“I’d better get the Dragonfly warmed up and on one of the outgoing runways, sir. If anything should compel Don to land in the bay or the swamp—or if he didn’t recognize my signal—I could manage to fly the ‘crate’ that far—I’ve had fifteen hours solo in her.”
To that the others agreed, including the private detectives summoned from various posts about the airport where they were on watch.
With the help of the night mechanician, Garry got the Dragonfly out and set its engine going.
Then he hurried back to the control tower, to discover that the landing had been made by the Dart, as the flare had revealed.
Then there was silence, and alert, but futile watching, until Garry, watching the Northern skies, discerned the approach of the helicopter, as it swung along above the clouds, between two of which its light pontoons showed for a second.
Garry rushed to get a strong electric torch.
“I’ll send a blink-signal in Morse code,” he told Don’s uncle.
Waiting until the helicopter drifted down, he sent the signal which Don and Chick misinterpreted.
From that moment onward, all was confusion.
Garry rushed, with Mr. McLeod, to the Dragonfly, and prepared to take off.