“Good luck to you, Bill.”
He stepped swiftly to one side as she switched on the ignition. For a moment or two he stood there watching her amphibian taxi away from the hangar, gathering speed as it went. Then when the wheels left the ground and the big bird of wood and metal soared upward, he turned away and made off in the direction of his father’s property.
As Will-o’-the-Wisp climbed in great widening circles, Dorothy at the controls knew she had plenty of time to gain the position agreed upon before Bill could get under way. The air was smooth and still, without the slightest breath of disturbing wind. Perfect flying weather and wonderful visibility with a clear blue horizon unmarred by the smallest shred of cloud.
The Boltons had turned the ten-acre pasture behind their house into a level flying field. The old hay barn had been enlarged, partitions removed and a concrete floor laid. It now made a large roomy hangar, for their three planes.
Looking down as she kept on circling higher and higher, Dorothy saw Bill cross the ridge road and appear a moment or two later on his own flying field. She watched him hurry down to the hangar and could see Frank busy about the Ryan before its open doors. Then she saw Bill get aboard. When she looked again, his small monoplane was already in the air.
By this time the indicator on Will-o’-the-Wisp’s altimeter marked a height of between eight and nine thousand feet. According to instructions, Dorothy leveled off and bringing right rudder and right aileron simultaneously into play, she sent the plane into a wide circular turn. Far below, the Ryan was pursuing the same tactics, so that both planes were cruising over the township of New Canaan.
Dorothy and Bill continued to maintain the same relative positions for the next fifteen or twenty minutes. Then as Will-o’-the-Wisp swung round toward the west, Dorothy spied a third plane, streaking toward New Canaan at an altitude of some three thousand feet.
The fact that Bill had also spotted the intruder was evident, for he began to climb.
“Bill’s advertising plan worked,” muttered Dorothy with satisfaction. “If that amphibian over there isn’t the Mystery Plane, I’ll eat my ailerons!”