it adjusted itself to every movement of its frame. A second glance showed Billy that it was a gyroscope.
The boys and the aged inventor were so deeply interested in examining the bit of machinery that they did not hear Billy come in, and it was not till he hailed them with a cheery:
“Come down from the clouds, you fellows!” that they turned with a shout of recognition.
“Why, hullo, Billy Barnes!” they cried, “what are you after now? If you want an aeroplane story here’s a good one – a new adjustable gyroscopic appliance for attachment to aeroplanes which renders them stable in any shifting wind currents.”
“It’s a jim-dandy,” enthusiastically cried Harry.
“But it’s a story you can’t use,” added Frank, “because the appliance, which is the invention of Mr. Joyce – has not yet been fully patented. He has been good enough to let us try it out.”
“It looks fine,” said Billy, who knew about as much about gyroscopes as a cat knows of the solar system; “but you needn’t worry about my printing anything about it, Frank. You see, I’m fired,” he added simply.
“Fired?” cried Frank.
“Well, about the same thing – I resigned, as a matter of fact,” explained Billy ruefully; “but it all amounts to the same in the long run.”
“Sit down and tell us about it,” commanded Frank, genuinely concerned at his friend’s evident dejection.
Seated on an upturned box, which had contained batteries, Billy related his story, omitting nothing. On his suspicions of Reade, however, he touched lightly.
“You see, I’ve got nothing on the fellow,” he explained, “and although I’m convinced that he gave our plan away to the Despatch, yet I’ve got nothing to base it on.”
“That’s so,” Frank and Harry were compelled to admit.
The three friends spent an hour or so chatting, and then Mr. Joyce, who had been tinkering with his aeroplane attachment quite oblivious to their talk, announced that he would have to be going home. He had some work to do on another invention that evening, he explained.
“Well, say, as we’ve been stuffing in here almost all day and it’s warm enough to be mighty uncomfortable, what do you say if we take a little spin out in the auto. We can give Mr. Joyce a ride home,” exclaimed Frank.
“The very thing,” agreed Harry.
Old Mr. Joyce was nothing loath to be spared the long ride in a train to his home in the outskirts of Jersey City. As for Billy Barnes, he was delighted at the idea.
Accordingly, half an hour later the Chester boys’ auto rolled on board one of the ferryboats which ply across the North River to Jersey City. The boat had hardly reached midstream before they were aware of another car almost opposite to them in the space set apart for autos in the centre of the boat. Before five minutes had passed they also noticed that they were the object of close scrutiny on the part of one of the occupants of the machine. He was a tall youth with dark hair and eyes, and as soon as he observed that he was attracting their attention he at once withdrew his gaze.
Billy Barnes, who had been “stretching his legs” by a stroll on the stern deck of the ferryboat as she made her way across the river, rejoined the others just as the boat was pulling into her slip.
“Hullo!” he exclaimed as the autos rolled over the apron and onto the wharf, “there’s Fred Reade.”
He indicated the occupant of the other car, who seemed to have taken so much interest in the Chester boys and Eben Joyce, their aged companion.
CHAPTER IV.
THIEVES IN THE NIGHT
The other occupants of the auto were a man with a heavy red beard and a nervous, alert little man whom Billy said was an aviator named Slade.
“That’s queer to see Reade over here. I wonder what he can be doing,” said Billy, as the two autos left the shed and emerged into the street.
Neither of the boys could, of course, hazard a guess, but had they known it the mission of the reporter who had betrayed the Planet was more nearly concerned with them than they imagined. The car in which Reade was seated seemed a more powerful machine than the one the boys occupied and it soon left them behind. They thought no more of the chance encounter and soon arrived at the home of Eben Joyce, a comfortable cottage on the heights overlooking the “meadows” on one side and the North river on the other.
They were greeted by the inventor’s daughter, who seemed much disturbed.
“Oh, I am so glad you have come!” she exclaimed, after she had invited the little party in.
“Why, what has happened?” asked Frank.
“I will tell you,” she said, while they all leaned forward deeply interested. “This afternoon I was called to the door by a man in ragged clothes who begged me for something to eat. My father has told me never to let anyone go away hungry, so I told the servant to give the man some food. I thought no more of the matter till, on looking out of the window, I saw the man who had asked for charity going toward the old barn out there that my father used as a workshop.”
Old Mr. Joyce became greatly excited. It was evident he feared some harm had come to his collection of scientific instruments and plans for inventions which he housed there for lack of room in the house.
“Yes, yes, go on,” he exclaimed, quivering with agitation.
“He was fumbling with the lock when I looked up and saw him. I shouted to him to know what he was doing. His reply was to instantly stop what he was at and run toward the front of the house. I opened the door just in time to see him leap into an automobile in which were two other men, and they drove off.”
“A tramp in an automobile; that’s funny,” commented Frank.
“Indeed it is. In fact, I recollect thinking at the time that he asked me for food that his manner was too refined to be that of a genuine tramp.”
“What did he look like?” asked Harry.
“He was tall and had a big red beard. That is all I am able to recollect of him.”
“Sounds like the man we saw in Reade’s auto,” exclaimed Harry.
“Can Fred Reade have anything to do with this mysterious happening?” asked Billy.
“Eh, say that name again, young man,” demanded the inventor, who was, besides being often preoccupied, somewhat deaf and so had not heard Billy mention the other’s name when they were in the auto.
“I said Fred Reade,” rejoined Billy. “Why, do you know him?”
“I do, and I know no good of him,” was the reply. “It was he that first approached me in connection with the sale of the Buzzard to Luther Barr and – ”
“Luther Barr again. We seem to cross his trail all the time,” exclaimed Frank.
“Eh?” questioned the old man, his hand at his ear, trumpet-wise.
“I said we have heard of Luther Barr before, as you know,”
