CHAPTER THREE
The High Flyers
The federal narcotic agent sat down on the edge of Tim's desk andsmiled at the amazed expressions on the faces of the flying reporters.
"Do you mean that you are going to arrest McDowell on a charge ofsmuggling dope?" asked Tim.
"I'm going to do my best to take him in custody. He's a slipperycustomer but I think we've got all the evidence we need this time."
"What a sensation this will make," whistled Ralph.
Tim was thoughtful. "It's too bad the _News_ is sponsoring theappearance of the High Flyers if their leader is to be arrested on afederal charge," he said.
"I'm afraid it's too late to make any changes now," said Mr. Prentiss."As a matter of fact, it will make a stronger story for, even thoughyou are now aware of McDowell's identity, you will go on and help afederal law enforcement agency to carry out its duty."
"You're right on that point," agreed Tim. "I'm sure that the _News_will do all in its power to help you."
"I'm wondering why you looked us up," said Ralph. "You could just aswell have waited until Sunday."
"True enough," nodded the narcotics agent, "but I know that both youand Murphy, as a result of your efforts toward the apprehension of theSky Hawk and his gang, were made officers of the state police. I mayneed a little official help Sunday and I want men I can trust in anemergency."
It was a fine compliment to the undaunted courage of the youngnewspaper men and it pleased them both. Prentiss had made warm friendsand allies on whom he could count in any emergency.
"McDowell has been smuggling for a long time," went on the federalagent. "We've been after him for two years but he's a shrewd flyer anda shrewder smuggler. It wasn't until I got one of my own men into hisoutfit that I commenced to get results."
"You've actually got one of your agents flying with McDowell?" askedRalph.
"He's rated the next best flyer in the outfit, Tommy Larkin, by name."
"I've heard of him," said Tim, "but I never dreamed he was a federalagent."
"Neither does McDowell or I'm very much afraid Tommy would be among themissing."
"Meaning what?" asked Ralph.
"That it would be comparatively easy for McDowell to arrange a crack-upof Tommy's plane somewhere on a long hop if he ever became suspicious."
"That would be unthinkable," said Tim.
"Not for McDowell. You might as well realize right now that he is readyto go to any length to save himself from arrest. According toinformation from Larkin, McDowell will receive a new shipment of drugsjust before they take off from Charleston on their flight here.McDowell is to keep it in his ship until they reach Nemaha, their nextstop after they finish their exhibition in Atkinson. That meansMcDowell will have the stuff on his ship for at least 24 hours. Heflies a four passenger cabin plane most of the time but for one of thestunts he goes aloft in a fast two-seater. That's when I'll have achance to seize the dope in his cabin ship and take him when he lands."
"Sounds fine if nothing slips," nodded Tim.
"There'll be no slips this time," promised the federal agent.
They discussed plans for the apprehension of McDowell at length andbefore he left the office, Prentiss promised to see the managing editorthe next day.
"I'm counting on you two to be with me Sunday," he said before leaving."There might be a leak if I called in the local police or even some ofthe state troopers at the barracks here."
When the narcotics officer had gone, Ralph wiped his brow and slumpeddown in the chair at his own desk.
"Talk about news," he said. "Things never come singly in a newspaperoffice. First you bob in with the mysterious Mr. Seven, then we put onan air show and now we find the head of the air circus is wanted byUncle Sam for peddling dope. What next?"
"Learn the identity of 'Mr. Seven,'" grinned Tim.
"You can worry over that one," snorted Ralph. "It's almost midnightnow. I'm going home and I expect I'll have all kinds of nightmares."
"If you suddenly discover the identity of 'Mr. Seven' I'll be glad toanswer the phone even if it is three in the morning," said Tim.
"Just for that, I won't phone you even if I do suddenly open somehidden recess in my brain and recall who he is." Ralph threw the wordsover his shoulder as he left the editorial room.
Tim picked up the aviation magazine which contained the picture of theHigh Flyers and looked again at the printed likeness of Ace McDowell.The eyes were cruel, hard, merciless. Even on the inanimate page therewas something disturbing about them. Next to McDowell was the pictureof Tommy Larkin. He was about the age of Tim or Ralph, stocky andwell-built.
Tim placed the magazine back in one of the drawers, snapped off thelight, and left the office. As Ralph had observed, things never camesingly, and Tim felt a weight of apprehension settling on his shoulders.
The next morning a board of strategy met in the office of the managingeditor. Grouped around the table facing the heads of the _News_ werethe narcotics officer, Tim and Ralph.
"Of course we'll help in every way possible," the managing editorassured Prentiss. "You can rely upon Tim and Ralph to give you theutmost assistance and you'll not find their courage wanting in thepinches."
"That's why I came to them," smiled Prentiss. "I need two men on whom Ican count."
In the rush of plans and details which had to be worked out for thecoming of the High Flyers, Tim was forced to relegate thoughts of "Mr.Seven" in the far depths of his mind. He managed to drop in at theRansom House once a day to check on the presence of the mysteriousstranger and each time learned that the object of his interest wasstill in Atkinson.
The High Flyers arrived late Saturday afternoon, wheeling down out of acloudless sky. There were eight ships, three mechanics and two stuntmen. Six of the planes were trim, modern crafts but two of them wereold trainers that should have been on the junk heap long ago. Tim wassurprised to see that type of craft.
By agreement, Prentiss had stayed away from the field for McDowell knewhim by sight.
As soon as the ships had rolled up oh the ramp, Tim stepped out togreet McDowell. The head of the High Flyers was even shorter andswarthier than Tim had expected. His hand was cold and limp and Timfelt a chill run along his spine as the close-set eyes seemed to boreinto him.
"Nice field," commented McDowell. "Hope we have a good crowd."
"We've been giving the show plenty of publicity," said Tim.
"That's good. I'm pulling a new stunt tomorrow afternoon. It's ahead-on collision at 2,000 feet between two planes. That's why I'mwheeling those ancient trainers along. They'll go up in smoke tomorrow."
"Pretty risky sort of a stunt, isn't it?" asked Ralph.
"Not as much so as it sounds. The pilots will chase each other for awhile and then come on head first. Just before they crash both men willdive over the side in their chutes."
"Who's going to handle the ships?" asked Tim.
"I'll fly one of them. Tommy Larkin will handle the controls in theother. By the way, you must meet Larkin. He's a fine flyer."
At the mention of Larkin's name, Tim felt a sickening premonition. Itwas the fear that McDowell suspected Larkin of being a federal agent.It would be so easy for him to crash into Larkin before the scheduledtime.
McDowell called to a flyer who was squirming out of coveralls.
"Tommy," he said, "come over and meet the flying reporters from the_News_. There isn't enough going on here on the ground, so thesefellows hop around in the clouds hunting stories."
"Glad to know you," grinned Tommy, as he shook hands with Tim andRalph. "I've read a lot about you, first getting the Sky Hawk and thencleaning up the rustlers in the mountains west of here."
"I was in on the pursuit of the Sky Hawk," said Ralph, "but Tim randown the rustlers single-handed. He's getting to be quite a sleuth."
Tim saw McDowell's eyes narrow and he felt them boring into him. Hechanged the trend of the conversati
on at once.
"We brought several cars from the _News_ down," he said. "Let's get outyour baggage and we'll be glad to take you uptown."
By pre-arrangement, Ralph stepped over to help McDowell while Tim wentwith Tommy Larkin. They reached into the baggage compartment ofLarkin's monoplane and Tim whispered, "Prentiss is in town. He got yourmessage and everything's set for tomorrow afternoon."
"Tell him the stuff is in McDowell's ship in a special compartmentunder the floor. Be careful. I've a feeling that McDowell doesn't trustme."
"Then don't risk your life by going up tomorrow in one of those oldtrainers and staging that crazy stunt."
"I'll keep a sharp lookout. McDowell will never be able to crash mebefore I jump. Better not say anything more or try to talk to me. Itmight arouse suspicion."
Tim nodded and picked up the large suitcase. Together they walkedacross the ramp and joined Ralph and McDowell.
They left the flyers at the Ransom House and Tim caught a glimpse of"Mr. Seven" in the lobby. As soon as the flying circus was out of townhe'd get on the trail of "Mr. Seven" again and see if he couldn't learnhis real identity. There was a story there if he could dig it out.
Sunday, the day of the big air show, dawned clear and windless, idealfor the stunt flying and just warm enough to insure the attendance of alarge crowd. The first stunts were scheduled for ten o'clock and halfan hour before Ace McDowell went aloft to do an outside loop there weremore than a thousand cars parked in the roped off spaces around thefield with more arriving every minute. Tim's plans for handling the bigcrowd were working out smoothly and he felt some of the tensionslipping from his shoulders.
At an early morning conference in the _News_ office with Tommy Larkinand his chief, it had been decided to arrest McDowell when he floateddown in his chute after the plane crash. In the meantime, Prentisswould seize the dope in the flyer's plane and they would spring the netfrom which there would be no escape for McDowell. Tim and Ralph werecontent to be on the sidelines for they knew the danger in crossing aman like McDowell.
The other flyers in the circus were quiet, competent chaps, most ofthem under thirty and, as far as the narcotics agent could learn, hadno connection with McDowell's smuggling activities. The show startedwith McDowell's stunt flight, which left the crowd gasping andspeechless but not so paralyzed but what as a large number rushed forthe ticket sellers and bought rides in the other planes. The next stuntprogram was at one o'clock with Tommy Larkin going aloft with one ofthe wing walkers, who capered all over the ship in a series ofsensational stunts.
By early afternoon the crowd had increased to such an extent that thespecial police estimated more than 15,000 were watching the air show;and the passenger planes were running to capacity on every flight.
Prentiss, who had arrived at the field, was remaining out of sight inCarl Hunter's office and once, when McDowell entered, was forced tomake a hasty retreat into the washroom.
The loudspeakers were blaring with the announcement of the next stuntflight, the crash of the two planes in mid-air. Tim heard the wordsvaguely.
"The greatest air thriller ever performed," the announcer was informingthe crowd. "Two costly airplanes, speeding at more than 100 miles anhour, will positively crash head-on at an altitude of 2,000 feet. It'sdaring, death-defying, breath-taking in its thrills. You'll be glued toyour seats when you see these ships hurl towards each other piloted byAce McDowell and Tommy Larkin, two of the foremost flyers in thenation. They'll go aloft in fifteen minutes. In the meantime, there'stime for one more ride in the passenger planes. Let's go, folks."
The old trainers had been kept in the hangars where a field crew hadgiven them a hasty coat of paint that morning. They glistened bravelyin their new dress and the motors, which were turning over slowly,sounded sweet.
Tim inspected the ship that Tommy was to fly. If it held together longenough to get to 2,000 feet Tommy would be lucky but with a chute on,he'd be able to get out if anything happened before they straightenedout for the crash.
McDowell's ship was in better condition. It was well rigged and Tim,squinting under the hood, was surprised to see a big Barko 16-cylindermotor turning the prop over. The old plane's lines were good. It wasstill plenty fast enough to give the average modern ship a good race.Too bad to sacrifice a sturdy old veteran like that just to appease thethrill-seekers.
Tim looked around for Ralph, who had gone over to the pilot's room inthe administration building. His companion was nowhere in sight butMcDowell and Tommy, their chute packs banging awkwardly against theirlegs, were making their way toward the hangar. McDowell's own monoplanehad been rolled inside.
McDowell was giving Tommy final instructions as they entered the hangar.
"We'll take our time getting up to 2,000," he said. "Then we'll circlearound and make several false rushes at each other. After three or fourtimes I'll waggle my wings and the next time we'll let them go. We'llbe west of the field where the ships won't do any damage when theycrash. Stick with them as long as you can and then go overboard. Gotthat all straight?"
Tommy, a little grim, nodded.
"I'll handle my end of it," he said, climbing into the cockpit of theancient trainer.
McDowell, eyes narrowed to slits as hard as steel, looked at the crowd.
"They're going to get a real thrill," he said savagely, smacking hisclenched hands together.
Tim looked at him curiously. McDowell outwardly wasn't nervous yet heappeared to be laboring under a great strain. Could he suspect Tommy'sreal identity? The question burned itself into Tim's mind. If McDowellwas suspicious he might fake the crash and after Tommy went over theside, roar away in the trainer. That might explain why the old ship hadsuch a powerful motor.
Tim stepped over to Tommy's ship and climbed up so he could yell intoTommy's ear.
"I don't like the way McDowell looks," he said. "Be careful."
Tommy nodded.
"I'm not taking any chances this afternoon. The first thing that looksfunny will find me going over the side in the chute."
The loud speakers were blaring. The field was being cleared and thetension in the crowd increased.
"In the Number one plane," boomed the announcer, "is Ace McDowell. Inthe Number two ship is Tommy Larkin. Here they come."
The flyers gunned their motors and the old ships, gleaming under theircoat of hastily applied paint, rolled out on the ramp.
A mighty roar went up from the crowd. The field was finally clear ofthe passenger carrying ships. The signalman in the control tower wavedhis flag at Tommy. The young flyer opened his throttle, the venerablecraft waggled its wings, felt the call of the skies, and rolledsmoothly down the runway. Tommy took his time in getting off the field.With as little strain as possible on the ancient wings he lifted hisplane into the air.
The flag waved again and Ace, pushing his throttle ahead hard, flippedthe tail of his ship up and went scooting after the leisurely soaringTommy.
The planes climbed in easy circles with Ace going up much faster thanTommy. They were up a thousand feet when Tim felt a tug at his arm andturned to face the narcotics inspector. "Give me a hand and we'll seewhat we can find in McDowell's plane," said Prentiss. They hastenedinto the hangar and climbed into the cabin. Tommy had given them theexact location of the hidden compartment and without wasting timePrentiss took an iron bar and smashed his way to it. With eager fingershe ripped away the splintered wood of the top and delved inside. Whenhis hands came into view again they held small white containers.
"We've got McDowell with the goods this time," said Prentiss. "When hecomes down I'll arrest him. I'll turn this over to the field manager toplace in his safe while I'm out getting McDowell."
Prentiss turned back to Tim as he started for the administrationbuilding.
"Better come along when I go after McDowell," he said. "I may need somehelp. Bring your friend with you."
"I will if I can find him," promised Tim. "He disappeared about half anhour ago and I haven't seen him since."
A commotion near the pilot's quarters drew his attention just then.Someone broke away and started running toward him. It was Ralph,staggering slightly, and holding a blood-stained handkerchief to hishead.
The Treasure Hunt of the S-18 Page 3