“No! Trust nobody!” Garry whispered. “Not even Doc! Don’t forget he was the one in the boathouse when you found the tracing.”
On swift feet Don raced away to the men completing adjustments on the propeller assembly.
“I’m taking the Dart aloft,” he said quickly. “Come on, Garry—run her out!”
In ten minutes, while Chick watched, and kept an eye on Doc and on the control chief, who stood watching in the hangar doorway, Don revved up the newly warmed engine, lifted the tailskid from the concrete, the chocks were dragged from under the wheels, and up from the runway leaped the Dart, with Garry, adjusting the Gossport, transferred from the other craft. They would scotch the Demon of the Swamps—or do their best to end his unexplained but menacing career.
Stars twinkled in the night sky as they roared straight for the haunt of mysteries. And the Demon was ready for them!
CHAPTER XV
THE DEMON’S LAIR
Straight and true Don sent the swift, light Dart to its mark.
Over the swamp they had last seen the helicopter.
In the half hour that had elapsed it could, of course, be far away. “But I don’t believe it is,” Garry murmured into his Gossport tube.
Don, listening, agreed with Garry’s surmise.