The Boy Aviators' Treasure Quest Part 17

Billy at once made his way to the 'phone booths and was soon in communication with Frank at the other end of the wire.

"This is the second time to-day you've worried the life out of us,"

exclaimed Frank, much relieved as he heard Billy's voice. "When you didn't appear at the Astor we were badly puzzled, I can tell you. We thought something had happened to you."

"And it nearly did," retorted Billy indignantly, "I've got a long story to tell you, Frank."

"Get right on a car and come up," was the rejoinder.

Billy was soon speeding uptown to the Chester boys' home. He found all the adventurers there in the room over the garage which had been given up to the lads as a workshop and experimental laboratory. With what wonderment the boys listened to Billy's tale may be imagined.

"I'd like to see the rascals' faces when they open that closet to-morrow morning," cried Lathrop Beasley, who had joined the boys'

party at Frank's urgent invitation.

"It will be a case of 'gone, but not forgotten,'" grinned Billy. "But seriously, fellows, this shows the necessity of starting as soon as possible. It means a race between us and old Luther Barr."

"And we mean to win it," put in Frank in a determined voice. "It will not take long to adjust the pontoons to the Golden Eagle's frames, and that done we are practically ready."

"Where do you intend to start from?" asked Billy.

"We were talking that over on our way up to the city," was Frank's reply. "My plan was to charter a large cabin motor-boat at some point on the Gulf coast--say Galveston--and then round the point of Florida and keep on east across the Caribbean. Once we have arrived on the outskirts of the Sarga.s.so we can erect the Golden Eagle on her pontoons and make a flight for the galleon."

"A good idea," cried Billy, eagerly, "we ought to have no difficulty in getting a good boat at Galveston."

"I have one already," was Frank's astonis.h.i.+ng reply. Frank loved to spring surprises.

"What?" shouted the amazed young reporter.

Frank drew out a telegram.

"I got this to-night in response to a wire I sent a yacht broker there some days ago," he said.

"Read it out, Frank," urged Billy.

"Have what you want in gasolene yacht, Bolo. Fifty feet over all, twenty-five horsepower engine, auxiliary sails and fine cabin. Will charter reasonably. Wire at once if you want her."

"Sounds good," commented Harry.

"So I thought," said Frank, "and as we've no time to lose, it would be a good idea to telegraph them to get her ready for sea at once. I will also instruct the agent to get a s.h.i.+p chandler to stock her with provisions for a cruise of two months."

Billy threw his hat in the air.

"Hurray for the BOY AVIATORS afloat!" he shouted.

CHAPTER XIV.

MR. "L. B.'s" DIRIGIBLE

The next morning Ben Stubbs arrived in Boston, and waiting till evening made his way to No. 46 Charlton Street. During the day he had had his whiskers shaved off which entirely altered his appearance.

The house bearing the number he sought was a five-story structure of gray stone, and had evidently once been a home of wealth; but the manufacturing district had long since encroached on the region and it now was the only residence remaining in the midst of monotonous blocks of houses of industry. In fact, at dusk--the time at which Ben Stubbs paid his first visit to it--the neighborhood was practically deserted, as the factory hands who worked there during the day had all gone home and they lived in another part of the city.

Ben "took his bearings," as he would have termed it, before he mounted the flight of steps leading to the front door of the house. He noticed that the windows were all shuttered, and to the casual observer it would have seemed that the house was unoccupied. The sailor's sharp eye, however, noticed that a cloud of smoke was proceeding from a chimney and that numerous electric wires were strung from the street poles into the house.

As he stood there gazing at it an old watchman, who had been sitting in a shanty in front of one of the factories, approached him.

"A gloomy-looking place that, eh?" said the garrulous old man, addressing Ben.

"Ay, ay, s.h.i.+pmate, you may well say that," was the reply, "a melancholer looking craft I never see. Do you know anything about the folks as lives there?"

"Very little," replied the old man in his quavering tones, "but that little I don't like. I've seen wagons drive up there with big carboys of acid on 'em, and sometimes in the night, when it's all still, I hear a great noise of hammering and strange lights gleam through the c.h.i.n.ks of the shutters--ah, there's something queer about it I can tell you. All's not right in that house."

"Hum," said Ben, for lack of anything better to say.

"And for the last week," went on the old man, "things has been queerer than ever. I don't like it, I tell you, when at midnight you see a great dark thing come flying off the roof with a gleaming eye on it and a buzzing voice like a big fly. I leave it to you if that ain't enough to scare any Christian, let alone an old man watching a factory in this lonesome part of town."

Ben agreed; but to tell the truth, his attention had been distracted by the old man's description of the night-terror he had seen. In the old sailor's mind there was little doubt that the object that had so scared the old watchman was the dirigible that Luther Barr had purchased and which the crafty old millionaire was trying out by night so as to avoid attracting any attention.

"Well," said Ben lightly, "I've got a little business in that there house, s.h.i.+pmate, and if so be as I finds out anything about what kind of folks they are, I'll let you know."

"Thank you," rejoined the old watchman earnestly, "I'm getting an old man to have such scares thrown into me--it's really too bad."

Ben lightly ran up the steps, having nodded farewell to the old watchman, and the next minute pressed the electric bell. Somewhere in the far interior of the gloomy mansion he could hear the tinkle of the answering summons. The sailor, as he waited for the door to open on he knew not what, reached back with his weather-beaten hand to his hip pocket. He nodded with satisfaction as his fingers encountered the b.u.t.t of a revolver of heavy caliber.

"All right, old bark-and-bite," muttered Ben to himself, "I feel better now we've shaken hands."

At that moment there came a great clanking from inside the door, as if heavy bolts and chains were being removed, and the next instant the portal swung open and Ben found himself face to face with a thickset man, who seemed, by his complexion and general appearance, to be of Spanish origin. His heavy eyebrows and thin, cruel lips gave him a singularly sinister appearance.

"What do you wish?" he demanded of Ben, with a foreign accent that agreed with his general makeup.

"Is Mr. L. B. at home?" inquired Ben, "'cos if he is, I want to see him particular. You see, I'm in need of a job and--"

"Oh" said the other, with what seemed to be relief in his tones, "you come in answer to the advertis.e.m.e.nt. Come in. I am glad you have called. We were sadly in need of a hand, and you seem stout and strong enough for any work we may call on you to do."

"That's as it may be," cautiously replied Ben. "I ain't delicate exactly, but I'd like to know just what my dooties are to be, afore I signs on for this cruise."

By this time the man with the heavy eyebrows had ushered Ben into a parlor furnished with what had once been great splendor; but now the hangings were faded, the furniture warped and aged and over all hung a musty aroma as if the place had been closed for ages.

"Sit down," ordered Ben's guide, "now then, first, where do you come from?"

"Right here in Boston," rejoined Ben, "that is, when I'm at home; but Hank Hardtack don't get a sh.o.r.e cruise very often. I follow the sea, guv'ner, from year's end to year's end mostly; but tiring of the foc'sle I thought I'd like a land job for a spell, and seeing your 'ad' in a New York paper, I happened to get a hold of, I made bold to call."

"What did you say your name was?" inquired the other.

"Hardtack--Mr. Hank Hardtack, sometimes called 'Skilly,'" said the unblus.h.i.+ng Ben. "I'm a homely craft, but seaworthy, guv'ner."