“You laid out a chart of this swamp over the camouflaged map,” Don took up the accusing story, “then you went to Port Washington and bought an amateur movie camera, and a lot of film. Garry knows the photography store owner, and he got his home, tonight, and learned that a man in pilot’s togs who said he was a mail pilot, bought the outfit.”
The man was impressed. “Clever, but not true!” he scoffed.
“All through the mystery,” Chick cried, “you have been camouflaging! You covered your trail by putting suspicion on others. That tracing, in this place, puts suspicion on the theatre man, Toby Tew, because he was one who’d know how to do the ghost trick with an old airplane crash film and a projector.”
“You put the key to the locker where you hid the projector you used at the hangars, late at night, in the control chief’s vest, because he might have been able to cast airplane shadows on clouds with the searchlight beam!” Don spoke crisply, “and—you camouflaged the map—but, then, you overdid it!”
“Yes!” agreed Garry, “you went too far. You wanted to make the tracing seem like a new design, after you saw the control chief’s initials on the tracing he left here! So you drew in on the entering-edge of the wing’s a ‘slotted-wing’ sketch. Now, the control chief knows light, but he doesn’t know that a slotted wing is an invention that helps to reduce ‘burbling’ in take-off, and lets the ‘camber’ of a wing change automatically—that’s too technical for a control man. Only a pilot would know that, because it’s patented and controlled by one English firm.”
“And your camouflage showed us that the man we wanted must be a pilot, just by that!” cried Don. “Then we examined the frame-bracing and saw the little cross-mark you had to show where the map said to look for buried treasure—only you were looking for a ship!”
“All very cleverly worked out—but you’ve got the wrong man!”
“We’ll see! Chick, set off the red, white, and blue signal to the Chief,” Garry ordered. Chick’s move toward the door was arrested by a startling sound under the flooring. They all stood petrified.
Slowly they wheeled to watch the trap in the corner. It opened. Up came the green-capped, green-masked head, the oilskin shrouded body and rubber-gloved hands of their Demon—the Man Who Never Lived.
“Gosh-a-mighty!” he croaked hoarsely, “but you’re bright boys!”