CHAPTER XXII
QUEER PROCEEDINGS
Hiram and Bruce talked of many matters the rest of that day. The former was proud and elated over his success, and Bruce would not discount the greatness of his friend’s feat.
“You beat them all put together,” he told Hiram. “I heard two men talking with one of the committee near the grand stand. I think they had something to do with the government postal service.”
“They can’t hire me away from Dave,” observed Hiram with a wink and a laugh.
“Well, they asked the committee man for the names of the crew of the Scout and took them down.”
“Oh, it wasn’t much,” insisted Hiram. “All I’m glad for is that it gives us twenty more points. I feel safe now.”
“What with the big event, the long distance stunt, ahead?”
“There hasn’t been a second that Mr. Brackett and Dave have not counted on the Ariel winning that particular event,” declared Hiram.
“It’s to-morrow; isn’t it?” asked Bruce. “I hope we have a fine day.”
The conversation took place just before dusk. Then Mr. Brackett and Dave called Hiram into the little office of the hangar to go over some details of the morrow’s race. Bruce got through with some cleaning work about the Scout, put on his coat and passed by the hangar entrance.
“Say, you go down to the restaurant and wait for me,” spoke Hiram, appearing in the doorway. “I’ll be along in about fifteen minutes.”
“All right,” assented Bruce, and he started across the grounds, whistling cheerily.
It was wonderful the change that had taken place in the appearance and fortunes of the orphan lad, since his first chance acquaintance with Hiram Dobbs, and later with Dave Dashaway. As he proceeded to the restaurant, free, well dressed, with money in his pocket and all worry about his little sister Lois gone, Bruce felt like a new being.
“If ever a fellow was grateful I am!” he soliloquized. “Those two friends have not only asked me to stay with them, but really want me to do it. Even Mr. Brackett has taken a liking to me. He told Mr. Dashaway to put me on the pay roll at ten dollars a week, and I’m a part of all this great bustle and excitement going on here. And that scheme of mine—the diamonds!”
The speaker’s eyes sparkled. He had not told Hiram everything about them—an interruption had diverted into business channels a conversation they were holding. Then the winning of the mail bag contest had put everything else out of the head of the proud young pilot of the Scout for the time being.
Bruce had not taken the diamond stick pins found in the little biplane to the police. He had ferreted around and had located the people from whom they were stolen. The robbery had taken place at a large jewelry store. Bruce had called upon its proprietor.
The latter regarded him at first with some suspicion, for Bruce was guarded, and felt his way cautiously. He produced the diamonds he had found, and told his story.
“Why—I’ve come to you, is because I’m willing to give some time to hunting for the rest of those diamonds if you say the word,” he had told the jeweler. “I’ve got some ideas. Maybe they’re no good, but I’m pretty well acquainted around Wayville, the town where the robber was hurt, and I might stumble across something.”
The jeweler became eager. He was dissatisfied with the police, he said. He encouraged Bruce in every way he could. He even offered to pay a reward for the recovery of the stick pins. This Bruce declined. However, when he left the store it was with a springy step and great hopes—and the promise of a reward if he found the robber’s booty thrilled him.
“Why, I’d be rich!” he told himself breathlessly. “I’d have money enough to fight old Martin Dawson through the courts to the last finish. Oh, yes—as soon as the meet here is over, I’m going to go to Wayville. There’s something I know that the police didn’t know, and it may lead to big results.”
Bruce reached the restaurant dwelling on excited anticipations over the diamonds, and filled with pleasant thoughts as to his new environment generally. His mind was fully occupied for about a quarter of an hour. Then he began to get hungry and impatient for Hiram to arrive. A man came in rather hurriedly, and went over to a table in a shadowed corner of the room. Bruce, studying everything going on to pass the time away, noticed something peculiar about the newcomer.
The latter wore a light overcoat with a well turned up collar. He had a very dark beard, and wore colored goggles.
“I’ll wager that man doesn’t want to be noticed much,” thought Bruce, as the man took a seat with his back turned to those at the other tables.
The newcomer ordered a light lunch. He did not seem to enjoy it much. He ate it rapidly. Then he kept looking at his watch as if impatient for some certain minute to arrive. He drew the bill of fare towards him, fumbled it over, took a pencil from his pocket and began aimlessly to scribble on its reverse blank surface.
Finally he arose, and, pulling his cap well down over his eyes, proceeded to the cashier’s desk to pay his check. Just then Hiram came in at a side door. He slipped into the seat opposite Bruce and fixed his eyes upon his face.
“Don’t make any suspicious move,” he spoke under his breath and rapidly. “You noticed the man who sat at the table over in the corner yonder?”
“The one just paying his check? Why, yes, I’ve been watching him for the last half hour. He’s leaving the restaurant now.”
“Go after him, don’t delay,” urged Hiram excitedly. “I’ve been watching him, too—through the window. Follow him, and see where he goes and get word to me as quick as you can.”
“Why, Hiram——”
“Don’t waste time!” interrupted Hiram almost sharply. “I may be mistaken—I think not, and this is important.”
Bruce questioned no further. He was used to obeying his friend implicitly and he had a firm belief that, impetuous as he sometimes was, Hiram generally knew what he was about.
The minute Bruce was gone Hiram glided over to the table recently occupied by the stranger. His point of immediate interest was the bill of fare upon which the man had just been scribbling—Hiram scanned its surface eagerly. His eyes brightened from surmise to conviction.
“Aha!” he almost cried out. “I was right. It’s Mr. Borden.”
What that might mean to them all Hiram did not know. Why Borden had appeared on the scene in disguise he did not know, either. All Hiram considered at that moment was that the tramp artist had proven a good friend in the past. He had not come to them of late, and probably had a reason for it. He would scarcely venture in the vicinity of the Syndicate crowd unless he had another reason.
Borden might have been a tramp once, but he presented that appearance no longer. Artist he still was, for he had idly sketched many faces upon the bill of fare because it was natural for him to do it.
Hiram had been nearing the restaurant when he saw the man enter it. Something in the free, careless swing of the stranger had reminded him of their old friend of the Midlothian grounds. He had watched him through the window. Now he had verified his suspicions.
“What is it going to lead to?” he meditated impatiently and sat drumming his finger tips nervously on the table, waiting for his friend and messenger to show up.
Worthington, Valdec and three others of the Syndicate crowd strolled noisily into the restaurant. The coincidence of their arrival made the thoughtful Hiram wonder if Borden had been timing their movements.
In about twenty minutes he saw Bruce enter the doorway, so Hiram arose quickly and jostled him back into the street.
“Never mind supper for a bit,” he said, leading his companion to a distance from the restaurant. “The Worthington crowd are in there and they might be snooping around if we got to talking. The man you followed—what about him?”
“He slipped away from me,” reported Bruce with some perturbation, “in the most remarkable way.”
“Where did he go?” pressed Hiram.
“To the Syndicate hangar. Most of that crowd were getting ready for supper. The man you sent me to follow went in around the camp in a sly, slinking way as if he knew his bearings pretty well.”
“He did, indeed!” murmured Hiram.
“I thought,” narrated Bruce, “that he had got away from me, when he came bolting out from the big hangar. I hadn’t seen him go in. He had something in one hand wrapped up in a piece of cloth, a bag I took it to be. He ran straight for the fence. I got behind a tool shed and watched him.”
“Go on,” urged Hiram eagerly.
“Well, one of the electric lights shone pretty bright just there. The man put his parcel on the ground. Then he took something from his pocket and slipped it across one ankle. I took it to be a band with a hook to it. He must have had another hook in his hand for he ran up that fence and vanished over the top of it like a monkey.”
“But the package he brought from the Whirlwind hangar?” asked Hiram.
“Oh, yes—I came near forgetting that. When he set it on the ground the wrapping fell away from it and I saw what it was.”
“And what was it?” asked Hiram.
“A barograph, just like the one you have in the Ariel.”
“Are you sure?” eagerly asked Hiram. “A barograph, you say?”
“Yes,” repeated Bruce, wondering at the earnest, excited manner of his comrade. “Even at the distance I was I could see the record reel and the metal recorder, and—why, what are you grabbing my arm that way for?” inquired Bruce in surprise. “And you’re trembling all over.”
“Should think I would!” declared Hiram Dobbs, his tones quivering with the satisfaction of some great discovery—“I see the light at last!”