Dorothy Dixon and the Mystery Plane

He pulled a broad blade and chewed it meditatively. Then spat it out in disgust. The grass was as salty as the sea. It made him thirstier than ever. Turning seaward he swept the pale horizon with a despondent gaze.

Not a sign of a craft of any description could be seen. Wait a minute, though. Bill caught his breath. What was that – bobbing in the chop of the waves, just outside the bar of the eastern inlet? Could it be a boat? In this gray light a proper focus was difficult. It was a boat, open; a lifeboat, by the look of it. Waiting no longer for speculation, he hurried down the low hill toward the sea.

Once he struck hard sand, Bill raced into the teeth of the wind, with the boom of the surf on his right, and dire necessity lending wings to his tired feet. Forgotten were his thirst, the clammy cold of his wet clothes and his weariness. Every ounce of strength, the entire power of his will centered in the effort to come close enough to the boat to signal her assistance.

With his heart pumping like a steam engine, he passed Dorothy, who was lying exactly as he had left her. Then he got his second wind and running became less of a painful struggle. He could see the boat more plainly now. Surely it was an open motor sailor. Could it be the one belonging to Donovan and Charlie, he wondered. What irony! – to be rescued by the smugglers – and to lose liberty and the diamonds after all this storm and stress!

But the motor sailor was drifting – into the surf off the bar – without a soul aboard.

Coming to a halt at the inlet, he watched the tide pull the boat through the breakers on the bar to the smooth water. Off came his jacket and flinging it behind him on to the sand he waded into the water and swam for the boat. He reached her at last and with difficulty pulled himself aboard.

For a moment or two he rested on a thwart in a state of semi-collapse. As he had thought, it was the smugglers’ boat. But there was no sign of Donovan or Charlie. However, except for six inches or so of water that sloshed about his feet, the motor sailor seemed to be in good condition.

When he felt better, he started the engine and ran her ashore on the island. Then after inspecting the boat’s lockers, he buried her anchor in the sand and trudged back along the beach to Dorothy.

She was still sleeping, tousled head pillowed on her right arm, and it was some time before he could bring her back to consciousness.

“Let me alone,” she moaned drowsily, “I’m too tired to get up this morning, Lizzie. I don’t want any breakfast – go away and let me sleep!”

Bill raised her to a sitting position. “Wake up – wake up! You aren’t at home. And this isn’t Lizzie – it’s Bill – Bill Bolton! We’re still on the island.”

Dorothy opened her eyes, and looked at him wonderingly.

“The island – ” he reiterated. “We were wrecked – had to swim for it. Don’t you remember?”

Suddenly she gained full control of her waking senses.

“I know. I know now, Bill. Guess I’ve been asleep. Ugh! I’m soaking. What did you wake me for? At least, I was comfortable!”

“Come to breakfast and dry clothes. You’ll get pneumonia if you stay here. Do you think you can walk? You’re a pretty husky armful, but I guess I can carry you to the boat if I must.” He grinned at her.

Dorothy was stiff and weary but she fairly jumped to her feet.

“What boat? Where is it?”

Bill told her.

“But you said ‘dry clothes and breakfast’ – ”

They were hurrying along the beach.

“That’s right. She’s got plenty of food aboard – and one of the lockers is packed with clothes. There are even dry towels, think of that! Those guys had her provisioned and equipped for a long trip.”

“What’s happened to them, do you think?”

“I can’t make it out. The boat has shipped some water, but nothing to be worried about. The motor’s O.K. and there’s plenty of gas. They may have got into the surf, thought she was going to founder, perhaps, and swam ashore like we did.”

“But they’re not on the island?”

“No. If they made the beach, it was somewhere else along the coast.”

“We should worry,” said Dorothy. “If they don’t want her, we do – and she certainly looks good to me.”

They walked down the shingle and Bill got aboard the boat.

“You wait on the beach,” he directed. “It’s pretty wet underfoot. I’ll pass the things overside. I think the best plan is for you to go up in the dunes and change there. Meanwhile, I’ll start in with the handpump and get rid of the water. I’ll have her good and dry by the time you get back. Then you can rustle a meal while I put on dry things. Catch!”

Dorothy found herself possessed of a bundle knotted in a large bath towel. Upon inspection it proved to contain dungaree trousers, a jumper, a dark blue sweater, woolen socks and a pair of rubber-soled shoes.

“They may be a trifle large,” said Bill. “But at least they’re dry and the clothes seem to be clean.”

“Nothing could be sweeter,” was Dorothy’s comment. “See you in ten minutes – so long!”

“O.K.,” replied Bill and turned to the handpump.

Quarter of an hour later he was completing his labors with the aid of a large sponge when he heard footsteps on the shingle and looked up to see a young fellow in blue dungarees and sweater coming toward the boat, carrying a bundle of clothes.

“Dorothy! Gee – what a change! For a minute I thought you were a stranger.”

“Somebody’s younger brother, I suppose,” she laughed. “These things are miles too big for me – but they’re darned comfortable and warm. You go ahead and change your own clothes. I’ll finish bailing.”

Bill stepped overside and on to the sand, carrying his dry rig and a towel. Dorothy was spreading her sodden clothing on the sand.

“Bailing’s over for today,” he told her, “don’t forget about breakfast, though. I could eat a raw whale.”

“Don’t worry, young feller,” she retorted. “Your breakfast will be ready before you are. Just let me get these things drying in the nice warm sun that’s coming up now, and you’ll see!”

With a wave of his hand he disappeared over the brow of the sand hills, and Dorothy clambered aboard the beached motor sailor. Much to her delight she found a small two-burner oil stove, already lighted, standing on a thwart. Nearby had been placed a coffee-pot and a large frying pan. The lid of the food locker lay open, as did the one containing the water keg.

“Bright boy,” she murmured approvingly. “You’re a real help to mother! Now let’s see what smugglers live on.”

She had set a collapsible table that hinged to the side of the boat and was busy at the stove when she heard Bill’s halloo.

“Breakfast ready?” he called from the beach.

“Will be in a jiffy,” she answered without looking up. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Sunny side up, if it’s all the same to you.”

“O.K. Spread your wet clothes on the sand and come aboard.”

She was serving his eggs on a hot plate when Bill’s head appeared over the side.

“My, but that coffee smells good,” he cried, and swung himself aboard. “How did you manage to cook all that food!”

“Come to the table, and see what we’ve got.”

He sat down and inspected the various edibles, ticking them off on his fingers.

“Coffee, condensed milk, bread and butter, the ham-what-am, fried eggs, marmalade and maple syrup! Say, Dorothy, those guys certainly lived high. Some meal, this!”

Dorothy turned about from the stove, smiling. “And here’s what goes with the maple syrup!”

“A stack of wheats!” He shouted as she uncovered the dish. “You’re a wonder, a magician, Dorothy. How in the world did you manage it?”

Dorothy laughed, pleased by his enthusiasm.

“Found a package of pancake flour in the locker. They’re simple enough to make. Now dig in before things get cold. Help yourself to butter – it’s rather soft, but this lugger doesn’t seem to run to ice.”

Bill set to work as she poured the coffee.

“Like it that way,” he replied, his mouth full of ham and eggs, while he plastered his pancakes with butter. “Well, we’ve sure put it over on Messrs. Donovan and Charlie this trip, not to mention your friend Peters. Got their diamonds and their boat and their clothes. Now we’re eating their breakfast, – the sun is shining once more – and all is right in the world.”

“Where are those diamonds, by the way?” exclaimed Dorothy suddenly, having taken the edge off her ravenous appetite.

Bill laid down his knife and fork. For a moment he looked startled, then burst into a great roar of laughter.

“We’re a fine pair of Secret Service workers!” he cried derisively. “But it’s my fault. You were all in.”

Dorothy’s jaw dropped. “Don’t tell me you left them on the beach!”

“Surest thing you know. I left them beside you on the sand and forgot all about the darn things when I spotted the motor sailor. Never thought of them again until this minute!”

Dorothy nodded sagely. “Which only goes to show that diamonds don’t count for much when one is tired and wet and hungry, not to mention being marooned on a desert island!”

“Ain’t it the truth! Another cup of coffee, please. I’ll fetch them when we’ve finished eating.”

“After we’ve washed up?”

“O.K. with me.”

Bill drank his third cup of coffee and leaned back with a sigh of content.

“Well, the old appetite’s satisfied at last,” he admitted comfortably. “And I don’t mind telling you that was the best meal I ever ate.”

“Thank you, kind sir. Though I think it is your appetite rather than the cook you should thank.”

Bill shook his head. “When it comes to cooking, you’re a real, bona fide, died-in-the-wool, A-1 Ace! How about it – shall we wash the dishes now?”

“I can’t eat any more, and if I don’t get busy soon, I’ll go to sleep again.”

“Pass the dishes and things overside to me. I’ll sluice ’em off in the water. We should worry. This will be our last meal on this boat. I’ll bet a rubber nickel those smuggler-guys wouldn’t have done this much if they’d got the Mary Jane.”

“Poor Mary Jane,” sighed Dorothy as they tidied up. “She was a staunch old thing. I wonder what Yancy will soak Dad for her?”

“Nothing. Uncle Sam pays for that boat. She went down on government service, didn’t she?”

“That’s good news,” smiled Dorothy. “Now, that’s the last plate. Let’s go along the beach. I’m getting worried about those boxes of diamonds. Do you think they’ll be there, all right?”

“Sure to be. Unless somebody has landed on this island while we were busy with the eats. Come along and we’ll see.”

Chapter XII

THE NOTEBOOK

“Do you really think they’ll be where we left them, Bill?”

“Why sure! You’re not worrying, are you?”

The two were hurrying along the beach toward the spot where Dorothy had dropped to the sand and fallen asleep.

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, it’s Uncle Sam’s loot, not ours. And I reckon he cares more about knowing how the smuggling was done than the contraband itself, anyway.”

“I know. But that’s only half of it. The gang has got to be rounded up. We don’t know where they have their headquarters or who is in back of this business. So I’d hate to have to admit I’d lost the diamonds, after all.” Then, as Bill began to reply, she went on: “And don’t forget that Terry Walters is still missing – or was, when I flew over from New Canaan yesterday!”

“You’re right, pal. I just didn’t want you to take it too soberly. But that bearded aviator has got to be checked up. No easy matter, either, after what happened last night.” He broke off sharply. “There are the old boxes – just where I dropped them – so you see you’ve had your worry for nothing.”

“Just the same, we’ve been terribly careless!”

“Don’t rub it in,” said Bill, looping the line and its dangling load over his shoulder. “These things go to a bank for safe keeping just as soon as I can get rid of them.”

Dorothy caught his arm. “Let’s pry open one of the boxes, and make sure there really are diamonds inside.”

“Nothing doing,” Bill answered decisively. “They’re going to be turned over to the authorities – as is!”

“Well, you needn’t be so snooty about it. But I am crazy to see the sparklers – especially after all we’ve been through to rescue them!”

“Of course, – I’m sorry,” apologized Bill with a grin, “I’m kind of jumpy this morning, I guess. Me for bed as soon as I can find one. But you know, we really can’t open those things up, because we’d then be held responsible for contents – or no contents – as the case may be. See?”

“I didn’t think about that, Bill. But let’s forget the old boxes. I’m all in myself. Any idea what time it is? My watch has stopped.”

Bill glanced at his wrist. “Just seven o’clock. Seems like noon to me. This nice warm sun is a wonderful help – I was chilled to the bone.”

“Me too,” said Dorothy. “Well, here we are at the motor sailor. Nothing to keep us longer on this island. I vote we shove off.”

“Second the motion. Hop aboard and go aft. Your weight in the stern will help to raise her bow so I can push her out without breaking my back.”

“How’s that?” called Dorothy a minute later.

“Fine! Stand by for a shove!”

A heave of his shoulder against the bow loosened the boat’s keel from the sand and Bill sprang aboard as she glided into deep water.

“Don’t suppose there’s a chart of the lower bay stowed in one of those lockers?” he remarked as he started the engine. “The shallows are going to be the limit to navigate without running aground. Do you mind seeing what you can find, Dorothy?”

“Not at all – seeing I’ve already found one,” she laughed. “Came across it when I was looking for food.”

“Good.” Bill took over the wheel. “Let me see it, will you?”

Dorothy passed over the map. Bill studied it with a hand on the wheel.

“Thank goodness the deeper channels are marked,” he ruminated, “that’s a help, anyway.”

Dorothy peered over his shoulder.

“That island must be one of those in Jones Inlet. I had no idea we’d gone so far west.”

“All of fifteen miles as a plane flies to Babylon. No chance of making any time until we get into South Oyster Bay which is really the western end of Great South Bay. If we make Babylon by noon, we’ll be lucky.”

“No reason why we should both try to keep awake,” observed Dorothy. “I’ll skipper this craft for a spell. Make yourself comfortable somewhere and go to sleep. You’ll be called at ten o’clock.”

“But you need rest more than I do,” began Bill.

“Oh, I had a snooze on the Mary Jane,” she interrupted, “and got another on the sand this morning. Pipe down, sailor! This is your master’s voice what’s speaking. Excuse the ungarnished truth, but you look like something the cat brought in and didn’t want!”

Bill’s laugh ended in a yawn.

“Aye, aye, skipper. Call me at four bells. Night!”

He went forward and lay flat on the flooring, his head pillowed on his arms. He was asleep almost immediately.

For the next couple of hours Dorothy steered a winding course among low sandy islands and mudbanks. It was impossible to make any speed in these shallow, tortuous waters and she was taking no chances on running aground. It was monotonous work at best. She was deadly tired. There was little or no breeze and the sun, unshaded by the faintest wisp of cloud, fairly blistered the boat’s paint with its fierce heat.

At ten she roused Bill, and as soon as he was sufficiently alert to take over she went to sleep on the flooring in the shadow of a thwart.

It seemed as though she had but closed her eyes when Bill’s voice called her back to wakefulness.

“We’re almost in,” he reminded her. “Better run forward or I’m likely to ram the dock.”

Dorothy jumped to her feet and ran her fingers through her rumpled hair. She was astonished to see that the motor sailor was closing in on the dock of Yancy’s Motor Boat garage.

“We must have made wonderful time – ” she yawned, stumbling toward the bow.

“Only fair,” Bill said. “It’s almost noon. Snap into it, kid, and fend her off with the boathook.”

Presently they were tied up to the dock and Dorothy was making a sketchy toilet with the aid of her compact.

“How about it, old sport?” she looked up from her mirror, busy with damp powder and lipstick. “What’s on the program now? Thank goodness Wispy is still at her mooring over there. I s’pose after we settle with Yancy for the Mary Jane, we’d better take the plane and fly home.”

“Eventually, yes,” decided Bill. “I’ll go up to the office and fix things with Yancy. I’ve got to do some long distance telephoning, anyway, and park these boxes in a bank. It will save a lot of time if you’ll go over this boat with a fine tooth comb while I’m gone. I don’t expect you’ll find anything much, but there’s no telling.”

“All right,” she nodded. “And while you’re about it, get hold of that letter I wrote Mr. Walters and phone Lizzy we will be home for a late lunch. The sooner we can get back to New Canaan and Little Dorothy can crawl between clean sheets, the better she’ll be pleased!”

“Yep. I’ll work as fast as I can.”

Bill clambered on to the dock and made off in the direction of the boat yard.

For the next hour Dorothy worked manfully, overhauling the motor sailor. Fierce rays of the noonday sun beat down on the open boat. She was worn out and dizzy, but stuck pluckily to her job, turning out the contents of lockers and investigating every nook and cranny of the smugglers’ craft. Except for an old coat and those odds and ends which accumulate aboard any boat as large as the motor sailor, she found absolutely nothing. Tired and hot and crazy for sleep, she decided to call off this unprofitable search, when Bill’s voice hailed her.

“Hello, there, pardner,” he sang out, stepping aboard. “How are things going?”

Dorothy straightened her back and wiped the perspiration from her forehead with a sodden handkerchief. She noted the deep circles below Bill’s eyes and the tired droop of his shoulders. He looked on the verge of collapse, but his voice still held its hearty ring.

“Not so good, old timer. There isn’t a blessed thing worth while aboard this scow. Finish your business?”

“Reckon so. Got Washington on the phone and the big chief is tickled silly with all we’ve done. Tell you more about it later. Yancy will be recompensed for the Mary Jane and will look after this motor sailor until the government men take her over. I got Lizzie on the wire. She expects your father home tonight.”

“Thanks. Did you get my letter, too?”

“It’s in my pocket. I put the diamonds in a safe deposit box at a bank uptown. And I guess that’s pretty much everything.”

“You look done up, Bill.”

“I’ve felt sprucer. But you look pretty rocky yourself.”

“Feel like a wet smack, thank you. The heat is terrible.”

“Wait till I collect my duds and yours,” he suggested, “and we’ll beat it for New Canaan and Home Sweet Home!”

“They’re rolled up in a sea bag,” she told him. “Here it is.”

She started toward him with the bag in her arms, stumbled and would have fallen had not Bill’s steadying hand prevented.

“Kind o’ wobbly, eh?”

“Not as bad as all that, Bill. Caught my toe in that floorboard. It’s loose.”

“Have you had them up?”

“Why, no, I never thought of that.”

Bill took the sea bag from her and tossed it on to the dock.

“Hop on a thwart,” he prompted. “I don’t suppose there’s anything but bilgewater under the boards but we might as well have a look.”

“Need a hand?” asked Dorothy, looking down at him.

“No, I guess not. These sections aren’t heavy – ” He broke off with a sudden exclamation and fished up something from the wet.

“What is it?”

“Seems to be a notebook. Probably dropped out of either Donovan’s or Charlie’s pockets and got kicked under that loose flooring in the gale last night. But it’s soaking wet and its pages are stuck together. Wonder if we’ll be able to get anything out of it?”

Dorothy held out her hand.

“Give it to me. I’ll dry it out on the dock while you look some more.”

For the next few minutes Bill continued his search while Dorothy after placing the notebook on the decking of the dock watched it carefully, lest the light breeze blow it into the water.

At last he joined her and lifted the sea bag over his shoulder.

“How’s it coming?”

“Not so good. It’s going to take a long time to dry the book all the way through even in this sun.”

“Then let’s take it along to New Canaan. I’ll get Dad to put it in our oven as soon as we get home. That’ll do the trick. Get aboard that dinghy and I’ll row you over to the plane.”

Dorothy picked up the notebook and slipped it into her pocket.

“That’s the best thing you’ve said today,” she beamed, “I’ll be home and asleep in twenty minutes! Come along.”

Chapter XIII

THE WARNING

Dorothy and Mr. Dixon were finishing breakfast next morning when the Boltons, father and son, dropped in.

“Good morning, stranger,” was Mr. Dixon’s greeting to Bill. “I understand you’ve been to Europe and back a couple of times since we saw you last. We’ve missed you, boy.”

“Thanks,” returned Bill. “I’m glad to be home again.”

“Which home?” asked his father with an amused smile. “When in New Canaan you seem to spend most of your time across the way here.”

“And why not?” protested Mr. Dixon. “Dorothy and I return the compliment often enough. Since you people moved here two lonely widowers have acquired another child apiece. It’s fine – both Dorothy and I are the happier for it.”

“And that goes two ways,” asserted Bill. “How about it, Dad?”

“Yes, of course,” Mr. Bolton assented heartily. “The intimacy is one I enjoy immensely. But I’m afraid that Bill has begun the habit of leading Dorothy into all kinds of dangerous adventures. This diamond smuggling business, for instance.”

Mr. Dixon chuckled. “If you ask me, I don’t think Dorothy needs any leading.”

“Well, I should say not!” exclaimed his daughter. “If it weren’t for Bill, I’d never be able to get out of half the messes we drift into together!”

Mr. Dixon pushed his chair back from the breakfast table. “This meeting of the mutual admiration society is all very nice,” he announced with a twinkle in his eye, “But it is high time the ways and means committee got together on this last Bolton-Dixon hair-raiser. I vote we adjourn to the porch and learn what the subcommittee on the smugglers’ notebook has to report.”

“Second the motion,” chirped Dorothy. “I’m just crazy to hear what you’ve found out, Daddy Bolton. I suppose Bill has been hitting the hay, like me?”

“He put in nearly sixteen hours of uninterrupted slumber,” Mr. Bolton answered as they found chairs for themselves on the shaded porch, where the air was sweet with the scent of honeysuckle.

“Well, I guess it was a dead heat,” she laughed. “I woke up less than an hour ago, myself.”

Mr. Dixon passed his case to Mr. Bolton and when their after-breakfast cigars were well alight, Bill produced the notebook.

“While you’re busy with that stogie, Dad, I’ll start the ball rolling.”

“Humph! That – er – stogie happens to be a fifty-cent Corona!” snorted Mr. Dixon who was touchy about his smokes.

“Means nothing to me,” replied Bill blandly. “Don’t use ’em myself and – ”

“Say, will you please pipe down on cigars – ” broke in Dorothy, “and get to the notebook?”

“Oh, what a pun – ” groaned Bill, “you certainly – ”

“Be still!” ordered his father. “She’s right. Let’s get down to business. Now, here’s the book,” he went on, opening the little volume. “I dried it in our oven and although the writing is blurred, it is still quite legible. As you see, only a few pages have been used, and they show a simple set of flag signals. The red flag means: ‘Meet Steamship.’ The yellow flag stands for ‘A.M.’; the white, ‘P.M.’ Then there are twenty-four flags to designate the hours and half-hours from one to twelve.”

“Is that all?” asked Dorothy, disappointedly.

“Absolutely. The rest of the pages are blank.”

“I remember hearing the men speak of the bosses’ red flag when I was listening outside the cottage,” she said slowly, “and that meant, of course, that Donovan and Charlie were to meet the steamer.”

“Quite. But until we are able to locate the spot where these signals are displayed we won’t accomplish much.”

Bill nodded. “And now that they know we have discovered their method of smuggling, they’ll probably shift their operations from Fire Island Lightship to some other point along the coast.”