For the next hour the sergeant, with a helper, worked the ship that went wrong in the air. At the end of said time he had located nothing wrong with the controls. Bob Watts came along during operations and told his story. Then, just to be on the safe side, the sergeant sent for the field inspector, Blackie Milander. He came along and demanded—
“Wot’s eatin’ you, kid?”
“This crate, Blackie, was turned in because her controls froze in the air,” the sergeant said. “I’ve looked her over, and my fair haired helper here has looked her over, and Lieutenant Watts was on hand and had his say and look, and we find nothing wrong. The control cables, all of ’em, are O.K. Not a fray on any of them. The ball socket joint is jake; and the pulleys are free. Now, you give her the expert eye, Blackie, and say what’s to be done. Gladly we pass the buck to you and, if failing, you muff the torch thus thrown, well you’ll get burnt.”
Blackie, working till long after retreat, scratched his head finally and announced:
“Damned if she ain’t got me stopped! On the ground here, everything’s free. D’you know what I think, Sergeant?”
“If a thought there be, Blackie, shoot before it burns you out. What do you guess?”
“I think that Watts and Black are full of hop! There’s nothing wrong with this pile of wreckage, and I’ll give her a clear bill. Let me O.K. that flying sheet.”
When the hangars opened in the morning the sergeant’s C.O. was at hand.
“What did you learn about that plane of Black’s?” he wanted to know. “Anything haywire?”