Larry and Dick turned their eyes to Jeff.
The older pilot, staring at his accuser for an instant, as though hesitating about some sharp response, suddenly began to chuckle.
“That-there is one on me!” he admitted. “You must have mighty quick eyes.”
“I don’t miss much!” Sandy said meaningly.
“None of us do!” Dick caught the spirit of Sandy’s accusing manner. “I know you’ve been here before, too. There are lots of chunks of old chewing gum stuck around in that front compartment of the amphibian—and someone has been working on it, too. I saw the signs.”
“Chewing gum?” Jeff was startled. Swiftly he strode across the dimly sunlit floor, got onto the forward step, peered into the cockpit.
“That-there certainly is queer,” he commented. “You’re right. Gum is stuck every place, wads of it.”
“And you chew gum!” snapped Sandy, unwilling to be left out of the suddenly developing “third degree” he had begun. Jeff made a further inspection, touched a bit of the dried gum curiously, stepped down and stood with a thoughtful face for a moment.
Presently he walked to an old soap box holding metal odds and ends, washers, bolts and so on. This he up-ended. He sat down, his lean jaws working as he chewed his own gum slowly. Around him, like three detectives watching the effect of a surprise accusation, stood the chums.
Presently Jeff looked up at them.