The Treasure Hunt of the S-18

by Graham M. Dean

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Death Rides the Air

  McDowell was making a game fight, attempting to nurse the old craftover the rough country to the more level reaches ahead. Tim eased up onthe throttle of the Jupiter, like the eagle giving its prey a moment'srespite before the last swoop.

  The left wing of the old trainer was wobbling uncertainly now. The endwas near and still they were over the rough country.

  Fascinated, Tim and Prentiss watched the drama ahead of them. Thebiplane was weaving from side to side, the right upper wing now almosttouching the lower one. With a rending of linen and wood, the wing toreloose and floated away in the backwash of the propeller. Then the lowerright wing collapsed under the strain and the ship started to fall awayrapidly.

  McDowell, game to the last, methodically prepared to go over the side.

  "He'd better hurry," shouted Prentiss.

  Tim glanced at the altimeter. They were still up 2,500 feet. There wasplenty of time for McDowell to bail out and float down safely. The dopesmuggler poised himself on the edge of the cockpit as the ship startedto spin.

  He waved at them in sheer bravado and then dived headlong from theplane. McDowell somersaulted once, then jerked the rip-cord. The chutepack unfolded and Tim and Prentiss saw the silken umbrella billow out.It caught the wind and unfolded. Then, before startled eyes, they sawthe chute collapse and McDowell plummeted from their sight.

  "Don't look!" Tim shouted at Prentiss. He closed his own eyes, but eventhen the image danced in his mind. In the single second in which thechute had opened he had seen the long slit in the silk. In someunexplained manner McDowell had knifed his own chute instead of TommyLarkin's when he had plotted the death of Larkin at the Atkinsonairport. It was a just vengeance but a merciless one.

  Tim opened his eyes. Prentiss, white-faced and shaking, looked at him.

  "Is there anything we can do?"

  "Not a thing. We'll find out where the county seat is and notify thesheriff. That's about all that can be done."

  Tim checked their position. The county seat was about fifteen milesback on their return to Atkinson. The afternoon shadows werelengthening when they dropped down on the tiny airport on the outskirtsof Walford. Inspector Prentiss climbed stiffly from the plane.

  "I'll find a phone," he said. "You might as well wait here."

  Tim nodded and cut the motor. There were no attendants at the field andhe was glad that there was plenty of fuel left in the Jupiter's tanksto take them back to Atkinson.

  Half an hour later the inspector returned.

  "I located the sheriff and explained what had happened," he said."Everything will be taken care of. A party will leave at once to huntfor McDowell so we might as well go on back to Atkinson."

  Tim pulled the Jupiter into the air just as the sun dipped behind thehorizon. The earth below was shrouded in the half-light of earlyevening as they roared steadily along at 2,500 feet and some of thestrain which had gripped him during the afternoon slipped from hisweary shoulders.

  The mantle shrouding the earth deepened. Stars came out overhead and heswitched on the wing lights. A crimson patch on the eastern horizonindicated where the moon was struggling upward. Clusters of lightspassed beneath them and occasionally the streaking lights of a carcould be seen. It was restful up there away from the earthy smells.

  An hour slipped by and the lights of Atkinson glowed ahead. The airportwas outlined in the red, green and white lights that marked itsboundaries and indicated to an incoming pilot the runaways. Smoothly,easily, Tim dropped the Jupiter down and the swift biplane rolled up tothe ramp near the administration building. Tim blinked in the glare ofthe bright electrics.

  A familiar figure loomed out of the glare. It was Ralph, a bandagearound his head, but able to move under his own power.

  "Where's McDowell?" asked Ralph. "Did he get away?"

  Tim looked at Prentiss. The inspector spoke slowly.

  "No, he didn't get away," he said as Tommy Larkin joined the group."His ship started breaking up and he went over the side in his chute.The chute didn't open."

  "Didn't what?" asked Tommy incredulously.

  "Someone had ripped it open with a knife."

  A grim smile flickered around Tommy's lips.

  "I guess I can explain that," he said. "McDowell and I use exactly thesame type of chutes and our packs look so much alike we can hardly tellthem apart. He ripped one of the chutes, folded it back, and thenpicked it up himself. Fate certainly took a hand in the events aroundhere this afternoon."

  "What happened to you?" Tim asked Ralph, who was leaning against thebiplane.

  "Plenty," grinned Ralph. "I caught McDowell in the pilot's room with aknife in his hand and the chute ripped. He was just ready to repack theumbrella. When he saw me he came at me with both hands going and I wentdown in a heap. He must have socked me with a wrench when I was downfor I've got about a two inch gash on the right side of my head. Thenext thing I knew I heard planes buzzing around and woke up enough tocome out and give the alarm."

  "I guess we can write 'finis' to this smuggling case," said theinspector slowly. "I hadn't expected it would end in quite thisfashion."

  "What will the other members of the flying circus do?" asked Tim.

  "Half of them have left the field already," said Tommy. "They're prettymuch of a happy-go-lucky outfit. Some of them suspected that McDowellwas smuggling but they wouldn't turn in information on him. They'llcatch on with some other circus."

  "My head feels like someone was using a trip hammer on it," said Ralph."I'm going home and to bed."

  "Here comes a reporter from the _Advance_," interjected Tim. "He'llprobably want to know all about the McDowell case," the last words weredirected at the inspector.

  Mogridge, police reporter for the _Advance_, nodded to Tim and Ralph.

  "I'd like to get all the facts on this story," he said to InspectorPrentiss.

  "Sorry," smiled the inspector, "but since the _News_' men played suchan important part I'm afraid that the story will have to be exclusivewith them."

  "Then you haven't anything to say?"

  "Not a word."

  It was obvious from the set of the inspector's chin that no amount ofargument or cajolery would change his mind. Mogridge shrugged andwalked away.

  "Thanks, Inspector," said Tim.

  "It was the least I could do," replied the federal agent. "Without yourassistance McDowell would undoubtedly have succeeded in his dash forthe border."

  Ralph took a cab for home while Tim superintended the return of theJupiter to its hangar. Then, with the inspector and Tommy Larkin, heclimbed into the _News_' car he had used that morning and starteduptown.

  "This is a long ways from the McDowell case," said Tim, "but I've got apet mystery all my own." Briefly he told the inspector about "Mr.Seven."

  "I'll be glad to have a look at him in the morning," said InspectorPrentiss. "I've a faculty for remembering names and faces. Perhaps Ican help you out."

  "Then I'll meet you here after breakfast," said Tim as the federal menleft the car in front of the Ransom House.

  "Right," agreed the inspector. "Say about eight-thirty. Good night."

  "Good night," replied Tim as he eased in the clutch and headed the carfor the garage behind the _News_ building.

  It was getting late, but tomorrow he would be on the trail of "Mr.Seven." In spite of the let-down after the strain of the afternoon, hewent up to the editorial office, switched on the light over his desk,and wrote the story of McDowell.

  It was a smashing action story, tense and alive to every bit of thegreat drama which had been played in the air. Page after page of copyrolled from Tim's typewriter as he spun his thread of verbs andadjectives, creating a living, pulsating picture with his words. He satback exhausted when he had finished the last line and banged out thelast period. He was too tired to read it over and he tossed the handfulof sheets on the copy desk, turned out the light, a
nd somehow got tohis room where he tumbled into bed.

  When Tim awoke the next morning the sun was streaming through thewindows. He glanced at his wrist watch. Eight o'clock. Time for him tobe at the office. He had overslept.

  Seizing the phone he called the copy desk. Dan Watkins answered.

  "Did you get my story?" he asked.

  "I'll say we did. There'll be an extra on the street before nineo'clock. Great yarn."

  "I overslept," explained Tim, "and I've got an appointment to meetInspector Prentiss at the Ransom House in half an hour. If the officecan stagger through another hour without me I'll have breakfast beforeI meet the inspector."

  "After the yarn you turned in last night I guess you can take the dayoff if you want it," said Watkins.

  Tim stopped at a restaurant for breakfast on his way to the hotel andreached the lobby of the Ransom House exactly at eight-thirty.Inspector Prentiss was equally prompt.

  "Let's have a look at your mysterious 'Mr. Seven' and see if we can'tstrip a little of the mystery from him," he suggested.

  Tim went up to the desk.

  "Is 'Mr. Seven' in?" he inquired.

  "Sorry, he left last night," replied the clerk. Tim's hopes crashed.

  "Didn't he leave a forwarding address?"

  "No, he checked out of his room but he left his baggage with theporter."

  "Then he's coming back soon?"

  "I presume so."

  Tim went to the check room to question the porter. The informationgained there was a little more helpful.

  "Yes sir, there's 'Mr. Seven's' bags over there," said the porter. "Hesaid he'd be gone several days and for me to keep a close watch onthem. I guess they must be pretty important 'cause he gave me twodollars in advance for watching them."

  "Didn't you hear him say where he was going?" pressed Tim.

  "He didn't say a thing except ask where there was a rent-a-car garage?"

  "What did you tell him?"

  "I gave him the name of several. Kelleys and Brackens."

  There was no further information to be gained from the porter and Timrejoined the inspector, to whom he recounted the slight information hehad gleaned.

  "'Mr. Seven' appears to be an interesting character. I'd like to stayhere and help you run him down, but I've another case in the southernpart of the state that is needing immediate attention. Sorry I can't beof any real help."

  Tim watched the inspector depart with a sinking heart. He had countedmore than he cared to admit upon the ability of the federal officer tostrip away the secrecy which had surrounded "Mr. Seven" since hisarrival in Atkinson.

  But tracing down "Mr. Seven" wasn't a newspaper assignment and Timturned his steps toward the office where Ralph eagerly awaited news ofthe visit to the Ransom House.

  "What's the good word?" he asked.

  Tim shook his head glumly.

  "There isn't any. 'Mr. Seven' checked out last night but left hisbaggage at the hotel."

  "Then he's coming back?"

  "Undoubtedly, but that is another question, and what's more, he may bedoing something right now that is big news."

  "Why don't you go to Carson and get a couple of days off. That wouldgive you a real chance to run down this story."

  "The managing editor would probably laugh at my hunch. Nope, I'll keepmy eye on the story and try to grab on to 'Mr. Seven' when he comesback to the hotel."

  Ralph had an assignment in an outlying district of the city and he leftthe office at once while Tim sat down to write a column of aviationnews.

  The chief copyreader left his desk and joined Tim.

  "I overheard what you were telling Ralph," he said. "Too bad that 'Mr.Seven' got away before Inspector Prentiss could see him."

  "Just my luck," muttered Tim.

  "What are you going to do next?" asked Dan.

  "Keep a close check at the hotel and also find out where 'Mr. Seven'rented a car. It's from one of two places and I may be able to learnwhere he has gone."