The Great Airport Mystery

I

Peril from the Sky

“It’s certainly great to have an airport so close to Barmet Bay,” said Frank Hardy.

“I wish we could go up in an airplane some time,” returned Joe, his brother.

“Wouldn’t you be scared?”

“Me? Would you?”

“No.”

“Then I wouldn’t be scared either. Look at the record holders! Where would they be now if they’d been afraid to go up in an airplane?”

“That’s right,” said Frank. “Airplanes are pretty safe nowadays. Almost as safe as this car of ours.”

The two Hardy brothers were driving on the Shore Road, leading out of Bayport and skirting Barmet Bay, in their new roadster. It was springtime. Snow had disappeared from the hillsides and the blue waters of the bay sparkled in the sunlight. Their destination this afternoon was the new airport, a few miles out of the city.

“I’m glad winter is over, even if we did have a lot of fun on Cabin Island,” said Joe. “It won’t be long now before we’re through school.”

“If we pass our exams,” Frank reminded him, calmly.

“You’ll pass all right. I’m not so sure about myself. I had to work mighty hard to catch up to you.”

“Yes, but I lost a term that year I was sick. Anyway, our marks have been good this year. We should get through. Isn’t it funny—when we’re going to high school we wish we were out of it and now that we are in our last term I’m rather sorry to leave.”

“Me, too,” said Joe. “Wonder where we’ll be next fall?”

“College, I guess.”

“Mother has her mind set on a college course for both of us. So far as I’m concerned I’d rather go into detective work with dad.”

“It would certainly be more exciting. Still, we’d have a good time at college, I imagine,” observed Frank.

He turned the car into a road that branched off the main highway. This road led toward the airport that had been constructed back of Bayport the previous summer.

“Wonder why they built the airport so far out,” Joe said.

“They have to have plenty of ground. It was the only place available. Then, there’s a railway siding nearby and a train always meets the mail planes,” Frank explained. “Dad was telling me all about it the other evening. They use the port for commercial flying too, and I hear they do a lot of business and hope to do more.”

“An airmail pilot must have lots of nerve. It’s marvelous that they nearly always bring the mail through on time. And lots faster than trains. I wish we knew one of the pilots. He might take us up for a flight.”

“Chet Morton and the rest of the fellows would be green with envy,” rejoined Frank.

The roadster bounced along the rutted road toward the airport. A signpost nearby conveyed the information that the flying field was three miles away. A little later, as the car came over the brow of a hill the Hardy boys could see the great flat field lying in the valley below. In front of a hangar they could see a plane with silver wings.

“Chances are we’ll both have a plane of our own in about ten years,” Joe said. “Everybody will be flying then, and think nothing of it.”

Frank applied the brakes as the roadster descended the steep grade. In a few minutes they had reached the foot of the hill. The car raced along the level road toward the airport.

The boys had often seen the airplanes flying over the city, but they had never been in close proximity to one of the machines and now they were excited over the prospect.

“Perhaps,” said Frank, “we’ll even meet one of the pilots and have a chance to talk to him and hear about some of his adventures.”

Joe turned in his seat and looked back.

“Why, there’s a plane now!” he exclaimed. “We’ll be able to see it land.”

Above the roar of the car the boys could hear the hum of an approaching airplane. It came swooping down out of the sky beyond the hill.

“Seems to be flying mighty queerly,” commented Frank. “Usually they go along as smoothly as a bird.”

“Nothing smooth about that one. Maybe the pilot’s in trouble.”