were now gathered inside the shelter building. Experts were examining and admiring the Comet.
It pleased Mr. Brackett to exhibit this last masterpiece from the Interstate Aero Company’s factory. As a strictly passenger carrying biplane it had never been equalled. Mr. Brackett showed all its improvements, from the new chain drive apparatus to the high pitch revolution screws. The original model of the Comet had represented a machine weighing over one thousand five hundred pounds with a spread of thirty-eight by sixty-three and one-half feet, pitch speed five thousand six hundred feet, average flight record fifty miles. The old style rear propeller drive had been supplanted by tractor screws. The tubing truss underneath the center section and skid bracing also in the rib or plane section was a new feature. A divergence from the popular headless screw traction design was the use of the Curwell type of outriggers. This did away with an attachment at the end of a monoplane type of fuselage.
It was almost dusk when the visitors began to depart. Dave was giving orders to two of the hangar men to lock up the machine for the night, when an automobile drew rapidly up to the spot. As the young aviator glanced casually at the machine, he saw that besides the chauffeur it contained a veiled, girlish form.
The chauffeur stopped the machine directly before the living tent. He leaped from the auto and approached Mr. Brackett, who was standing near by.
“Can you direct me to the Comet hangar?” he inquired, touching his cap politely.
“This is the place,” explained the manufacturer.
“And Mr. Dave Dashaway – do you know where I can find him?”
The young airman overheard this conversation. He stepped forward at once with the words:
“I am Dave Dashaway. What can I do for you?”
The chauffeur moved aside with a movement of his head towards the automobile. Its occupant leaned slightly forward, and extended a daintily gloved hand. As Dave advanced and lifted his cap she spoke to him in a low, tremulous tone.
“I wish to speak to you for a few moments, Mr. Dashaway,” she said. “In private,” she added, with a glance at the several persons in view.
“Certainly,” responded Dave readily, but in some wonderment. “There is our office, miss. May I assist you?”
The little lady uttered a fluttering sigh as our hero helped her from the machine and led the way to the living tent. Hiram had just lighted a lamp. Both he and Elmer regarded their friend’s companion in some surprise. They were too well bred, however, to stare at the newcomer, who seemed timid and uncertain. The boys moved quietly from the tent, Dave set a stool for his visitor and seated himself at a little distance, awaiting her pleasure.
“You must not think it strange that I have come to you, Mr. Dashaway,” she said. “I – that is, I was directed to you by a very close friend, who knows you well.”
“Ah, indeed?” spoke the young airman.
“Yes, I bring you a letter from a friend of my dear father, who is as well a close friend of your own – Mr. Robert King.”
“I am pleased and interested at once, Miss,” said Dave, trying to set the young lady at her ease under such strange surroundings. “Mr. King is, indeed, a close friend, and his friends are very welcome.”
“You are most kind,” said the visitor, nervously searching for the letter in question, and in her confusion lifting her veil. From her face Dave saw that she was about his own age. There was an anxious look in her eyes. She finally found the letter, and handed it to the young airman with the explanation:
“We went to Mr. King where he is sick at his home in New York City.”
“Yes, I know,” said Dave. “He wrote me only last week.”
“I am Edna Deane,” proceeded the young lady. “My father is himself something of an invalid and could not come with me to-day. We went to Mr. King to ask his help in a case where he only, or somebody like him, could be of any assistance.”
“You mean in the aviation way?” inquired Dave, getting interested.
“Yes, Mr. Dashaway,” replied the young girl. “I want my father to explain to you about it. He has written our address on the envelope – Hampton Flats. He wishes to have you make an appointment to meet him, if you will be so kind.”
“I certainly shall be glad to be of service to any friends of the gentleman who taught me all I know about sky sailing,” began Dave, and then he added very heartily: “Surely I will come, Miss Deane. To-morrow morning, if you wish. Shall we say at ten o’clock? I have some few things to attend to that will take up my time until then.”
“My father will be very glad,” murmured the girl, gratefully.
A glance at the letter from the veteran aviator, Mr. King, had at once influenced Dave. The old airman wrote briefly, but to the point. He stated, that were he in shape to do so, he would at once assist Mr. Deane. He asked his former assistant to act in his place, could he at all arrange to do so. Mr. King hinted that there was an opportunity for a great humane act. He said he was sure that when Dave knew its details, his generous heart would respond to an unusual appeal for help in a strangely pathetic case.
Meantime Hiram and Elmer had strolled to a distance. They passed Mr. Brackett, who was seeing to it that the hangar men safely housed his pet biplane for the night. Hiram looked curiously at his companion.
“Well,” he observed, “sort of mysterious, Elmer; eh?”
“You mean that young lady?”
“I do. Automobile – mysterious veiled visitor,” said Hiram with a smile.
“Maybe it’s another of those venturesome college girls wanting to make a flight for the name of it. Dave will tell us when he sees us. No nonsense about him. He’s too busy for romance.”
“That’s so. There she goes, Elmer,” announced Hiram.
The boys made out Dave, cap in hand, walking beside the automobile as it started up slowly, and conversing with its occupant. Then, curious and eager to learn the merits of the interesting episode, they proceeded towards the living tent, approaching it by a roundabout route so as not to look as if they were “snooping around,” as Hiram put it.
Just as they neared it, Elmer grasped the arm of his companion, bringing him to a halt with a startling: “S – st!”
“What is it?” demanded Hiram, staring ahead in the direction in which the glance of his companion was fixed.
“Look for yourself,” whispered back Elmer, pointing to a crouching figure just behind the tent. “See – a man, a lurker, a spy! Who do you suppose he is; and what is he up to?”
CHAPTER V
SOMETHING WRONG
The boys stood perfectly still. The crouching man had not heard them coming nor did he see them now. He half rested on one elbow and one knee, close up to the end of the tent. It looked as if he had been posted there for some time, as if peering into the tent through some break in the canvas and listening to what had been spoken inside.
Just now he was guardedly looking past the corner of the tent and following Dave and the automobile with his eyes. It was fast getting dark, but the glint of the headlight
