A BOLT PROM THE BLUE.
The broken ankle which both Peggy and Roy had dreaded, turned out to be only a sprain—affecting the same unlucky ankle that had been injured on the desert. This was a big relief, as a broken joint would have kept Roy effectually out of the aeroplane tests, as part of the machinery of the Golden Butterfly was controlled by foot pressure.
A council of war was in progress on the porch of the Prescott home. The participants were the inseparable four. Peggy and Roy, the latter with his injured foot on a stool, and Jess and Jimsy. They had been discussing the case against Mortlake and Fanning Harding. All agreed that things looked as black against them as could be, but—where was the proof? There was not an iota of evidence against them that would hold water an instant before impartial judges.
"It's positively depressing," sighed Jess, "to know that people have done mean things and not be able to get an atom of proof against them."
"Never mind," said Peggy, "all's well that ends well. We start for Hampton to-morrow and once there they won't have a chance to try any more tricks. Luckily all their mean plans and schemes have ended in nothing. Roy will be as good as ever by to-morrow, won't you boy?"
Roy nodded.
"I've got to be," he said, decisively; "those tests have got to bring the Golden Butterfly out on top."
"And they will, too," declared Jess, with a nod of her dark head, "that poky old Harding and his crowd won't have a word to say when they are over."
"Let's hope not. It doesn't do to be too confident, you know," smiled Peggy, throwing an arm round the waist of her enthusiastic friend.
"As the man said when he thought he'd lassoed a horse but found he'd roped his own foot instead;" grinned Jimsy, "but, say, what's all this coming up the road?"
Sure enough, a small crowd of ten or a dozen persons could be seen approaching the Prescott house. They were coming from the direction of the Mortlake plant. In advance, as they drew nearer, could be seen Mortlake himself, with a tall man by his side and Fanning Harding. The men behind seemed to be workmen from the plant.
"Wonder where they can be going to?" queried Jess, idly. For a few moments more they watched the advancing throng, and then Jimsy cried suddenly:
"Why, that's Sheriff Lawley with Mortlake, and there's Si Hardscrabble the constable, right behind them, what can they be after?"
"Clues," laughed Peggy, but the laugh faded on her lips as she exclaimed:
"Why—why, they're coming here!"
"Here!" echoed the others.
"Yes, that's what they are;" confirmed Jimsy, as the procession passed inside the wicket gate and came up the gravelled pathway toward the house.
Sheriff Lawley had on his stiffest professional air and Si Hardscrabble's chest was puffed out like a pouter pidgeon. On it glistened, like a newly scoured pie-plate, the emblem of his authority—an immense nickel star as big as a sunflower.
"Roy Prescott here?" demanded the sheriff in a high, official tone. He had known Roy since he was a boy, but seemed to think it a part of his majestic duties to appear not to know him.
"Miss Prescott—I—that is—er—this is a very unpleasant business—I hope——."
It was Mortlake stammering. He mopped the sweat from his forehead as the sheriff interrupted him.
"That will do Mr. Mortlake. Leave the discharge of my official duties to me, please."
"That's right, by heck," chorused the constable, approvingly.
"What's the matter, sheriff?" asked Roy, easily. As yet not a glint of the truth of this visit had dawned upon him.
"Why, Roy, it's about that thar robbery at Galloways t'other night," sputtered the sheriff, looking rather embarrassed, "we've come to the conclusion that you know more about it than you told, and——," he dived into a pocket and drew out an official-looking paper, "an' I got a warrant fer your arrest."
"My arrest!" stammered Roy, "why you must be mad. What on earth do I know about it?"
"Nothin', only you happened to hev' a marked bill in your pocket t'other day," shot out the sheriff, triumphantly. "Fanning Harding step forward. What do you know about this?"
"Only this, that Miss Regina Mortlake after the automobile accident found a wallet belonging to Roy Prescott in the roadway. She opened it and discovered that it contained a marked twenty-dollar bill answering the description of one of the bills stolen from the Galloway farm house. She made me a witness of the find, and in line with my duty as a citizen, I thought it best to expose the thief, and——."
Fanning stopped and turned pale as a boyish figure sprang toward him with doubled fists. He shrank back, turning a sickly yellow.
"You contemptible sneak!" shouted Jimsy, whose fists it had been that threatened Fanning.
"Sheriff, I claim protection," said the cowardly youth, shrinking behind the official.
"Now, no fisticuffs here," warned the sheriff, "my only duty now is to preserve order and arrest Roy Prescott on a charge of grand larceny."
Peggy turned white and sick. The veranda floor seemed to heave up and down like sea waves under her feet. But in the next few seconds she regained control of herself.
"Why such a charge is absurd," she declared vehemently, "this is simply spite on the part of our rivals in the aeroplane business."
"Don't know nuthin' about that," reiterated the sheriff, stolidly, "the warrant has bin sworn out an' it's my duty ter execute it. Constable, arrest that boy. Ef his foot is too bad hurt to walk, git a rig an' drive him in ter town."
Hardscrabble, flushed and swollen with importance, stepped forward. He was about to place his hand on Roy's shoulder, but the boy checked him.
"No need for that. Peggy, if you'll have them get out the auto, we'll drive into town at once."
Mortlake stepped forward.
"Prescott," he said, "I hope you don't hold this against me. I——."
"I don't wish to speak to you, sir," shot out Roy, for the first time betraying indignation, "let that be your answer."
"But I—really, I'm sorry to—Bancroft you'll listen——"
But Jimsy turned his back on the flushed, overfed man whose eyes could not look him in the face.
"In the future please do us the honor not to speak to us," he said, his voice vibrant with anger.
"Why, if I may ask?"
Jimsy flashed round.
"Because, if you don't pay attention to my request I'm afraid I shall be unable to curb my desire to land both my fists in your eyes."
Mortlake drew back and turned away among his workmen. He did not speak again.
Before long the auto came round. In the meantime Peggy had taken upon herself the task of consoling Miss Prescott. Poor Aunt Sallie, she took the news very hardly. It was all Peggy could do to keep her from rushing out upon the porch and denouncing the entire assemblage.
"That Mortlake," she cried, "I'd like to scratch his eyes out."
The proceedings in Sandy Beach before the local magistrate, Ephraim Gray, were brief. Isaac Galloway, the farmer, told of the robbery and of his knowledge that the marked bill was among the money. He followed this up by relating the fact that Roy had been in the house in the afternoon and had seen the safe.
Then came Fanning, and to the girl's astonishment, Regina Mortlake, both of whom swore to finding the marked bill in the wallet in the road.
"Do you deny that this was your wallet?" asked the magistrate, holding up the leather case after he had examined the marked bill.
"I do," declared Roy in a firm voice.
"What! you did not drop it?"
"I dropped it, but it is not mine," was the stout reply.
"Then what was it doing in your possession?"
"Do I have to answer that question, now?"
"It will be better to—yes."
"Well, then, I found it in the cellar of a house to which I was lured by two men whom I am confident were employed by this hound Mortlake."
"Be careful," warned the magistrate, "Mr. Mortlake is a respected member of this community. Your display of ill-will does you no good. As for your story of how you found the wallet you can tell that to a jury later on. My present duty is to hold you in bonds of $2,500 for trial."
A deep breath, like a sigh, went through the courtroom. In the midst of it an active, upright figure stepped forward. It was Lieut. Bradbury, who had arrived in the courtroom just in time to hear the concluding words. But he had already been informed of the facts, for the story was on every tongue in the village.
"I am prepared to offer that bail," he said.
But Peggy had been before him. With her mine shares she had a good bank account and was able to offer cash security. This was accepted almost before the young officer reached the judge's desk. Peggy thanked the lieutenant with a look. She could not trust herself to speak.
"Of course," said the magistrate, "the fact that the defendant is under bonds will prohibit his leaving the state. That is understood."
Mortlake nudged Fanning Harding. This was what they had cunningly calculated on. With Roy safely bottled up in New York state, it would be manifestly impossible for him to take part in the contests at Hampton in Virginia. While they conversed in low, eager tones, Peggy and Lieutenant Bradbury could be seen talking in another corner. Court had been adjourned, but the curious crowd still lingered. Jess and Jimsy stood by Roy, fencing off the inquisitive villagers and would-be sympathizers. The whole thing had taken place so rapidly that they all felt dazed and bewildered. Suddenly the thought of what his detention meant dawned upon Roy.
"We'll be out of the race for the naval contracts," he almost moaned.
It was the first sign he had shown of giving way. But Peggy was at his side in an instant.
"No, we won't, Roy," she exclaimed, her eyes brilliant with excitement, "I've asked Lieutenant Bradbury, and he says it's unusual, but he doesn't see why a woman should be barred from flying in the contests. There's nothing in the rules about it, anyway."
"Oh, Peg—gy!" gasped Jess, "you would——"
"Do anything within reason to balk that Mortlake crowd in their trickery and deceit," declared Peggy, with flashing eyes.
"And we'll stand by you," announced Jimsy, stepping forward; "we'll go with you to Hampton, and we'll bring home the bacon!"
The inexcusable slang went unreproved. Jimsy's enthusiasm was contagious.
"Thank you, Jimsy," said Peggy, winking to keep back the tears that would come, "we—we—I—that—is——"
"We'll beat them out yet. The bunch of sneaks, and it's my opinion that Mortlake himself knows all about who robbed that safe!" cried Jimsy, not taking the trouble to sink his voice.
He faced defiantly about and caught Mortlake's eye. It was instantly averted, and catching Fanning by the arm he hastened from the courtroom.
"I wonder what mischief those young cubs are hatching up now?" he said, as the two hastened off, bending their steps toward old Mr. Harding's bank.
"It doesn't make much difference," chuckled Fanning, "we've got that contract nailed down and delivered now."