“They let me out tonight, and when I heard the siren I got a lift, but couldn’t get to you through the crowd.”
He was optimistic about the situation as it was explained to him by Don, Garry and Chick.
“I don’t think they’ll do more than suspend Don’s license for six months, at most,” he said, “and then only if the postal authorities see fit to notify the Licensing Bureau. Nobody got hurt, you see.”
“But six months would be a long time without any flying.” Don was despondent.
“Not very!” argued Doc Morgan. “It would soon go past.”
“But so will the eight hours between now—it’s near one o’clock—and the time we have to be at the Inspector’s office,” Chick declared. “If we could find the real ghost, and take him—or it—along, we’d be able to keep Don in the air—where he loves to be!”
“If the detectives can’t work it out, and the rest of us can’t make head or tail of things,” Scott grinned and then winced, dropping to a chair in the shop doorway, “how do you expect to manage it—in eight hours or so?”
“I don’t know,” Chick looked very serious, “but we’ve got an awful lot of clues if we can fit them together—there’s the rubber outfit, if we can locate it—oilskins, gloves—they’d have finger prints to test.”
“Yes—” Doc glanced suggestively toward Toby, “and the owner of a boathouse and dories, who would be likely to wear oilskins—he might be questioned.” Tew glowered at him.
“There’s that tracing, if we could locate it,” Garry added. “There might be fingerprints on it, too.”