“How?”
“I’ll go aloft, fly over the swamp, locate that area, and act as if I have discovered the lure for the first time, if it is still there.
“And I think the Demon is waiting, sure we’ll take his bait!” he added.
Garry scribbled an informing message for the airport owner, detailing their purpose, and what they had experienced and the condition of the airport. Then he rejoined Don, the chocks were removed, and as he stepped away, with a wave, Don, alone, sent the Dart aloft.
Hardly waiting to see the fleet raft begin its trip toward the scene of their many mysteries, Garry hurried down to the wharf and water runway, down which the land-and-water types of craft were sent from the hangar: to one side was a landing stage for passengers from seaplanes, and at the end of that lay tied the “crash boat,” a swift, electrically propelled cruising launch kept always ready in case of any mishaps to seaplanes or other craft over the bay.
To clamber in, unleash the swift craft, and swing it out from the wharf with its speedy, quiet motor humming a low, soft drone, was the work of a moment for Garry, whose assignment in an emergency was at the speed control of the “crash boat.”
The prow of the speedy vessel turned North, angling across the inlet to skirt the point of land he must turn to get to the swampy channels beyond.
Garry knew the channels quite well, and, in the darkness, with only a dim gleam showing from his small forward light, a double, red-and-green cruising lantern, he was able to scan the starry sky and, as he coursed along the shore, passing the mouths of inviting channels, to discern, quite low, and inland, the flying lights of Don’s ship.
Their plan was simple.
Don, cruising, in the air, would discover if that lure called him, tempted him to set down—perhaps to some dreadful fate.