With snake-like caution he glided behind the hangar once more.
It was not long after this that the Golden Butterfly was wheeled out by some of the mechanicians attached to the track, whose services were furnished free by the aviation officials.
Jess and Jimsy emerged from the hangar at the same time, in company with a boyish figure in aviator’s clothing, leather trousers cut very baggily, fur-lined leather coat and big helmet of leather, well padded, completely obscuring the features. After a few words in a low tone with its companions, this figure clambered lightly into the aeroplane, leaned forward, adjusted some levers, and the next instant, amidst a shout from several hastily gathered onlookers, the Golden Butterfly skyrocketed upward, her engine roaring like an angry giant hornet.
All this was watched by Fanning Harding, Jukes Dade, and Gid Gibbons.
“A nice mess you’ve made of it,” growled Harding angrily to his companions. “You’ve succeeded in getting me suspected, and in trouble, while the boy is safe and sound and on the scene.”
“Wonder how he got back,” grunted Gid speculatively; “he must have looked a sight when he crawled out of that swamp.”
“Say, Dade, you’d better be off,” said Fanning suddenly; “you were the only one of us whose face wasn’t covered. He would swear to you.”
“Oh, I ain’t worrying yet,” grinned Dade easily.
“You’re not, eh? Well, you are a cool hand,” rejoined Gid admiringly. “If I were in your shoes I’d clear out before that aeroplane lands again.”
“You would, eh?” scoffed Dade. “Well, what would you say if I told you that that ain’t Roy Prescott in the Golden Butterfly at all?”