“Find out——”
“No! Wait!”
Bob slowed up his pedals, permitting the bicycle to coast along as the modern, free-wheeling automobile runs when the foot is removed from the accelerator pedal. Curt caught up to him. In a moment, as they approached the gate, Al came up also.
“Don’t let him see you at all,” warned Curt. “Better wait and ask the watchman after he’s gone. You’ll find out more, that way.”
It was good advice, and Bob agreed to act on it.
They hid the bicycles, in case it turned out that Lang had not left the ground. Careful not to disclose themselves, they watched at the gate as the engine of the sport model owned by Griff was warmed up. In the flood of light on the runway they recognized Lang as the pilot, and watched him adjust flying helmet and leather jacket, get into the craft, test the instruments, checking carefully, and then get his wind direction from the windsock, which told that the light Summer breeze was from the South. The watchman swung the tail around, set the chocks again for a final test. Lang “gave her the gun,” to see if everything was hitting perfectly, signaled for the chocks to be removed, and since his craft was correctly headed into the wind the airplane taxied, gaining speed, and rose swiftly into the dark.
Hardly waiting for the flood to be extinguished, the trio of amateur detectives hailed the watchman.
“Too late to see Lang take off,” greeted Bob. “He didn’t say why he hopped at night did he?”
“Yeah, he did! He’s going off to see his uncle about something.”
“That’s funny,” Al argued, under his breath, to Curt.