He was progressing as a Master Sleuth, doing his share creditably for the Sky Squad.
As soon as the engine was sufficiently warm and methodical Lang had checked all his instrument readings, the trim little ship taxied down the smooth field to head into the wind which Bob saw, from the “windsock” blowing out from its mast on the office building, was from the south, a nice, light, Summer evening breeze.
The watchman, coming in, put aside the slightly damaged motorcycle and strolled across to the hangars, into one of which he stepped to throw a switch, lighting the flood light by which they could see to take off. He did not question Lang’s right to use the craft because Lang must have gotten its ignition key from Griff, its owner.
As they took the runway, and increased speed to the throaty roar of the engine, Bob felt that sense of the ship getting “light” which indicates to the pilot that she is ready to take the air. He saw the elevators tip, glancing around swiftly to check the safety of the way ahead, and then saw the lighted earth dropping, contracting into a spot of vivid light against a field otherwise dark; then the watchman shut out the floods to avoid confusing them in the air, and the ship climbed into dark night.
They had climbed several thousand feet and were headed into the north, so that Lang could “pick up” the lights of the airway along which his night flying would be easiest, when Bob saw him double unexpectedly.
For an instant the craft’s nose went almost straight down and Bob was glad he had strapped himself in; then Lang evidently caught control, and the stick, thrust forward as he doubled, with some unexpected convulsion or “stitch,” was pulled back and brought the ship out of the dive gradually.
“What happened?” Bob screamed above the engine noise, the song of wind through wires caused by their dive.
“Cramp!” called Lang, cutting the gun as he held a glide for a moment, turning a white face toward Bob. “Listen. Bob—oh!——”
He bent again. “The fish—too much fish—” Bob guessed, and had he known that Lang’s delay in reaching the field had been due to further refreshments, he would have said, “Fish—and ice-cream!”
At least that was a far more reassuring thought than Bob’s first idea, that some one had tampered with some control of this craft.