The Flying Machine Boys on Secret Service

“That’s another mystery,” Mr. Havens continued.

“Don’t you think he buffaloed Colleton after he drugged him and forced him to open the safe and the desk and take the papers out?”

“That is very probable,” was the reply.

“In that case,” Ben went on, “where would the villain naturally throw the coat and hat?”

“In the safe!” shouted Jimmie springing to his feet. “Has the safe been opened yet, Mr. Havens?” the boy continued.

“An expert was at work on it when I left New York,” was the reply.

“Well, when they get it open,” Ben asserted confidently, “they’ll find Colleton’s hat and coat inside.”

“Say, but it’s easy to solve this case as long as we establish all the facts to suit ourselves!” laughed Jimmie.

“I believe this little thinking machine,” said Mr. Havens nodding to Ben, “really has the right view of it!”

“He thinks so, too,” grinned Jimmie wrinkling his freckled nose.

“Yes, and so do you!” declared Ben.

“If you know all about the case, then,” Jimmie went on, “why don’t you tell us how this burly ruffian got Colleton out of Washington? Mr. Havens says the alarm was given within half an hour of the disappearance of the inspector. It seems to me that the cops might have dragged in a hundred sporty looking men with red neckties and slouch hats for the inspector’s friends to look over for the purpose of identification.”

“If you talk with the Washington officials to-night,” Mr. Havens said, “they will insist that the two men who were seen at the door of Mr. Colleton’s room had nothing to do with the disappearance of the inspector.”

“Has the theory ever been advanced that the thin, doped-looking fellow might have been Colleton?” asked Ben.

“Not until advanced by you that I know of!”

“So they didn’t look for the man in the sporty coat and red tie?”

“I am certain that they did not.”

“Well,” reiterated Ben, “when they find him, they’ll find Colleton!”

“Now, go on and tell us how they got the inspector out of Washington,” said Jimmie, with a provoking wink in the direction of Mr. Havens.

“You can answer that question yourself, Jimmie,” replied Ben.

“Of course I can!” answered the boy. “They had a taxi at the Eleventh street entrance with a man inside. From the building they drove directly to the Union station. There they took a stateroom for Frisco. I don’t know what time the train left, because I haven’t got any railroad time-table in my dream-book, but I can tell you what they did after they got to the depot,” he added with a sly wink at the millionaire.

“Go to it!” laughed Ben. “This beats the Arabian Nights!”

“When they got to the depot they found the stateroom already engaged on a train leaving that night for the Pacific coast. They stripped the inspector, put him in pajamas and tucked him into bed.”

“What’d they do that for?” asked Ben.

“So they could tell the porter not to be intruding into the room and waking a sick man!” said Jimmie. “So they could give a good excuse for having meals sent in to the inspector.”

“Go on,” grinned Ben, “turn another page of your dream-book and see what you find there.”

“On the way across the continent,” Jimmie chuckled, “they kept the inspector under the influence of dope sixteen hours and a half out of the twenty-four. The other seven hours and a half they devoted to the third degree. You see, the spirit of the little Indian maiden which now controls me,” the boy grinned, “whispers in my ear that they offered him a good many thousand dollars if he’d quit the game.”

“Jimmie,” Ben said with a superior look, “if you keep on exercising your imagination you’re likely to bring up in the back room on the top floor of the foolish house!”

“All right!” laughed Jimmie. “You just see if they didn’t get him out of Washington in that way!”

“Suppose you look in your dream-book again,” smiled Mr. Havens, “and tell us what became of the sporty coat, the dickey and red tie, and also the slouch hat. Also the beard! The slender man wore a beard!”

“I don’t have to look in the dream-book to find that,” replied the boy. “The villains dumped the stuff into the first river they came to.”

“There’s been nothing like this since The Sign of the Four was written,” laughed Mr. Havens. “You boys would consider yourselves abused if it should be discovered that Colleton disguised himself and disappeared because he had decided, for financial reasons, not to appear against the mail-order people.”

“Sure we would!” declared Jimmie.

“Or if it should be discovered that he walked out of his office unattended that day and was abducted from the buffet of the Raleigh Hotel. That would twist your theory some, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, yes,” laughed Jimmie. “If a shovel-nosed pike from the Potomac river should crawl into a back yard and set up life as a hen, that would be remarkable, too, wouldn’t it?”

“That’s right!” Mr. Havens advised. “Stick to your theories. I half believe they are right!”

“Now, about this proposed visit to Crooked Terry,” asked Jimmie. “Do you think we’d better take the Louise out and have a talk with him to-night?”

“Keep on, Jimmie!” Ben grinned. “You’ve landed Colleton in a stateroom on the Pacific coast, so what’s the use of looking for him in a smugglers’ den on the Continental Divide?”

“I didn’t say what they did with him after they got him to the coast!” Jimmie replied. “My private opinion is that they brought him up here and hid him! They wouldn’t check him for safekeeping with the smugglers, would they? Of course they wouldn’t, but Crooked Terry might know of some likely hiding-place in this section!”

“It won’t do any harm to go and talk with the fellow, anyhow,” Ben suggested. “We can fly up there to the camp, get what information he possesses and be back in a couple of hours.”

Leaving Carl to his slumbers, the boys prepared a hasty supper for themselves and Mr. Havens and started away in the Louise.

The night was clear and they had no difficulty in making their way to the landing which they had discovered on the previous night.

“I don’t think we ought to leave this machine alone,” Ben said as he alighted. “Why don’t you go up again and fly about until I signal with my electric for you to come down?” he asked Jimmie.

“I’d like to talk with this old boozer,” Jimmie argued.

“Well, one must stay with the machine!” Ben insisted. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll talk with this Crooked Terry and you come down when I signal.”

“You’re on!” declared the boy. “I’ll fly over the summit and watch you rolling down the gully.”

When Ben reached the place where the fire had blazed on the previous night, he was surprised to see a bed of coals remaining. Drawing nearer, and flashing his light he saw a well-dressed young man lying unconscious on the shelf, his silk hat scorching on the embers, and a small traveling-bag blistering under the heat. Over the figure, knife in hand, stood Terry.

CHAPTER XII.

THE ENGLISHMAN’S BAG

Terry lifted the hand holding the knife as Ben approached. Doubting if the drunken man would heed his words, and realizing that it would be impossible to reach his side in time to prevent the meditated crime, the boy fired at the uplifted arm. Instead of finding a lodging in flesh and muscle the bullet struck the blade of the knife and broke it off short at the handle.

His hand and arm temporarily paralyzed by the force of the impact, Terry caught hold of his wrist with his left hand and looked about with a snarl on his bloated face.

When Ben stepped within the circle of light about the fire he drew back still, clutching his benumbed wrist.

“What’d you do that for?” he demanded.

“I didn’t want you to kill the man,” replied Ben. “Who is he, and where did he come from?”

“He butted in!” answered Terry shortly. “He wanted to take my provisions and my drink by force. He was too fresh, and I knocked him down. I guess he isn’t hurt much.”

“How’d he get here?” asked Ben.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care!” was the sullen reply. “I might ask the same about you. What do you want here, anyway?”

“Dick Sherman sent me!” was the reply.

“All right,” answered the other. “I know Dick Sherman. He’s good people! Why didn’t he come himself?”

“He’ll be here to-morrow,” replied Ben, drawing slightly on his imagination. “He’ll tell you all about it then.”

Ben was angry at the impertinent manner of the fellow, but he understood that he was there to placate him if possible, so he refrained from further conversation at that time. Turning to the man lying by the fire, he lifted him in his arms and carried him to a more comfortable position.

“If you’ll fetch me some whiskey,” he said, “I’ll bring this man back to life. I guess the fellow needs something to eat more than anything else!”

Grumbling that he had no liquor to give away, Terry reluctantly produced a flask from his pocket, and Ben applied the same to the mouth of the unconscious man. He opened his eyes and tried to sit up as the fiery liquid scorched his throat.

“I say, don’t do that, you know!” he gasped.

“That’s for your own good!” Ben chuckled.

“But, I say, you know, the blawsted thing is burning clear down to me boots, don’t ye know!”

“I’m glad of that,” Ben grinned. “It seems to be having the desired effect! How’d you like to have something to eat about now?”

“I’m that hungry,” was the answer, “that I could eat a cat, don’t ye know! I’ve been long without food or drink.”

Ben turned to Terry to ask if anything in the line of provisions could be had there, but the fellow was seen wandering off in the direction of the cavern. After assisting the stranger to an easier position, Ben followed on after the guardian of the smuggled goods.

When he reached the cavern he found Terry lying flat on his face an empty whiskey flask in his hand. Kicks and cuffs did no good whatever, so the boy was obliged to leave him there to sleep off his debauch. When he went back to the fire he found the stranger retrieving his silk hat and hand-bag. He appeared much annoyed at the condition of both!

“The bloomin’ idiot!” he cried, “burned me luggage and mutilated me hat! Do you happen to know,” he went on with a pleading expression, “how one can get out of this blawsted country?”

“If you can walk about half a mile up and down hill,” Ben returned, “I can take you out in a flying machine.”

The stranger eyed Ben dubiously.

“You’re a school-boy,” he said. “You can’t run a flying machine!”

“Do you want to go?” asked Ben impatiently.

The stranger admitted that he wanted to go, but still expressed doubts as to Ben’s ability to handle an aeroplane.

“All right, stay here if you want to,” Ben said. “But perhaps you’d better tell me your name so I can make a report to your friends if I’m asked any questions.”

“My name,” answered the other, “is Claude Mercer DuBois, and I’m from London, England. I came to this blawsted country after big game and I’ve been made game of myself.”

“Well, Claude Mercer DuBois,” Ben went on with a grin, “if you want to get down to camp where you can get plenty to eat and drink, you’d better be hiking toward the machine. I came up here to talk with Terry, but he’s pickled and I can’t get any satisfaction out of him so I’ll have to come back some other time.”

It took a long time for Claude Mercer DuBois to climb the steep gully, wade through the snow on the summit, and pass down to the landing where the Louise was expected to pick the two up. The journey was completed at length, however, and soon Ben saw the aeroplane off to the south. He signaled with his electric and directly the machine dropped down almost at the feet of the disgusted Englishman.

“I say,” he said, “this is quite remarkable, you know. Here I find school-boys running machines our army officers fail to handle.”

“We do a good many things on this side of the pond,” laughed Ben, “which you Englishmen will never be able to accomplish!”

“If you want to get down to our camp, hop in,” Jimmie urged.

As the Englishman took his seat, Jimmie leaned over and whispered in the ear of his chum:

“Where did you find it, and what are you going to do with it?”

“Just at present,” Ben answered, “I’m a life saving station. I’m taking this fellow down where he can get something to eat and drink. There’s no telling how long he’s been wandering about the mountains, but there’s no doubt that he’s about all in!”

Ben handed DuBois his bag and climbed into the seat with Jimmie. When the machine was well under way, cutting the freezing air of the mountaintop like a knife, the Englishman began begging to be lowered to the earth. He actually trembled every time the machine tipped in a current of air. Once or twice Ben steadied him with his hand.

“Let me out!” DuBois pleaded, his voice rising shrill above the din of the motors. “If I fall when I’m walking, don’t you know,” he went on, “I’m there on the ground, but if I fall when I’m riding on one of these blawsted airships, I’m there in the ground, don’t you know!”

“You’ll be all right as soon as you get your second wind!” exclaimed Ben. “It’s always a little shock at first!”

“Me second wind?” demanded the Englishman. “I got more than me second wind climbing the slope when I saw the embers of the fire you picked me out of.”

“Well, you’ll soon be at the camp,” Ben consoled, “and then you can tell us the story of your life if you want to.”

Carl and Mr. Havens were rather astonished at seeing the boys return with another stranger, a man who appeared to be both weak and discouraged.

“Now, I wonder what bush they picked that off from?” asked Carl as DuBois almost fell out of the seat. “Looks to me like they went and picked it before it was ripe.”

“I never saw anything like it,” replied Mr. Havens. “You boys find strangers at every turn of the road. You’ll go above clouds some day and find a couple of boys sitting on a fog bank!”

“Come, get a move on, here!” cried Ben, giving DuBois a seat on a blanket by the fire. “My friend is hungry and wants a few dozen eggs and about a quart of coffee!”

As Ben spoke he lifted the hand-bag from the place where it had fallen and started toward the tent with it.

“Here, you cawn’t take that away, don’t you know,” DuBois exclaimed. “That’s me luggage!”

“All right, wear it for a watch-charm if you want to,” Ben declared, throwing the hand-bag down by the Englishman’s side.

In the meantime Jimmie and Carl busied themselves preparing a meal for the wanderer. When it was quite ready he insisted on going to the stream which ran through the valley not far away and bathing his hands and face in the clear water. When he returned he took the key to the hand-bag from his pocket and threw back the bolt.

“There’s a bawth towel in here,” he said in a moment, “and I’ll be obliged to use it until I get to me boxes, don’t ye know! Do you think,” he went on with a wistful look, “that we’ll soon come to a place where I can get me morning tub?”

“You can get a tub in the brook!” laughed Jimmie. “There’s plenty of rattlesnakes and lizards along the edges of the stream, but after you get out into the middle you won’t find anything more dangerous than alligators!”

“Don’t ye know,” grinned the Englishman, “I think you’re spoofing me!”

“He’s great fun, ain’t he?” whispered Jimmie, as DuBois shot back the bolt and opened his hand-bag. He took out first a comb, a brush, and a hand mirror. Then followed a bath towel of goodly size.

“And me ’andkerchiefs,” mused the Englishman. “I don’t see anything of the blawsted ’andkerchiefs!”

He kept digging away at the hand-bag, drawing out one article after another, until at last he came to a garment which brought something more than surprise and excitement to the faces of the boys. It was a sporty sack coat, the pattern being according to latest Bowery cut, the material coarse, and the markings of the cloth loud in the extreme.

DuBois poked the coat over and over on the ground with one disdainful finger. He seemed surprised at finding it in his bag.

“Now, where did you come from?” he asked, addressing the garment.

“Holy Mackinaw!” exclaimed Jimmie. “Don’t you know where you got the coat? You surely must know where you got it!”

“I got it out of the bag!” was the answer.

“But who put it in the bag?” demanded Ben.

“Believe me,” replied the Englishman, “I never saw the blawsted thing before this minute! It’s the most unaccountable thing, don’t you know!”

“Go on!” advised Jimmie. “Go on digging into the bag and see what else you find. You might find a bushel of pearls!”

While the Englishman continued his investigation of the bag, Jimmie nudged Ben in the side and whispered, pointing at the coat:

“That’s just about the kind of a garment the doped man wore out of Colleton’s room, isn’t it?”

“You just wait a minute!” exclaimed Ben. “I want to know how that Englishman got hold of that coat!”

The next moment the boys’ amazement changed to actual unbelief in the accuracy of their vision. DuBois drew from the bag a false beard, and a crumpled white dickey topped by a wing collar and a sporty red tie.

“Say!” Ben exclaimed. “You’ve got to tell us where you got that bag! We want to know where that coat, those whiskers, and that dickey came from!”

“That’s what I want to know meself!” exclaimed the Englishman.

“That’s your bag, isn’t it?” demanded Carl.

“It’s my bag, right enough, don’t you know, but I never saw these things before! Some one must have stuffed them in!”

“Come on in here and tell us where you got the bag, and who packed it, and how many hands it has passed through since you owned it,” suggested Ben, leading the way to Mr. Havens’ tent.

With the sporty coat, the beard, and dickey lying on the blanket at his side, Mr. Havens turned to Jimmie with a sly smile.

“Was it you,” he asked, “who told us just how the villains in the Kuro case disposed of the disguise, or was it Ben?”

“You just wait,” Jimmie exclaimed. “Let’s find out about this hand-bag before we reach any conclusions.”

“Well,” the Englishman began, seeing that an explanation was expected, “I bought this hand-bag of a Pullman porter on a limited train which left Washington for San Francisco three weeks ago. I lost me own bag with most of me toilet articles out of the window, and the porter sold me this for a sovereign. He didn’t tell me that it had anything in it.”

“Where’d the porter get it?” asked Jimmie.

“He didn’t say, don’t you know.”

“Where was the train when you bought the bag?”

“Nearing the Pacific coast.”

“I presume,” Mr. Havens suggested, “that you occupied a stateroom on that Pullman train? You never traveled in the day-coach!”

“The stateroom in my car was occupied by a sick man!” was the reply.

Jimmie bounded into the air with a loud whoop.

“Talk about dream-books!” he cried. “I’m going to get out a new edition with my name on the title page. This sick man didn’t appear during the trip, did he?” he asked of the Englishman.

“He did not!” was the reply. “And no one on board the train saw him except the man who had charge of him.”

Jimmie gave another whoop and sat down flat on the ground.

“And you lost your bag, and bought one of the porter, and he brought you this? That’s all there is to it, is it?”

“What’s the mystery about the garments in the bag?” asked the Englishman without answering the question.

“Look here,” Ben explained, “if we should climb that peak to the east at sunrise to-morrow morning, and find Noah’s ark resting there, with all the animals wearing white aprons and cooking breakfasts for each other, and Noah listening to a talking machine which was invented only last year, that wouldn’t be any stranger than is the appearance of that coat, those whiskers, and the dickey in this camp!”

The Englishman eyed the boy as if rather inclined to doubt his sanity.

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about, don’t you know,” he said.

Before Ben could make any explanation, Carl, who had passed out of the tent to look after the supper, came rushing in, declaring that a strange flying machine was hovering over the valley.

“She’s headed toward the shelf where the signals were shown last night,” the boy added, “and she’s making signals of some kind herself!”

“Perhaps they’ve got Colleton up in the air!” grinned Jimmie.

CHAPTER XIII.

A RACE IN THE AIR

“Don’t read any more chapters from your dream-book!” warned Ben. “We’ve materialized the coat, the whiskers, the dickey, the wing collar, the red tie, and the felt hat Colleton wore away from his office that day, and I think that’s about enough!”

“Materialized ’em through three thousand miles of space, at that!” laughed Jimmie. “If we could materialize Colleton as easily, we might have a little time for hunting on this trip.”

The aeroplane which had been reported by Carl was still quite a distance to the west. It carried a light which appeared not much larger than a good-sized planet from where the boys stood. The hum of the motors sounded faintly from the distance.

“It’s pears to potatoes,” exclaimed Carl, “that she’s going up to that old camp!”

“If she does, she’ll find a man drunk in the cavern, and that’s all!”

“And a lot of whiskey and brandy!” suggested Jimmie.

The aeroplane moved slowly to the north and west, and presently the boys were able to see something more than the dancing light.

“She’s going to the old camp all right!” Ben announced, after looking at the machine through his field-glass for some minutes. “At least, she is headed in that direction now.”

“And why shouldn’t she be going to the camp?” asked the Englishman.

“Because only two classes of people are now much interested in that locality!” cried Ben. “The class most interested is the criminal class. The other is the official class. I have a notion that the criminals are pretty well disposed of to-night,” the boy continued, “and it isn’t time for the officers to return. Besides,” he went on, “they wouldn’t be apt to return in an aeroplane.”

“I’ll tell you how we can soon find out all about it!” suggested Jimmie. “I know how we can find out all about that machine!”

“No, you don’t,” laughed Mr. Havens. “You don’t get away in any machine to-night! It spells trouble when you get away after dark!”

“Je-rusalem!” exclaimed Jimmie, in a disgusted tone. “I might have known I’d need my knitting when I came out on this trip! If I listened to all the advice I get from you fellows, I’d sit down here and knit myself a pair of socks, or a cream-colored necktie, just like a perfect little lady. What’s the matter with a game of checkers? Wouldn’t that be too exciting for you?” he added, with a grin.

“I don’t think there’s been any lack of excitement up to date,” laughed Mr. Havens.

“Say,” Ben exclaimed, directly, “we really ought to go and see what that Crooked Terry is doing. You know I set out once to get a duplicate copy of the map of this country which he is supposed to carry in his head.”

“Is this a conspiracy to get away from camp again?” demanded the millionaire. “Do you want to leave me here alone all the time?”

“We’ll leave Carl and Mr. Claude Mercer Du Bois to keep you company,” suggested Jimmie.

“If you don’t mind,” the Englishman cut in, “I’d like to have me dinner now, don’t you know.”

“I’ll bet it’s all scorched to coals!” cried Carl, rushing to the fire.

In a moment he called back that the ham and eggs and coffee were just as they should be, and the Englishman was soon eating heartily.

The strange aeroplane was still in sight. In fact a great deal closer than when it had first been discovered. It was now over the center of the valley, still pointing toward the shelf from which the signals had been given the night before.

While the boys watched and waited, undecided as to the correct course to pursue, the machine passed over the snow-tipped summit and disappeared.

“Some aviator out for a view of the mountains, probably,” Mr. Havens suggested. “He seems to be keeping on his way pretty well.”

“I’ve got a hunch,” Jimmie insisted, “that that aeroplane has something to do with this Kuro case!”

“Aw, cut out the dream-book!” advised Ben.

“Didn’t my dreams come true?” demanded the boy.

“You’ll have to show me!” declared Carl. “Don’t you suppose there’s more than one false beard, more than one sporty coat, and more than one dickey with wing collars and a red necktie in the world?”