CHAPTER XIV
Nerves of Steel
“A BOMB!” Frank shouted frantically.
“That’s right!” the steward cried.
“Where is it?” Frank demanded, shaking Timken violently.
“In the nacelle of the left engine! You can’t reach it!”
Frank dashed to the pilot’s compartment to tell McHugh, who looked out his window at the stretch of rocky coastline below. “I no’ can land in this area, lad!” he said grimly.
“But we have only minutes!” Frank looked out at the cowled engine, located beneath the left wing. “There’s just one thing to do!”
“What’s that?” the pilot asked.
“Climb out on the strut and try to reach that engine nacelle. I’ll do it.”
“But I no’ have any parachutes aboard,” McHugh told him. “The slipstream might pull ye off the strut!”
“I must take that chance,” Frank declared, “or we’re goners!”
He went back to Timken. Seizing the steward by his collar, Frank pulled him to his feet. “Exactly where in the engine nacelle did you place the bomb?” he demanded.
“I ... I put it just inside the access door to the oil-filler cap!” Timken stammered. “But it’s too late! There’s nothing you can do!”
Frank grabbed a screwdriver from the pilot’s tool kit and slipped it in a pocket. He asked Joe and Chet to help him kick out the window located directly above the strut leading to the left engine.
As the boys kicked with all their might, the window cracked in several places, then shattered and disappeared below. The thunderous roar of the slipstream echoed through the interior of the fuselage.
Frank squeezed his body out the window. Hooking his legs around the strut, he pushed himself away. The force of the slipstream felt like the hand of some vengeful giant trying to hurl him off into space.
Frank, crouching low, locked his arms about the strut. He then proceeded to shimmy, at a painfully slow rate, toward the engine nacelle. Drawing closer, he moved into the area of the propeller blast and the engine exhausts. The sound was deafening, and the fumes and heat stifled him. However, they made him insensitive to the fact that he was hanging thousands of feet above the ground. Once Frank almost lost his grip.
McHugh reduced power on the right engine in an effort to ease Frank’s ordeal. Joe and Chet watched anxiously, their nerves stretched almost to the breaking point.
Frank tightened his grip on the strut with one hand. With the other he took out the screwdriver and reached for the Dzus fasteners which secured the small aluminum access door on the nacelle.
The wind lashed against his outstretched arm, but he continued to probe for the fasteners. Finally the door loosened. It popped open and flapped violently.
Frank reached in through the opening and desperately felt for the bomb. Nothing! He stretched his arm in farther, his efforts becoming more frantic as his strength began to ebb. Then his hand felt something cylindrical in shape and about the size of a flashlight. Frank locked his fingers around the object and slowly drew it out. There was a small timing device at one end, revealing that the bomb had only seconds to run!
Now to get rid of it!
Looking down, Frank saw that they were still flying over a desolate stretch of coast. He flung the bomb from him and watched it hurtle down and behind the plane. It was almost out of sight when a white-and-black puff of smoke appeared. Seconds later the faint, thudding sound of an explosion could be heard.
Frank slowly worked his way back to the window and with the help of Joe and Chet dragged himself inside. Exhausted, he slumped to the floor.
“Whew!” Joe exclaimed. “That was close!”
“You can say that again,” Frank said shakily. “Another ten or twenty seconds and it would have taken searchers a year to pick up the pieces.”
“That was a brave deed, lad!” McHugh shouted from the cockpit. “And I’m grateful to ye for saving my ship! Do you want to go back to Ianburgh with your prisoner?”
“No,” Frank replied. “Let’s continue with the flight as planned. Timken isn’t going to give us any trouble.”
The boys returned to Timken. Joe asked, “Who put you up to this?”
“I didn’t want to plant the bomb in your plane,” Timken muttered, “but Vordo ...”The UGLI assistant stopped short. Obviously their prisoner was fearful of what might happen to him if he talked.
“And Vordo got his instructions from Hexton, didn’t he?” Frank pressed.
Beads of perspiration oozed from the steward’s
The pilot reduced power to ease Frank’s ordeal forehead. “I don’t know! Vordo threatened me. I had to do it!”
“When did you and the others arrive in Scotland?” Joe questioned.
“The day after you tried to stop our take-off in the helioplane,” Timken answered. “While we were at an airport near New York City, the plane was impounded by a Federal agent. When I told Vordo and Bleeker, they decided to get out of the country right away.”
The steward’s answer confirmed what Mazer, the pilot of the helioplane, had told the Hardys.
“Besides the pilot, there were four men that day,” Joe said. “Who was the fourth?”
“One of Hexton’s cronies. A guy named Arnold.”
“Is he a spy for UGLI?” Frank snapped.
Timken jumped. “You know about—” The steward caught himself. “I won’t talk to you lunks. I’ve said too much already!”
Joe spoke up. “Don’t get so nasty, Timken. You forget that my brother saved your life. What kind of gratitude is this?”
Still no reply.
“Listen, buddy,” Joe continued, “you know you’re going to prison for trying to kill the rest of us. You might get a lighter sentence if you answer a few questions. For instance, what was your racket on the Great Circle flights?”
“I won’t squeal!” Timken shouted, and clamped his lips together.
Joe shrugged. “Have it your way.” The boys left their prisoner.
The plane landed at Stornaway and was quickly unloaded. After a conference, McHugh and the boys decided to return the UGLI agent to Ianburgh. On the return trip the pilot adjusted his course so the boys could take more aerial shots of Hexton’s castle.
Back in Ianburgh, the Hardys handed their prisoner over to the chief constable, who was thunderstruck at the bomb story. He then let them develop their latest photographs. Frank spread the prints out on a table and they all scrutinized them closely. But the pictures revealed no clues.
“The ground around the castle is as clean as a whistle,” Joe observed. “We couldn’t possibly sneak up on the place without being seen.”
“What about climbing up the surrounding wall?” Chet suggested. “Robin Hood used to do it all the time.”
“Not a bad idea.” Joe grinned. “But it brings us back to the original problem. How do we get inside the fence and up to the wall without being seen?”
Frank’s brow creased in contemplation. “I’m afraid this is a tough one.” He signed. “Whatever plan we come up with will have to be pretty far out.”
At that moment Inspector Clyde arrived. He carried a long, slim black umbrella, which he hooked to the coat rack when he entered the room.
“Ah, there you are,” the inspector said. “I have some interesting news for you chaps. Mr. Dell telephoned from the States while you were gone. He’s leaving for Scotland immediately. Something very important and highly secret has come up!”
CHAPTER XV
A Furious Scot
DELL arrived in Ianburgh that same night and met the boys at the chief constable’s office. There Inspector Clyde ushered them into the interrogation room and the young sleuths told about the capture of Timken.
“Great work!” the security chief exclaimed. “I’ll want to question him myself before I go back to the States.”
When Clyde left the room, Frank said, “I understand something important has come up on your end, too.”
; “Yes,” Dell replied. “Our investigation has turned up a very interesting lead. Timken has been spending a lot of time with another Great Circle steward named Ross. We checked him out thoroughly and learned that he had a record for petty theft under another name. We suspect he’s part of the Hexton-UGLI setup, but that he and Timken were working together.”
“You mean they were double-crossing Hexton?” Joe asked.
“Yes. I doubt if Hexton would dispose of stolen goods in the clumsy way Timken has been doing.”
“I see,” said Frank. “These two manage to hold out a diamond here and there from the gang’s robberies, then sell them.”
“Right. We could pick Ross up on suspicion, of course. But I’d rather give him a little rope. Maybe we’ll get a stronger case on him. Catching him first might make it easier to get Hexton.”
“Where do we fit in?” Chet spoke up a bit fearfully.
Dell smiled. “Your assignment is to make a trip to the United States on our Flight 101. Ross will be steward. Use assumed names and occupations on the plane. Watch Ross and see if you can pick up any leads for SKOOL.”
Joe grinned. “I’ll feel like a secret agent on Flight 101!”
When Clyde returned, the Hardys told Dell about their aerial reconnaissance of Hexton’s castle and of their efforts to think of some way to get inside.
The security chief laughed. “Sounds tough! But I’m betting on you.” Dell told them that the next Flight 101 trip from Prestwick to New York was scheduled to depart in forty-eight hours.
“We’ll have time to make another flight to the castle before we leave,” Frank said. “I wonder if McHugh—”
Just then the telephone rang and the inspector picked up the receiver. “Hello. Inspector Clyde here! ... Oh, it’s you McHugh.... What? ... Good heavens! That’s incredible, I must say. Yes! The boys and I will start for the airport straight off!”
“What is it?” Frank asked.
“Somebody has cut the external control cables on McHugh’s plane,” he answered. “He wants to see us right away.”
While Dell stayed behind, the inspector and the boys leaped into a police car and drove to the field. McHugh, in a furious mood, stood glowering beside his plane.
“Can you no’ find the brigand who did this?” he shouted. “I’d like to get my hands on him! Here! Look at these!”
The boys examined the severed control cables, which dangled loosely from their connections at the tail and at the point where they entered the cockpit.
“Gee,” Chet remarked, “they’re cut clean in half.”
“When did this happen?” Frank asked.
“It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes ago,” McHugh replied. “While I was at the plane, I was told there was a telephone call for me in the office, so I went there. But no one was on the other end of the line. When I came back here, I found the cables cut!”
“Obviously the call was a trick to lure you away from your plane,” Frank observed.
Just then there were sounds of a loud commotion in the airport office. McHugh hurried toward the building, followed by the others.
When they entered, an aircraft mechanic was clutching a stocky man by the arm. Another man, who McHugh said was the airport manager, was questioning the stranger.
“What’s going on here?” Inspector Clyde demanded. “I’m with the chief constable’s office!”
“I found this fellow going through my clothes locker,” the mechanic said. “And look at what he was carrying!” He held up an oversized pair of scissors.
“Those are metal cutters,” McHugh stormed. “So this is the brigand who cut my cables!”
“I didn’t cut anything!” the man growled.
“Let me at him!” McHugh bellowed, and started to roll up his shirt sleeves.
“Calm yourself!” the inspector ordered. He turned to the man. “What were you doing at the locker?”
“It was open. I thought I’d look around. That’s all!”
“What about these cutters?”
“I found ’em! Besides, is there any law against carrying metal cutters?”
The boys gazed at the man. There was something familiar about him, Frank thought, but he could not recall where he had seen him before.
Inspector Clyde demanded that the stranger show him some identification. The man hesitated. Then he pulled a wallet from his pocket and handed it to the inspector. It contained an international driver’s license in the name of Karl Arnold.
“Arnold!” Frank exchanged a quick glance with Joe. “The man Timken said was the fourth passenger in the helioplane the day I tried to stop its take-off!” he said to himself. Aloud he exclaimed, “You’re one of Hexton’s men!”
“Hexton? Never heard of him,” the man insisted.
“Don’t lie to us!” Joe snapped. “We know who you are!”
“You’ve got me mixed up with somebody else,” Arnold retorted with a smirk.
“Let me shake it out of him!” McHugh bellowed.
The boys urged the pilot to relax. Then they suggested that Arnold be taken back to the chief constable’s office to have Timken identify him. The inspector agreed to do this.
Arnold seemed unconcerned as they returned to Ianburgh. When they reached the office, they found Dell questioning Timken in the interrogation room. The steward was visibly startled when he saw Arnold.
“We ran across one of your friends at the airport,” Frank announced.
Timken was obviously nervous. “Friend?” he said shakily. “What friend?”
“This man right here,” Frank replied sharply, pointing to Arnold.
“Why—I—I never saw him before,” the steward insisted. “I don’t know him.”
“Stop playing games!” Joe ordered angrily. “This man is Karl Arnold. You told us about him!”
Arnold’s face flushed with anger, but he said nothing.
“That was somebody else,” Timken said. “I’ve never seen this man before.”
“Satisfied?” Arnold said indignantly. “Now, if that’s all, I’ll leave!” He turned and stormed out of the room.
“But we can’t let him go!” Joe protested.
“I’m afraid we must.” The inspector sighed. “We haven’t any evidence to hold him on, but we’ll keep track of him.”
“The inspector’s right,” Frank assured his brother. “We have no witnesses who saw him cut the control cables. And there is no law against rrying wire cutters. If he’d resisted the temptation to ransack the employees’ lockers, he’d have got away altogether.”
Dell looked discouraged as he and the boys left the interrogation room. “I didn’t have much luck, either,” he remarked. “Timken wouldn’t tell me anything more than he told you.”
“I suppose it’s a pledge the UGLI men take,” Frank said. “Besides, Timken is afraid of Hexton. That’s why he wouldn’t identify Arnold.”
Minutes later, McHugh stalked into the chief constable’s office. “I hope you have that Arnold fellow in jail!” he declared.
“We had to let him go,” Frank admitted.
“What!” the pilot exclaimed. “Why, he’s as guilty as a witch!”
“You don’t have to tell us,” Joe murmured.
“Can you repair the control cables?” Frank inquired.
“No,” McHugh replied. “A new set will have to be made up special. It’ll take two or three days before my tin bird will be flying again.”
“Well,” Frank said, “that washes out our plan for another reconnaissance flight before our trip. We’ll have to wait until we get back.”
The next day Dell, wishing the boys luck, returned to New York. The following morning the Hardys and Chet were on their way to Prestwick Airport, enthusiastic about their new assignment and the opportunity to spend a couple of days at home before returning to Scotland. Soon they were winging their way westbound across the Atlantic on Flight 101.
Frank was using the name Bud Richmond and introduced himself to a few passen
gers as an announcer on station WHOX, meaning to him HOAX.
Joe had chosen to be Larry Walker, a student returning from a hike through Scotland. Throughout the flight, both Hardys kept an eye on the steward Ross. Chet, as a pro-football player named Chuck Brown, spent most of his time in the galley getting lemonade and asking Ross a hundred unimportant questions.
He was always being interrupted by a whiskered old man wearing dark glasses, who was seated near the galley. From time to time both the steward and stewardess had to assure him that the wings were not bending off, that the engines were not about to catch fire, and they were sorry that the tea they had served was weak.
The only incident out of the ordinary occurred after landing at Great Circle’s base. The elderly man accidentally tripped Ross with his cane while disembarking from the plane. The steward fell flat in the doorway and the old man leaned down to help him up.
“So sorry,” he said in a high, quavering voice. The boys had arranged to have Jack Wayne meet them, and after clearing customs, were soon on their way to Bayport. They were sorry not to have picked up any clues for SKOOL, but assumed Ross would be shadowed by agents.
The Hardys dropped Chet off at his farm, then drove quickly to their home. “Hello!” Mrs. Hardy cried out, and hugged her sons. “Did you see your dad?”
“No, Mother.”
“He phoned a few minutes ago but didn’t say where he’s going. He’s all right, though.”
“Where did he phone from?” Joe asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You two boys look peaked,” Aunt Gertrude spoke up, “but a few home-cooked meals will remedy that.”
“It’s good to be back,” Frank declared.
The two women showed their disappointment when they heard that Frank and Joe would be returning to Scotland so soon.
“But we’re sure eager for a shower and some American chow!” Joe said, grabbing the boys’ two suitcases and bounding up the stairs. He set his bag on the bed and opened it to get a clean shirt.
“Hey! What’s this?” he exclaimed, and picked up a carelessly hand-printed note from the top of his shirts. It read:YOUR FATHER WARNS BE CAREFUL. GAME IS VERY DANGEROUS.
The Secret Agent on Flight 101 Page 8