by John Blaine
Hartson Brant came through the woods, dressed in trunks. He talked with Huggins, then took a rope the farmer had brought and fashioned a noose. He slipped one arm through the noose and waded into the water.
Within two minutes he was ashore again, the noose secured around the tail of the plane. Huggins, meanwhile, had tied the shore end firmly to the back of the tractor. He climbed into his seat, and at a signal from the scientist he took up the slack in the rope and started ahead. The watchers lost sight of the Page 45
Cub in the murky cloud that rose from the bottom. Little by little the tractor moved ahead until the tail emerged. In a moment the Cub was moving slowly up onto the beach.
It was a sorry sight. Both wings were gone. The propeller was only two jagged stumps. The windshield was broken where Rick had put his foot through the plexiglass, and it was torn away in other places. The fabric was ripped and the undercarriage was bent back at an angle that showed something was badly damaged.
Rick swallowed hard.
Bar by squeezed his arm. “We’ll get another Cub,” she whispered. “I’ve saved a little money from my allowance, Rick. You can have it.”
Rick was touched. He knew Barby had no real idea of the cost of a plane. All she could save if she kept her entire allowance wouldn’t buy a new prop. He ruffled her hair. “Thanks, Sis,” he said. “Thanks.”
Her generous offer made him feel better. He walked to the plane as the tractor hauled it high above the beach and looked into the cabin. It was a mess. He didn’t wait for the farmer to unhitch the rope. He leaned in and tried the control wheel. It moved easily. He looked back at the tail in disbelief and tried again. Except for the rope, nothing blocked the movement of his tail surfaces.
“But they were locked!” he exclaimed.
“Possibly whatever locked them came apart when you hit, Rick.” Hobart Zircon boomed; “I think we had better start tracing the cables from the cabin back to the tail.”
There was a hail from the edge of the woods. Rick looked up to see Jerry Webster and Gus, the airport manager. He shouted a greeting. If the trouble could be found, Gus would find it.
The two ran up to the group and shook hands all around. Jerry said, “I hoped we’d be in time. I knew doggone well you’d be looking for trouble first thing this morning.”
Gus growled, “Thought you knew better than to try landing on water.You a pilot or a duck?”
Rick grinned. “Anyway, I don’t chase girls in a plane.”
Gus had cracked up the year before, trying to avoid a girl who walked across the runway just as he was putting his plane down. He had ground-looped and broken an arm. Rick had kept up the joking belief that Gus had been trying to chase the girl off the field.
“I was trying to spoil her hair-do,” Gus retorted. “Well, what we waiting for? Or do you know what jammed your controls?”
“How do you know the controls jammed?” Barby demanded.
Gus pulled a Whiteside Morning Record from his pocket and handed it to her. “Read all about it in the Daily Bleat,” he told her.“Compliments of the author. J. Webster, that is.”
Scotty cracked, “Got your facts right for once, Jerry?”
Jerry looked pained. “I only write fairy tales when news is dull. Like Gus says, what are we waiting for?
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The Press is anxious to get at the Truth.”
“You take over, Gus,” Hartson Brant invited. “Where should we start looking?”
The airport manager took a jackknife from his pocket. “First thing is to get the fabric off. No use trying to save it. Unless I’m getting blind, this plane will never fly again. The entire frame is twisted.”
Rick winced as Gus stuck the knife into the unbroken fabric in front of the tail and ripped a long gash.
He walked along, letting his knife tear the stiff covering. When he was right in back of the cabin window, he put the knife away, took the fabric in both hands, and jerked. It ripped away in big strips. Zircon helped, and in a moment the side of the fuselage was bare.
Gus reached in through the naked tubular ribs and took the cables which controlled the tail surfaces in his hand. He pulled, and the elevators responded. “They work,” he said. “Whatever jammed them must have just come loose.” Rick joined him as he walked from tail to cabin, looking at the cables.
Suddenly Gus bent down and touched a square block of wood.
“What’s that?” Rick asked. He had never seen it before.
“I’ve heard of termites in planes,” Gus said. “But never rats. When did you start having rat trouble?”
The group crowded around. There was no mistaking the object attached to the plane. It was a common rat-trap.
Rick stared, puzzled. The trap was wired to a piece of metal which was hinged on one of the structural members. The metal had been a small door, an inspection port, located just behind the cabin. It was at the point where all control cables from the control column passed before separating. From that point, the tail cables went back along the fuselage and the aileron cables ran up to the wings.
“Could that have caused the trouble?” Zircon asked.
Gus scratched his head. “I don’t know how. The cables pass right in front of it, close enough to touch it.
But I don’t see how they could have caught on it.”
“It must mean something,” Rick objected. “I didn’t put it there, and I’m sure Scotty didn’t.”
Scotty shook his head. “Not me. Never saw it before.”
“What’s that thing on a string in the bottom of the plane?” Barby asked.
Gus followed her pointing finger, reached down into the bottom of the fuselage where the fabric was untorn and came up with a bolt which was tied to a piece of heavy string. He handed it to Rick.
Rick took it, examined it,then handed it back. “Never saw that before, either,” he said. “But it must have something . . .” He stopped short as his eye caught a broken end of string hanging from the topmost piece of tubing in the frame. His eye estimated quickly. That string was tied exactly on a line with the rattrap!
Yesterday, taking off, he had flown straight ahead, climbing. When he reached a good altitude he banked left, and the plane had refused to come out of it. The controls had locked as he banked!
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Words tumbled from him as he saw instantly, clearly, what had happened.
“It was deliberate,” he choked. “Scotty, everybody, I know why the controls locked. It was sabotage!”
CHAPTER X
The Missing Caretaker
Rick leaned over the plane and tied the bolt string to the dangling piece. The bolt hung straight down.
Then Rick pried the rattrap open and set it.
“Watch,” he said grimly. He put both hands on the bent frame and pulled it toward him. The bolt swung on its string, straight toward the rattrap!
“That’s how it was,” he said. “The controls worked until we banked. Then the bolt swung down and hit the trigger and the trap snapped shut, catching the cables. The string broke, and I made it shorter when I tied it. But you can see it was just long enough.”
He bent, picked up a twig from the brown grass, and touched the trap trigger. It snapped shut, the stiff wire pinioning the cables firmly. “I had to move the cables out of the way to open the trap, if you remember,” Rick said. “They’re so close to the trap that the wire couldn’t miss.”
“But the bolt could have missed,” Hartson Brant pointed out. “If you had been climbing or diving slightly, it would have struck to either side of the trap.”
“I don’t think it would have mattered,” Scotty disagreed. “This kind of trap doesn’t take much to spring.” He reset the thing,then rapped sharply on the outside of the metal inspection door. The trapped snapped shut.
That was demonstration enough.
For a moment the group was silent, the same thought in the minds of all. This had been deliberate attempted murder!
“Who did it?” Barb
y asked weakly.“Rick, who would do such a thing?”
There was only one possible answer. “It happened after we took a look at the fun house. We were after the car that hit you and Jerry, Sis.Looks like we found it.”
“We found it, and more,” Scotty said. “No one would try murder to cover up a car theft, or even a hit and run. At least I don’t think so. There’s more than that behind this, and I think we’d better have the State Troopers try to find out what!”
“You’re right,” Hartson Brant stated. “I’m sorry we didn’t know this last night. Rick, we’ll go back to the house at once. Captain Douglas will want to know about the details.”
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The group started toward the house, but Rick lingered with Gus. “Is it really done for?” he asked.
Gus nodded. “I’m afraid so, Rick. We might salvage the engine. I haven’t looked at that yet, have you?
But the frame is too distorted for anything but complete rebuilding. Where are the wings?”
“They must have floated off somewhere,” Rick said dejectedly. “Let’s go to the house, Gus. I’m sick.
Cracking up was bad enough, but to find out it was deliberate sabotage makes my stomach churn.”
Anger made him forget to favor his injured leg until the pang of strained clamps reminded him sharply.
He slowed down a little. “I’m going to get another plane, Gus. Maybe I won’t be able to pay cash for it, but the insurance on this one will at least cover some of it. I’ll see if the Spindrift Foundation will put up cash for the rest. I can pay them back sooner than I paid for the Cub, because there are more scientists who want to be ferried back and forth.”
Gus nodded. “Got the same kind of plane in mind?”
Rick didn’t want another one just like the Cub. It had been a wonderful little plane, but it had carried only two. “I’m thinking about a flying station wagon,” he said. He named the make. “It will carry four, but it’s not too big for the island field.”
By the time they arrived in the library, Hartson Brant already had the State Police captain on the phone and had told him of the sabotage and the car at the amusement park. “Herecomes Rick,” he said.
Rick took the phone. “Hello, Captain.”
“I think we’d better have a look at the amusement park, Rick,” Captain Douglas answered. “Are you well enough to come with me?”
“You bet I am,” Rick said swiftly.“And Scotty, too.”
“Meet you at the dock in ten minutes,” Captain Douglas said. “You can tell me the details later.”
Rick agreed and hung up, then turned to Jerry. “How did you and Gus get here?”
“We borrowed a boat,” Jerry said.
“We’ll ride back with you. Scotty and I are going with Captain Douglas to the amusement park.”
“I’m going with you,” Jerry decided. “After all, I have some interest in finding the jokers who wrecked my car!”
Captain Ed Douglas was waiting at the dock when they arrived. During the drive down theShore Road , Rick and Scotty took turns reciting their adventures in ‘as much detail as possible. Then Rick described the rat-trap device that had locked the Cub’s controls.
After the recital, Captain Douglas sat in silence for a while, thinking. Then he began to ask questions.
“Can you guess when the rattrap was planted?”
Scotty thought he could fix the time. “They moved around a lot after we got back to the project, and we Page 49
saw lights by the gate. I think they sabotaged the plane then.”
“Was there time?”
“Plenty,” Rick said. “It couldn’t have taken more than a few minutes to fix the rattrap. All they had to do wasdisconnect our warning horn and wire the trap to the inside of the inspection port. Hanging the bolt was easy.”
The captain nodded. “Smart.Very smart. They decided to knock you two out, and they had to do it quickly, with whatever was at hand. So they used a rat-trap, a piece of string, and a bolt.”
“Wonder where they got the trap?” Jerry Webster asked.
“That’s not hard to figure out,” the captain replied. “If men have been living there, they certainly would need rattraps. The amusement park always was infested with rats, probably because of the food that was sold.”
Scotty spoke up “There’s one thing. Whoever these men are, they must know something about planes.
Otherwise they couldn’t have figured a way to wreck us so quickly. And they knew enough to disconnect the warning horn.”
“You have a point,” Captain Douglas agreed. “We’ll remember that when we start hunting for them.
You can be sure they won’t be at the amusement park.”
“Why?” Rick asked.
“Because they would know that the cause could be found very easily, and that the finger of suspicion would surely point to the amusement park. I think the answer is revenge. They wanted to get you for some reason.”
That made sense to Rick, all right. “That means the caretaker was a phony.” He told the captain of his call to Mike Curtis. “No word yet, but I don’t think we need proof now.”
They passed theSeaford turnoff and in a short time the gaunt skeleton of the roller coaster was in sight.
“Wonder what they were doing up on top last night?” Rick mused.
“Could they have been setting up a signal of some kind?” Jerry questioned in turn.
That was possible, Rick told him. He didn’t have any other answer to offer.
“Signals are for someone to see,” Captain Douglas stated. “And I see no reason to signal to anyone on land, not when they could get into the amusement park with no trouble. Could these men have been signaling a boat offshore?”
“Golly,” Scotty exclaimed, “that could be it! Do you suppose we’ve bumped into another smuggling case?”
“I don’t know what you’ve bumped into,” Captain Douglas said frankly, “but I intend to find out.”
A patrol car was waiting on the highway in front of the amusement park fence. As Captain Douglas and the boys drew up behind the car, a trooper got out and saluted the captain.“Nothing happening, sir.”
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“Very well, Parks.Rick, where’s this hinged board?”
Rick made his way through the tall grass. His leg was hurting a little now. Scotty followed and they found the hinged board and loosened the screws. Captain Douglas slipped through, then two troopers, and the boys followed.
“Haven’t been in this place for years,” Jerry Webster remarked. “I’d forgotten what it looks like.”
Scotty pointed to the fun house. “There it is, Captain.”
In front of the fun house, the State Police officer stopped and surveyed the top of the roller coaster.
“Show me exactly where you saw the light.”
“It’s hard to be sure,” Rick said. “It was pretty dark, but I think we saw it right there at the highest point.”
The tracks rose to a high curve,then dipped again. At the top of the curve the underside of the track was solid boards. Elsewhere, there were boards with spaces between, like railroad ties.
“Signaling,” Captain Douglas muttered. “There doesn’t seem to be any other possibility. But signaling to whom?”
At the rear of the building Rick pointed to the cross-piece that had given way under them. Captain Douglas shook his head. “The way you kids take chances gives me gray hair. If I hear of you pulling anything like this again I’ll put you in the cooler just to keep you safe.”
“It wasn’t much of a chance,” Scotty objected. “We were just unlucky. If the crosspiece hadn’t given, the men wouldn’t even have known we were around.”
“If the crosspiece hadn’t given,” Jerry repeated. “Take a look at that structure! That’s nothing but a termite’s lunch. I’ll bet there isn’t a sound timber in the whole thing.”
“He’s right,” Captain Douglas agreed. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”
The back d
oor, which led into the room where the two men had sat, was not locked. One of the troopers, hand on pistol, pushed it open. He stepped inside, disappeared for a moment,then came back to the doorway.“No one inside, Captain. There’s a car here.”
The rest followed him in. This was the engine room for the fun house. Two huge electric motors, belts still in place, were bolted to steel frames. At one side was the big door, like a barn door, through which the car had been driven. A pile of metal junk at one side of the big room indicated that the back of the fun house had been a general garage and storage place.
Two army cots were set up, blankets still in place. There was a kerosene stove and a small stock of canned goods.
Jerry pointed to a small break in the bottom of one wall. Rick looked and saw a rattrap, set and waiting.
The men had the traps, all right. As Captain Douglas had said, they used what they had on hand to wreck his plane.
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A state trooper already had the hood of the car up and his flashlight working. As the second trooper took a list from his pocket, he read off the serial number of the engine.
The trooper with the paper called, “It’s the maroon sedan, Captain. Same engine number.”
Scotty had been searching through a cabinet. “I know how they painted it, too,” he said suddenly.
“Look here.”
He had found a small compressor, driven by a little electric motor from which hung battery clips. A spray gun stood near by. The car’s own battery had provided the power for spray painting.
Captain Douglas rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “This is a permanent hide-out of some kind. It’s too well equipped to be anything else. Now we have to find out who occupied it.”
The second trooper had been bending over the stove. He joined Captain Douglas and said, “I’m afraid there’s not much chance for fingerprints, sir. The stove has been wiped clean, and I’ll bet the car has, too. All we can do is hope they overlooked a few places.”
“We’ll try, anyway,” Captain Douglas decided. “Parks,go back to the barracks and get yourself an outfit.” As the trooper hurried out, he turned to the boys.“How about a conducted tour of the rest of the building?”
