“Get all the flares you can find!” Garry urged Chick, himself busy looking over the fuel gauges and oil supply.
Chick raced away, fully recovered.
They got the Dragonfly into the air in short order.
Three determined youths, each tightly strapped in place, each with a supply of signal flares, of rockets, of flash bombs, of white, red, blue and green Verey lights, went forth into the sky lanes, determined that their clue, considered important by Scott, should be recovered.
In the swamp a lithe figure, watching, seeing the ship coming over, muttered.
“He shan’t get away!” Don whispered, half aloud, to himself, in the Dragonfly.
“He shan’t get away!” muttered the lithe figure swiftly untying the Dart beside the boathouse wharf.
To which an older, more deeply copper-colored form grunted agreement, whirling the fight propeller to “contact!”
Then began a most peculiar sky chase!