The Hunniwell boys and the platinum mystery
the slightest sign of a struggle and nothing was missing except Gordon.
“He must have gone somewhere of his own accord,” Rogers declared. “I
can’t picture him being carried off without putting up a fight and you
couldn’t put up much of a scrap without leaving some indication of it.”
“But why should he go away and leave things to guard themselves? That
isn’t like Gordon.”
“That’s true too, but——”
“I used to think I was pretty good at reading signs in the woods and
following trails and all that sort of thing,” Bill interrupted, “but I
can’t make a thing out of this mess. There’s absolutely nothing to read
so far as I can see.”
“Try that whistle once more.”
Bill obeyed but there was no response and for several minutes neither
spoke. Never, perhaps, had Bill been so worried. The disappearance of
his brother coming so soon after the attempt on his life seemed most
ominous, and he felt so helpless not knowing which way to turn.
“Well, we’re not getting anywhere standing still and thinking about it,”
he finally declared. “Gordon never went off and left his post without
some good reason and, in spite of the fact that we can find nothing to
indicate it, I believe he was carried off.”
“What will we do?”
“We’ll take the plane and see what we can find.”
Bill quickly took two of the cells from their hiding place and in
another minute threw over the switch. But, greatly to his surprise,
nothing happened.
“Maybe there is a sign after all,” he said as he started the search for
the trouble. “Wires are all right,” he declared after a short
inspection. “I can’t see——yes I can too, here’s the trouble. The brushes
are gone from this commutator. Now what do you know about that? Must
have been done by someone that knows something about a motor.”
“How about the brushes in the other motor?”
“They’re all right.”
“Then we can go straight up?”
“Tell you in a minute.”
Bill threw on the switch of the elevator and the propeller at once began
to revolve. “Yep, it’s all right,” he announced. “But a lot of good
it’ll do us.”
“How about changing those brushes? Won’t they fit the other motor?”
“They’ll fit all right but there’s no chance to get off the ground here
without the elevator, it’s too rough.”
“That’s so too.”
“If we were only down on the beach we could do it.”
“Couldn’t we push it down?”
“In about a day’s time.”
“Sure you haven’t any spare brushes?”
“It’s just possible Gordon put some in the tool kit. I know I didn’t.
I’ll take a look. We sure are in luck,” he announced a moment later.
“Here’s a half dozen new ones. Now just a minute and I’ll have them in.”
Ten minutes later they were in the air and ready to start the search.
“I’m going to fly as slow as possible and keep as near the ground as I
dare,” Bill told his companion. “He can’t be very far off and unless
he’s hidden out of sight we ought to see him. I’ll go around in a circle
making it a little larger each time.”
“Don’t build too many hopes on finding him this way,” Rogers advised.
“If the parties who did it knew enough to take those brushes out they’ll
probably be wise enough to keep out of sight.”
“But they’ll think we can’t use the plane.”
“Unless they see us.”
“Of course we’ve got to risk that.”
“It’s a strange thing to me that he didn’t smash the plane and make sure
of it,” Rogers said a few minutes later.
“I’ve thought of that,” Bill told him. “But perhaps he has hopes of
using it himself, and so didn’t want to hurt it. I suppose it didn’t
occur to him that we’d have any extra brushes along.”
“I dare say you’re right.”
They were flying at about twenty-five miles an hour and not more than a
hundred feet from the ground. Rogers was searching the territory with
the powerful glass and Bill was keeping his eyes on the region directly
beneath them. They had made half a dozen circles when Rogers suddenly
cried:
“Come back over that big clump of bushes just to our right, Bill.”
“Did you see something?”
“I’m not sure but I’d like to take another look.”
“Sure thing,” Bill told him giving the wheel a sharp turn.
“Go as low as you can.”
“Touch the tops of them if you say so.”
“Well, come pretty near it,” Rogers ordered as the plane swung around in
a broad circle.
“Right?”
“Just a bit more to the left.”
“Right.”
“I thought so,” Rogers said in a low tone as the plane passed over the
clump so low that it barely missed the top of the thick growth of
bushes.
“What is it?” Bill demanded.
“There’s a little hut in that clump.”
“You sure? I didn’t see it.”
“You wouldn’t from your side of the plane, but it’s there just the
same.”
“Didn’t see anyone, did you?”
“No, but I’m betting there’s someone there just the same.”
“We’ll find out mighty soon,” Bill promised as he searched the ground
for a good landing place.
He had already started the elevator and now the plane was almost
stationary.
“Right there to your right is a good place,” Rogers directed and a
moment later they leaped from their seats.
“Better take those cells out,” Rogers advised.
“I’ll do that,” Bill told him. “We don’t want the plane swiped.”
They had landed some hundred yards from the clump of bushes, and taking
their automatics from their pockets, they lost no time in approaching
it.
“Mum’s the word,” Rogers whispered as they drew near.
“They’ve probably seen the plane, that is, if there’s anyone there,”
Bill whispered.
“Wouldn’t wonder, but we’ll be careful just the same. There’s a chance
they haven’t.”
The clump of bushes was nearly circular and about eighty feet in
diameter and they could see that it was very dense. The bushes, which to
Bill, looked much like small fir trees, grew in a tangled mass and it
looked as though one would have great difficulty in forcing one’s way
through.
“There must be a path somewhere,” Rogers whispered when they were within
a few feet of it.
“And it’ll be guarded more than likely if there’s anyone at home. I
think we’d better try to get through some other place.”
“Looks pretty thick.”
“Sure does, but we can do it if we take time enough.”
CHAPTER VIII
GORDON KIDNAPPED
Gordon was a great reader and usually had two or three books stuck away
somewhere in the plane whenever they went for a long trip. Up to this
time he had had little time to read and had taken none of his books from
the plane, but soon after Rogers and Bill had gone he bethought himself
of a book that he had started before leaving home and which he thought
he had put in the space under his seat. So they were hardly out of sight
when he had found the book and selected a comfortable seat close by the
plane.
The book was most entertaining and soon he was, as Bill often told him
when he was reading, “lost to the world.” However, he was not so deeply
engrossed that he did not look up from time to time to see that
everything was all right. Half an hour passed and the book was getting
more interesting every page when, without the slightest warning, a hand
was pressed over his mouth and he was pulled over backward. So sudden
was the attack that he was on his back before he realized what had
happened.
Gordon was not one to submit to such treatment without strenuous protest
and he grabbed for the arm which encircled his neck. But, even as he did
so, a numbing pain gripped his neck which rung a low moan from his lips.
At the same time a voice hissed close to his ear.
“Keep still and you’ll not get hurt.”
Realizing that he was in the hands of an expert when it came to
inflicting pain he quickly decided that he had better obey for the time
at least. So he ceased struggling and almost before he knew what was
happening his hands were tied tightly together behind his back and his
captor was ordering him to get up. As he expected his eyes, when he
turned, fell on the smiling countenance of a Japanese, but whether or
not he was the same one that had stolen the cells he was unable to say.
“What’s the big idea?” he demanded.
Instead of replying to the question the man searched him and took away
his revolver which he carried in his coat pocket.
“What’s the idea?” Gordon again demanded.
“Maybe you will find out later, maybe not,” the man told him. He spoke
in good English and with almost no accent, a fact which greatly
surprised Gordon.
“But——” Gordon began, but the Jap interrupted.
“You stay right where you are a moment and don’t try to get away because
I shall surely shoot you if you do and I’m a pretty good shot.”
Keeping his eye on the boy he stepped to the plane and Gordon could tell
that he was doing something to it but could only guess what it might be.
Then he stepped back and, pointing toward the northwest, ordered Gordon
to walk in front of him.
“Suppose I refuse?” Gordon asked.
“Did you like that pain in the back of your neck?” the Jap demanded.
“Not particularly.”
“That was nothing to what I can do.”
“I believe you.”
“Then if you don’t wish for a demonstration you’ll do as I say.”
“You win,” Gordon told him as he turned and started off in the direction
indicated.
“Step along lively now and don’t try any funny business,” the Jap
ordered as he followed close behind.
“I’m not likely to as long’s you’ve got that gun trained on my back,”
Gordon growled.
“You won’t get hurt if you do as I say.”
“Thanks.”
For twenty minutes they hurried along, the Jap directing Gordon as to
the direction he was to take and telling him when to change it. Then
they reached a thick clump of bushes, and when he had gone half way
around it at the order of his captor, he perceived a narrow path leading
directly into it.
“Here we are,” the Jap announced. “Go right in and I’ll follow.”
Knowing there was nothing else to do Gordon did not stop to argue the
matter but led the way and a moment later found himself inside a small
hut built of poles stuck in a circle and fastened together at the top
much after the fashion of an Indian tepee. There were three boxes inside
which served as chairs and a bed of grass covered with an old blanket.
“This where you live?” Gordon asked as he looked about him.
“Just at present,” the Jap told him.
“Well, now perhaps, you’ll tell me what it’s all about.”
“Not yet.”
“No?”
“You may sit down.”
“Thanks.”
Gordon sat down on one of the boxes and the Jap, still holding the gun
in his hand, sat on another.
“What’s the name of the man with you?” he demanded.
“Rogers.”
“That’s a lie,” the Jap snarled.
“Well, if you know, why ask me?” Gordon demanded with no less heat.
“Maybe you think that’s his name.”
“You bet your life I do, and what’s more, I know it is.”
“Who’s the other boy?”
“My brother.”
“What’s his name?”
“Bill Hunniwell.”
“And yours?”
“Gordon.”
“Where do you live?”
“In Maine.”
“Rogers live there too?”
“No, he lives in New York.”
“How long have you known him?”
“Rogers?”
“Certainly.”
“About a year. But, say, what’s the idea of all the questions?”
“That’s my business. You answer them, that’s all you’ve got to do right
now. What is this Rogers’ business?”
“You mean what does he do for a living?”
“That’s what I mean.”
The affair was getting more mysterious to Gordon every minute. That the
Jap was an educated man was plainly evident and that he was a determined
one was even more so. Gordon was, by this time, certain that there was
much more involved in the game than appeared on the surface. But what
the game was he had no idea. However, he had come to the conclusion that
he had better be a bit guarded in his answers. So he hesitated a moment
at this last question.
“Well?” the Jap snapped.
“I’m not so sure,” Gordon told him.
“You mean you don’t know what he does?”
“No, I didn’t mean that.”
“What did you mean, then?”