches before we start?” “Ezra and I,” said Mrs. Parker from the other side of the closed door, “figured as how you’d be wanting something. We’re waitin’ supper for you. And there’s a showerbath at the end of the hall—plenty of hot water if you want it.” “We certainly do,” called Bill, “thanks a lot, Mrs. Parker. We’ll make it snappy.” He leaned over and picked up a rubber sneaker. A moment later it bounced off of Charlie’s red head, effectually bringing that young man back from dreamland. Supper with the Parkers was a pleasant affair. When it was over Bill had some little trouble to make Mrs. Parker accept payment for their entertainment. He guessed, however, that their financial condition was none of the best, so when she asked him if a dollar would be too much, he pressed a five-spot on the astonished young matron and refused to take change. While he went out to assist Parker in an inspection of the Loening, Charlie, not to be outdone in gallantry, insisted on helping wash the dishes. Out in the hangar, Bill came to a decision on a question he had been considering throughout the meal. Ezra Parker and his pretty wife were an honest, wholesome pair. He needed someone in Clayton whom he could trust and so he came at once to the point. “Mr. Parker, I need a friend,” he said quietly. “I dare say you aren’t averse to making some extra money?” Ezra smiled and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I liked you the minute I set eyes on you this morning, Bill,” he declared. “I guess there need be no mention of money in our friendship.” “Perhaps not. But this friendship has a job attached to it, and you told me when I landed, that business was none too good.” “Well, that’s a fact, boy. Mrs. P. and I have had a hard time to make both ends meet this summer. Anything short of robbery or murder with a dollar or two tacked onto it will be a godsend. Our savings are tied up in this little property and we hate to give up. But there’s been mighty little joy-flying or anything else in this line of business since the depression. It’s beginning to look as if we’d have to let the place go unless something turns up soon. So I can’t say I’m not anxious to make some ready money.” “This job,” said Bill, “is worth five hundred a month, but you’d be expected to keep a closed head about anything that might come up.” Ezra stared at him in amazement. “You a millionaire in disguise?” “No—only a midshipman on summer vacation. But Mr. Evans has plenty, and he is going to pay your salary.” “Gosh! you’re the guy that put the lid on von Hiemskirk and his pirates over to Twin Heads harbor?” “I helped some,” Bill admitted. “I’ll say you did! What’s this job—more pirates?” “No, I don’t think so. To be truthful, the whole thing is much of a mystery to me so far.” “Well,” Ezra affirmed, “I never earned five hundred a month in my life. One month’s work will put Mrs. P. and me on velvet.” “Then listen!” Bill gave him a sketch of affairs to date. “I know the place Mr. Evans bought,” said Ezra when he’d finished. “Used to belong to old Job Turner who died last year. They say there’s secret rooms, underground passages and all manner of queer things about that house. I expect it’s all lies—but no telling. Mr. Evans can’t be up against that Hiemskirk gang. The government cleaned them up good and plenty.” “Well, he’s up against somebody equally unpleasant. I’ve had a taste of them already. Are you really game for the job?” “I sure am. What do you want me to do first?” “Take this.” Ezra took the money, albeit reluctantly. “What’s all this for?” he asked, counting the bills. “Oil, gas, your time on the bus and two weeks’ salary.” “Don’t you think it’s dangerous, carrying a roll that would choke a horse?” “I’m not in the habit of it,” laughed Bill. “It was a birthday present from my father. Don’t worry, Mr. Evans will reimburse me.” “But maybe,” suggested Ezra doubtfully, “he may not be strong on the deal.” “He asked for my help,” returned Bill, “and this is part of it. You’ve got a car of some sort about the place, I suppose?” “‘Of some sort’ describes it. Want me to run you over to Turner’s?” “Yes—but only to where the Turner road branches out of the one to Twin Heads Harbor.” “Right, Bill. Before we start, hadn’t you better tell me what you want me to do?” “We can talk about that on the way over,” said his young employer. “While you’re dragging out the fliv. or the Chev. or whatever it is, I’ll get hold of Charlie and say goodbye to Mrs. Parker.” Ezra chuckled. “She’ll be some happy girl when I tell her what you’ve done. The three of us will get kissed good and proper!” “I don’t mind, if you don’t!” laughed Bill, and went toward the house. |
|
