The two girls made a picture any artist might admire as they walked toward the house arm in arm, chatting gaily. “Marshmallow” Mallow was no artist, except when it came to composing menus, but he had appreciation enough for an academy of painters as he watched the girls approach, a suitcase in his right fist and a stylish grip-sack in his left.
“I had a real job coaxing Marshmallow to meet you in my place,” Doris laughed as the girls came up to the youth, who had brought Kitty from the station.
“She argued all of two seconds by the clock,” grinned Marshmallow, his chubby face dimpling. “Lead the way, Doris. These bags are heavy. I do believe Kitty has brought an armory of guns to slay redskins with.”
“A little exercise will help you work up an appetite and you won’t have to take your tonic,” Doris said with mock gravity. Even Kitty laughed, for Marshmallow’s ability to eat six full course meals, not including in-between snacks, amounted to pure genius.
Groaning and puffing with vast pretense Marshmallow followed the girls up the flagstone walk to the pleasant house his mother owned, and a part of which she rented to Wardell Force, Doris’s uncle and guardian, for their home.
Before the trio reached the door they were halted by a shout from the street.
A tall, keen-eyed young man, his face bronzed by sun and wind, vaulted the hedge and ran up to join them.
“Hello, everybody! Hello, Kitty! Welcome back to Chilton,” he cried. “Say, but I have great news, Doris!”
“Hello, Dave Chamberlin!” laughed Kitty. “How’s the air these days?”
Dave was an aviation student, already the proud possessor of a private flying license but toiling to amass the experience which would qualify him for a commercial pilot’s certificate. Both girls had been his passengers on flights in borrowed planes which their owners did not hesitate to entrust to the youth, for his skill in the air was as great as Marshmallow’s was with a roast chicken on a plate.
“Great news, Dave?”
Doris prompted the young flyer, who had been grinning wordlessly at her, deep admiration in his eyes.
“Grand and glorious news! It’s a coincidence, and no mistake,” he said, thoughtfully. “You can just cancel those reservations on the train!”
“What’s the matter?” Marshmallow cried, disappointment written all over his face. “Has something turned up so we don’t have to go out West?”
“No, no!” Dave laughed. “But you won’t have to crawl across the continent in any old slow-poke mile-a-minute choo choo! You’re flying!”
“Flying!” chorused the three.
“Yes, ladies and—er, gentleman,” Dave laughed. “Of all the luck! Pete Speary is taking a big trimotor cabin ship to—guess where! No, don’t guess! To Raven Rock!”
“What has that to do with us?” Marshmallow demanded.
“He’ll take us with him!” Dave began to hop around in motions that were a cross between an Indian war-dance and an Irish jig. “He’s taking me as mechanic, and you all as ballast!”
“Yee-ow!”
Marshmallow dropped the luggage and did a dance of his own that shook the porch.
“What is—is anybody hurt? Why, Kitty! How are you?”
The questions came from a pleasant-faced woman with graying hair who suddenly appeared in the doorway.
“What has happened to Marshall? Did a wasp sting him?”
“Oh, no, Mrs. Mallow,” Doris laughed. “Dave just brought us amazing news. A great big cabin plane is leaving Plainfield for Raven Rock, of all places, in a few days, and we are invited to fly West!”
“Fly—all the 2,000 miles?” Mrs. Mallow exclaimed. “Why, I haven’t even flown a city block in all my life. No, I think I want that life to last considerably longer.”
“Oh, Mother!” Marshmallow howled. “Don’t throw a monkey wrench into the best luck we ever had.”
“I think our trip will be dangerous enough,” Mrs. Mallow said. “A great deal depends on us —at least, on Doris. Why should we take unnecessary risks?”
“Risks!” snorted Marshmallow. “Why, there is—”
“At least we need not discuss it here on the porch,” Mrs. Mallow exclaimed. “Come in, Dave. Kitty, you must be tired and dusty. Marshall will carry your bags to Doris’s room.”
“Wait here and try to convince Mrs. Mallow, Dave,” Doris commanded her friend in a whisper as she led her guest upstairs. “I will be right down.”
Indeed, she was on Marshmallow’s heels a moment later, and the two settled themselves to listen to Dave quoting endless statistics to prove to Mrs. Mallow that flying was far less dangerous than doing ordinary housework.
“I wish you could see the ships rolling in and out of a big airport, Mrs. Mallow,” he said earnestly. “All day long one can see huge transport planes coming in from the Pacific coast, from Canada, from Florida, just like trains.
“There are waiting rooms and crowds of people no more excited than if they were taking the ferry to the Statue of Liberty. Red Caps are putting baggage in the planes and taking it out, men and women and little children land fresh as daisies not even hungry for supper, although they had lunch in a place six hundred miles away!”
“I’m going to take some sandwiches, just the same,” Marshmallow murmured.
At this juncture Kitty entered the room, having refreshed herself after her journey. Although not as strikingly pretty as her chum and schoolmate Doris, Kitty was attractive enough to command attention anywhere. Indeed, with affected indifference, Marshmallow was not long in sauntering across the room to a seat beside her on the davenport.
“I know, I guess I am old-fashioned,” Mrs. Mallow admitted. “But the thought of rushing through the clouds almost clear across the United States makes me uneasy.”
“The plane is brand-new, Mrs. Mallow, but it has been tested under all sorts of conditions,” Dave went on. “Pete did everything but fly her upside down this morning. He told me she almost flies herself.”
“Who is this Pete?” Mrs. Mallow asked cautiously.
“Pete? Why, Pete Speary!” Dave seemed surprised to find someone who did not know Pete. “He has flown thousands of hours with never an accident except when he was shot down in the World War.”
“Oh, a war aviator!” Doris exclaimed. “How thrilling! Is he a hero, a real ace?”
“Ye-es.” Dave showed a trace of jealousy in his voice. “He was in the famous Rochambeau Escadrille before we entered the war. He was only seventeen then. He became a captain in the American Air Forces, and on top of that he joined the Pulaski Escadrille of American aviators who enlisted to help the Polish Republic fight off the Bolsheviki.
“A hero? Why, he has dozens of medals. He was shot down in flames three times, and brought down thirty enemy planes!”
“I’m just dying to meet him!” Doris cried.
“And so am I!” exclaimed Kitty. “You will consent, Mrs. Mallow, won’t you?” begged the girl earnestly.
“Huh, he must be kind of old by now,” Marshmallow grunted, uneasy at Kitty’s enthusiasm. “Yes, he has a lot of gray hairs,” Dave said with obvious satisfaction. “And half of his face was rebuilt on account of wounds he received from the enemy.”
“Oh, dear!” Mrs. Mallow cried. “I could not trust us all to a man in that condition, and one who is so ruthless and warlike!”
“Mother!” Marshmallow groaned. “You do think up the queerest things to be afraid of.”
“I don’t think that queer,” Mrs. Mallow replied firmly. “But perhaps it is not kind to judge another’s misfortune.”
“Then you really will let us go in the airplane?” Marshmallow shouted.
“No-o, I’m not sure,” Mrs. Mallow said. “Please, please say yes,” the others begged. “Let Marsh drive you to the airport to look at the ship, Mrs. Mallow,” suggested Dave.
“I know nothing about them,” Mrs. Mallow replied. “That would not help me to decide. However, I will talk it over with Mr. Rorce. If he can see no objections
, I will try to overcome my timidity.”
“Whoops!” yelled Marshmallow. “Hooray!”
“I can’t wait until Uncle Wardell comes home,” beamed Doris. “It’s only three o’clock—two hours to wait!”
“No, he will be early today,” Mrs. Mallow said. “In fact, he should have been here before now. He has been at Lawyer Higgins’s office since lunch time going over the details of our errand at Raven Rock, and to get the all-important deeds to the property out there.”
“Doesn’t that sound thrilling?” Kitty asked, giving a little shiver of delight. “Oh, what an adventure to be party to!”
Mrs. Mallow excused herself and returned to the kitchen to supervise preparations for the evening meal.
The four youthful companions searched the bookcases for atlases, and were absorbed in studying maps and computing distances when the telephone rang.
“I’ll answer it,” Marshmallow sighed. “Gosh, imagine flying over the Mississippi!”
He went into the hall where the telephone was insistently ringing, while the rest studied the charts as if the trip were to be a circumnavigation of the earth via the two Poles.
A sharp exclamation from Marshmallow made them sit bolt upright.
“Doris, it’s your uncle,” Marshmallow said, his eyes wide with concern. “Something’s happened!”
“Has he been hurt?” cried the girl, flying to the telephone and snatching the receiver. “Uncle Ward! Hello? Hello?”
“Doris?”
The familiar deep voice came reassuringly over the wire, but the message it conveyed was so startling that for a moment the girl had to lean against the wall for support.
“Doris, this is Uncle Wardell. I am at the Plainfield police station. In the hallway of the office building I was struck down from behind and the important papers were stolen from me. No, I am not badly hurt—a big bump and a small cut. But the deeds to the property at Raven Rock are gone! And so are the robbers!”
CHAPTER II
No Time to Lose
“Marshmallow! Get the car started!” shouted Doris as she hung up the receiver, but still grasped the instrument as if for support.
“He’s outside starting the car now,” Dave answered. “What’s the trouble?”
“Is your uncle hurt?” demanded Kitty.
“Yes—robbed!”
Doris dashed out of the door and ran to the curb, where Marshmallow’s car was throbbing and shaking as if only the strength of its driver could prevent it from rising straight into the air.
“He’s at Police Headquarters,” the girl gasped.
Marshmallow let in the clutch and the venerable car leaped forward six feet and came to a dead stop.
“Gee, the old bus always acts like this in an emergency,” muttered the stout youth as he ground his heel into the starter button. The car responded with an angry whine, but no motion.
The car’s balkiness, however, had given Dave and Kitty time in which to catch up with their friends.
“Here, put her in high gear and I’ll push,” Dave shouted to Marshmallow. “Keep your clutch out until I yell ready!”
Beneath the thrust of Dave’s strong shoulders the ancient automobile rolled along the street. As it gained momentum the youth commanded “Contact!” and sprinted for the running-board.
The car jolted crazily as the gears meshed, and then the decrepit motor roared into life. Marshmallow pressed the accelerator to the floor and the four friends were soon careening toward the city of Plainfield, of which Chilton was the chief suburb. “Tell us what it’s all about, Doris,” Dave urged. “I don’t know myself, except that Uncle was struck and robbed of documents concerning which we were going out West,” Doris responded. “Ohs hurry, Marshmallow!”
“Doing twenty-eight now,” shouted the driver. “That’s top speed for this locomotive, and eight miles over the limit at that.”
By manipulating spark and choke throttles he did manage to swing the speedometer dial past the thirty mark, an accomplishment which so delighted Marshmallow that he forgot for the moment how serious his mission was.
He also forgot the existence of a traffic signal which flashed to red while the car was yet twenty yards from the crossing.
As the automobile dashed across the intersection to a chorus of squealing brakes and indignant horns, a grim-faced motorcycle policeman kicked the starter of his machine and started in pursuit.
“Hey, young feller! I saw you go past that light!” the officer yelled as he drew abreast of the car. “I’m sick of you youngsters trying to set new speed records and I’ll make an example of you. Follow me to headquarters!”
With these words, he roared ahead of the automobile, sounding his siren.
Marshmallow’s round face was white with alarm, but his natural pinkness soon returned and a smile creased his lips.
“Some style to us, getting a police escort!” he laughed. “We’re still doing thirty, and look at the traffic scatter for us!”
The imposing motorcade drew up before Police Headquarters in record time. To the policeman’s amazement the four occupants of the car dashed past him up the steps and into the building, Doris leading the way. He was not far behind, however.
A headquarters’ sergeant barred the way of the impatient quartet.
“Where are yez goin’ in sech a hurry, now?”
“I’ve arrested ’em, Casey!” panted the motorcycle man, bursting through the doors. “Racing past a red light.”
“Faith, Wheelock, and I nivver saw sich eager pr-risoners in me twinty years on the for-rce,” the sergeant boomed.
Doris spoke up. “My uncle was robbed and hurt. He is in this building somewhere. Please take us to him.”
“Is Wardell Force your uncle, me lass?” the sergeant demanded. “Come this way, thin. And be on your way, Wheelock. This puts a diff’rent light on the matter. Case dismissed, d’yez hear me?”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Wheelock assented, and turned to the door without another word.
“Not that passin’ red lights is any joke,” said the sergeant as he guided the four through the corridors. “And not that bein’ kinfolk of prominent people is any excuse for br-reakin’ the law. But these is ixtinuary circumstances. Here’s the chief av detictives’ office and your uncle is inside.” Casey rapped at a plain oak door and without waiting for a reply threw it open.
Doris darted in first.
“Uncle Wardell! You are hurt badly!”
Mr. Force rose from the leather armchair he had been occupying. His head was swathed in bandages, yet he walked steadily toward his niece.
“Not at all,” he exclaimed with a brave attempt at a laugh. “Just a bump.”
The stout, ruddy-faced man with whom Mr. Force had been conferring arose and put a huge freckled hand on Doris’s shoulder.
“He’s telling the truth, Miss,” he said. “You have nothing to worry about. It’s my worry to get the papers back that were stolen, and I think we shall do it.”
“Bother the old papers,” Doris exclaimed, hugging the man who had been both father and mother to her almost ever since she could remember.
“Oh, Mrs. Mallow! She’ll be worried!” the girl cried suddenly. “We all rushed out of the house without telling her a thing.”
“I’ll call her up,” Marshmallow volunteered. “Never mind,” Mr. Force suggested. “Just start right back for home. I’ll go along, and we can tell her in person almost as soon as you could by ’phone.
“Good bye, Chief,” he addfed, turning to that individual. “I know you’ll do your best.”
“The description you gave us of the robbers has already been received in every nearby city, Mr. Force,” the chief said. “And our men will go through Plainfield with a dragnet. If they are here, we’ll get them.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Force said. “Come, folks. Let’s be on our way.”
Back in the peace and comfort of the Mallow homestead Mr. Force leaned his aching head upon the softest cushion in the house and
told the story of his misadventure.
“As I left Mr. Higgins’s office,” he said, “I nearly bumped into two men standing by the door.
One was tall and heavily built, the other was of medium height.
“Are you Mr. Force?” one of them asked.
“I replied that I was, and with that the tall one said, ‘This is the hombre, Wolf!’ and pinned my arms to my sides. I felt a sickening blow on the back of my head that left me stunned.”
“How dreadful!” interjected Doris.
“The next thing I knew,” her uncle continued, “I was trying to raise myself from the floor. My briefcase was gone and my coat pockets rifled. The men must have worked at lightning speed, for they were gone.”
Doris gently readjusted the pillows, and made her uncle as comfortable as possible.
“Did they get all your money?” Dave asked. “Not a cent! It was not money they were after,” Mr. Force said. “The deeds to the ranch property at Raven Rock are gone!”
“Oh, the poor Gates twins!” Doris cried soberly. At this point it might be well for us to recall Doris Force’s previous adventures that have brought to the point of flying to the Southwest this girl, whose greatest ambition was to become a singer in grand opera.
Doris was an orphan, and until she unexpectedly spent some time at the home of the Gates twins, as recounted in the first volume of this series, “Doris Force at Locked Gates,” she had believed Uncle Wardell to be her only living relative. The twins, maiden ladies of past middle age, had made themselves known to Doris through a note inviting her to visit them at their old-fashioned mansion, Locked Gates, in a town some distance away.
There Doris had met a man who claimed to be a cousin, son of a maternal uncle, John Trent. John Trent had once been a suitor for the hand of one of the Gates girls, but which one not even they had ever learned. After a quarrel with their father, who died suddenly a few days afterward, John Trent had gone away and had never been heard of again until his alleged son had made himself known to the spinsters, under pretence of procuring a fortune left to them by his father.
The Second Girl Detective Megapack: 23 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls Page 28
