by Van Powell
CHAPTER XXV
EIGHT HOURS' LEEWAY
Taking their cue from the abrupt, antagonistic attitude of those whocould overhear the Inspector's words, the crowd began to mutter and tomill around, held back only by the lack of a leader. The lack might besupplied by any chance word of any among them.
"This is a pretty bad spot," murmured Garry, softly, to Don.
"How about some football tactics?" hinted Chick. "We could breakthrough the few between us and the helicopter. It would be warm enoughto start easily."
"We're not flying any more tonight." Don made a prediction he mightfind impossible to keep. "Here comes Doc Morgan, and the handling crew."
Working their way through the crowd, the sturdy men who took theairplanes in charge, as well as several shop workers, led by theairport man-of-all-jobs, came around the edge of the staging, whileToby Tew pushed forward to join the group.
Toby, the theatre manager, with his sense of the way to handle anaudience, stepped forward. The leader had arrived; but he was on theside of the threatened chums.
His brief speech, begun with a half-laughing, "Well, gentlemen, theshow's over," and ending with a cleverly suggested hint that they mightsee something in the morning papers that would compel them to come tothe Palace to see "Red Blood and Blue," caused the crowd to suppose thewhole affair was what theatre folks call "a publicity stunt," devisedto attract attention, bring about talk and advertise the picture.
"Thanks for the way you handled that," Mr. McLeod remarked as thecrowd, looking a trifle sheepish, thinking itself hoaxed into attendingand helping along a publicity drive, melted away.
"Thanks for the 'ad,'" Toby chuckled. "I saw a way to turn it to my ownadvantage--but, of course, I thought of it to get our young friends outof hot water."
"Thanks, a lot," Garry said. "They might have thought it would be agood time to give some harum-scarum fellows a ducking--or worse." Hebecame very earnest. "But, honestly, Mr. Tew--and all of you folks--"Doc, the handlers, the control chief and many friends, heard hisstatement at the hangar door, "--we meant only to try to lay the ghostof the spectre in the clouds, that was all, by showing how it was done."
He was believed, and presently the group dwindled to the chums, theairport executive, Doc and Toby.
To their great surprise they were joined by the pilot whose liking for"spooks" had started the chums into the whole affair.
Limping badly, with a heavy swathing of bandages visible even under hisloose trousers, on his left thigh, Scott came slowly in.
"Well!" he greeted them, "I see there's been some excitement."
"Why, Scott! We thought you were pretty bad when Uncle took you to thehospital last night. Glad you came out so quickly," cried Doc.
"Oh--I had a good 'break,'" the pilot said, but his face showed hisstrain, for he winced and drew wrinkles around his set lips as painseemed to attend each halting step.
He had been grazed, he told them, by the flying propeller, when it hadflung itself loose from its shaft on the Dart, the night before. Thedoctors and nurses, he explained, had patched him up--"Battered, butnot busted!" was his summing up of his condition.
"They let me out tonight, and when I heard the siren I got a lift, butcouldn't get to you through the crowd."
He was optimistic about the situation as it was explained to him byDon, Garry and Chick.
"I don't think they'll do more than suspend Don's license for sixmonths, at most," he said, "and then only if the postal authorities seefit to notify the Licensing Bureau. Nobody got hurt, you see."
"But six months would be a long time without any flying." Don wasdespondent.
"Not very!" argued Doc Morgan. "It would soon go past."
"But so will the eight hours between now--it's near one o'clock--andthe time we have to be at the Inspector's office," Chick declared. "Ifwe could find the real ghost, and take him--or it--along, we'd be ableto keep Don in the air--where he loves to be!"
"If the detectives can't work it out, and the rest of us can't makehead or tail of things," Scott grinned and then winced, dropping to achair in the shop doorway, "how do you expect to manage it--in eighthours or so?"
"I don't know," Chick looked very serious, "but we've got an awful lotof clues if we can fit them together--there's the rubber outfit, if wecan locate it--oilskins, gloves--they'd have finger prints to test."
"Yes--" Doc glanced suggestively toward Toby, "and the owner of aboathouse and dories, who would be likely to wear oilskins--he might bequestioned." Tew glowered at him.
"There's that tracing, if we could locate it," Garry added. "Theremight be fingerprints on it, too."
Toby took his revenge.
"Yes," he admitted, "they might be on the bottle--the one a certainperson emptied or spilled, the night he was where the tracing wasfound!"
"When it comes to that," Doc flashed back, "somebody had his initialson that--er--tracing, I recall," he glanced meaningly toward thecontrol chief.
"Casting suspicion and making mean remarks won't get the boys along,"Scott hinted. "Have you any other clues? I don't suppose you searchedthe boathouse thoroughly--or the helicopter, maybe?"
"We were too excited." Garry turned quickly. "That makes me think--wemight bring in the projector and the film cases--there might be a cluewe didn't notice in the dark. They ought to be kept in a locker,anyway--like the others----"
"What others?" Scott leaned forward, and then, perhaps recalled by painto his injuries, he groaned, and slumped back, his lips set.
"We found--well, never mind," Chick was about to tell their whole storywhen he caught sight of Don's expression.
His eyes swung to follow those of his chum.
At the hangar doorway, on either side, were two intent, coppery-redfaces, one old and seamed, the other young and alert.
The others followed the line of Don's gaze.
"In the name of all-possessed!" exclaimed Toby Tew, "if it isn't theIndians!"
Out rushed the crowd--down the runways toward the line of cottagesbacking onto yards near the swamp edge, raced the quarry.
They outdistanced the pursuit.
Old though he was, Ti-O-Ga kept pace with his son. The black dark ofswamp, where none knew of any existing path, stopped the chase.
"Funny, wasn't it," remarked Don, as he returned to find Scott, unableto join them, waiting eagerly for results. "I never thought much aboutthose two Indians--not in connection with this. But--that old one issmart--only---why would they haunt the swamp, around here? I can'timagine they have any grudge against my uncle. Uncle Bruce doesn't knowthem, I'm sure."
"Maybe Tew wasn't so far off, earlier--how about it, Toby?--saying thiswas all a 'publicity stunt' for his picture!"
The theatre owner smiled a strange, unrevealing smile.
"I wonder--" reflected Scott. "Good stuff for the newspapers, if he didwork it--but dangerous for the pilots! Man who Never Lived! A queer,disappearing map. Ghosts in clouds. When do you 'spring' theadvertising part, eh, Toby?"
Toby was not permitted to reply.
Don, turning, saw Chick rush excitedly up from the staging where thehelicopter was securely staked and tied to the waterside posts.
"Look!" Chick was so excited that he galloped toward them, capering andwaving a large, round container, of some shiny metal, as he advanced.
In the case where they had found the projector and lamp, he cried, hehad, on searching, discovered a can of film.
"I opened it to see if it was the same film we used," he reached thegroup.
Scott started up from his chair, Doc came close, his face set andeager. Toby, with a muttered, "Gosh-a-mighty!" became very attentive.The injury of the pilot must have reminded him of its pain, for he satdown quickly again, wiping his brow.
"What did you find?" demanded Garry.
"Unexposed film!"
"Un--film that hasn't been exposed?"
Chick nodded.
"But how do you kn
ow?" Don cried. "Film is all of the same yellowishcolor till its been developed. It could be exposed--and--oh, dear! Isuppose you opened the can and there might have been enough light tofog the film--and we may have lost a very telling clue!"
"Maybe not!" cried Scott. "Take it up, and develop the first few'frames' and see. You know how to handle the time-and-temperature tankpowders, Chick. You go and develop some of that film. Don, will you andGarry help me to my boarding place? I'm--all in!"
They took him, limping painfully, to his bedroom. There he turned.
"Good glory!" he muttered, "fellow--I forgot! Doc--and Toby--andVance--and those two Indians--are about the place--and Chick's allalone with that--maybe it's a clue! Sorry I brought you. Go back,fellows! Run!"
They ran!
