“There’s the fire. Off by our hangar!” shouted Hal Homer, pointing across the field.
By the side of the Prescott’s green aero shed a big cloud of smoke was ascending, mingled with yellow flames. It seemed to be a hot blaze.
“It’s Fanning Harding’s hangar!” cried Roy suddenly; “come on, let’s go over and see what the matter is.”
“I’ve got the car right here,” said Jimsy. “I’ll get you over in a jiffy.”
Soon they were speeding across the field toward the blaze. In the meantime an emergency fire corps, composed of men employed on the grounds, had attached a line of hose to a hydrant and were drenching the flames. Such good work did they do that it was not long before they had the fire under control.
As soon as it was out our party, which had managed to get through the lines formed to keep back the curious, gazed into the ruins with some interest.
“Why, say!” cried Jimsy suddenly, “the place was empty.”
“So it was!” cried Roy in astonished tones, “except for that big box kite over in the corner there. Whatever kind of a game of bluff has Fanning Harding been playing?”
“I guess I can imagine it,” struck in Hal Homer. “From what you have told me his little game was to bluff you into thinking he had a fine airship that could beat yours, and in that way induce you to sell out to him.”
“By George, I never thought of that!” exclaimed Roy, “but—hullo, here comes Peggy in the farmer’s wagon!”