Percy Simmons knitted his brows. He sat down on a leather-covered bench that ran along one side of the engine room.
“Let’s see; I’ve been over everything,” he mused, “gasoline valves, spark plugs, wiring, batteries, magneto and all. They’re all running as smoothly as a hundred-dollar watch. What the dickens——”
He broke off suddenly.
“I’m a fine engineer!” he exclaimed. “The carburetors!”
Industriously he commenced examining the carburetors, the “hearts of the motors.” There were four in all on the twin four-cylinder engines of the River Swallow. After he had worked a while, Percy Simmons made a discovery that brought him to his feet with a yell.
In the bowls of all the carburetors sand had been placed. This, of course, prevented the proper mixture of air and gasoline taking place, and made it impossible to start the engine.
“Now what wretch can have done such a thing?” exclaimed Percy to himself as he made this discovery. “Somebody with a knowledge of engines and how to cripple them in just the last place any one would think of looking to locate the trouble!”
Malvin’s was the first name that flashed into his mind, for suspicion is one of the most infectious of mental maladies, and Ralph’s attack of “nerves” in regard to the former captain of the River Swallow had communicated itself swiftly and forcibly to his two young chums.
But a moment’s reflection caused Persimmons to reject this explanation of the sanded carburetors. Malvin, while capable of running an engine when it was in perfect working order, had no technical knowledge of machinery such as the person who had maliciously “doped” the carburetors must have possessed.
Hansen? No, the Norwegian was even less skillful about a motor than Malvin. Who, then, could have been responsible for such a wanton act of vandalism?