Chick shivered and muttered under his breath. “If Mr. Spectre shows up, you signal to me——”
“I know.” Garry recalled arrangements used in other night communications, during night tests. “If the spook appears in the clouds, we set off a red flare. If ‘it’ takes off from the ground, we give you a green Verey signal and you’ll be able to catch anything slower than greased lightning in that Dart—and drive down the ghost and prove it’s only some human person, after all.”
“Well, that’s what I hope to do.”
“Sup—supposing it isn’t a h-human being?”
“That would tickle me to pieces, Chick, old top,” laughed the pilot. “I’d sort of like to have it turn out that way. Why? Because I never shook hands with a ghost, and it ought to be a right nice experience.”
“He—it would scare you out of your togs!” scoffed Chick.
“Oh, no!” Scott assured him. “Spectres, if they really do exist, can’t hurt you. It’s only your fear that can do you any harm. Now, I like spooks!—-”
“Yes?” Garry pointed up toward the July night sky. “Well, there’s one! Go up and get acquainted. We’ll wait here!”
He had meant to joke, to terrify Chick; but he became silent and a trifle awed.
There was—something!—black against a luminous Summer cloud!