There was the camouflaged map, apparently the hull outline of some old-fashioned ship, seagoing brig or privateer, with its sharply cut-under prow and overhanging stern, its roughly outlined deck and wavering waterline. Over that, distinguishable because in an ink that was dark and printed out whiter, was the outline of the airplane sketch.
“Camouflage!” Mr. McLeod agreed, “but——”
“Excuse me, Uncle!” Don interrupted. “If you will study that design, carefully, the way we have been doing for the past three minutes, and remember all that has happened, you’ll see that there are two clues in the camouflage. But we don’t want to stop to explain them. We want the ‘ghost’ to play his last ‘engagement’—and—we think he will!”
Then they walked out, in a group, to the larger room where the unsuspecting culprit waited.
CHAPTER XXX
BAITED WINGS
Never had Toby Tew “staged” at his Palace a better “presentation” than the one the chums were about to enact. With the Police Chief aiding, they had worked out a plan that must almost certainly bring their quarry to them.
Don, with excited face, raced through the designing section of the big hangar’s upper floor, at the end. Doc saw him; Toby saw him; so did others, under suspicion.
“All right, Chief!” he shouted over his shoulder, “sorry we haven’t room in the Dragonfly to take you along; but we’ll signal with a set of red, white, and blue flares when we find the treas—after we’re through.” He pretended to correct his supposed slip.
Old Ti-O-Ga barred his way to the door.
“You find?” he grunted.