The Flying Machine Boys on Duty; Or, The Clue Above the Clouds — John Shaqi
The Flying Machine Boys on Duty; Or, The Clue Above the CloudsWalton, Frank
General
The Flying Machine Boys on Duty; Or, The Clue Above the Clouds
Walton, Frank
Aeronautics -- Juvenile fiction; Mystery and detective stories
“On a bed of nice hard, white sand close to the south wall,” replied
Ben. “There’s an old coat which I had to wrap around my shoulders in the
higher altitudes under his head. Bring that along, too; we’ll need it
later.”
Carl went away whistling with his hands in his pockets, taking great
breaths of fresh mountain air into his lungs, and believing that he was
about the happiest boy on the face of the earth. It was all so different
from the crowded streets of New York! In a moment Ben heard him calling.
“You must have mislaid him!” the boy said. “Here’s the coat, but the kid
isn’t here! It looks like there’d been a scrap here on the sand. Perhaps
a mountain lion carried him off.”
Ben sprang to his feet and rushed out to Carl.
CHAPTER IX.
JUST A CLEVER GAME.
When the old hag glanced cautiously about the disreputable apartment,
Havens began to hope that the bribe of twenty thousand dollars which he
had offered her might secure his release. It seemed to him that the old
woman was strongly tempted to accept the money.
“You can do it easy enough,” the young millionaire said, as the woman
helped herself to a drink of liquor and restored the bottle to a pocket.
“You can get me out of here without danger to yourself, and then you can
disappear with the money. No one will ever know.”
Havens had been born and reared in New York. Well he knew the law of
club and fang which governed the underworld on the East Side. He knew
that death follows betrayal as surely as night follows day. He
understood that the old woman was taking long chances in even
considering his release.
“It ain’t enough!” the hag declared in a moment, her vicious eyes
showing both greed and terror. “It ain’t enough for a poor old woman
like me. I’d have to leave New York forever!”
“I don’t doubt it!” Havens replied. “Still,” he went on, “judging from
appearances, your life here hasn’t been one to be much mourned. You
haven’t had many of the comforts of life,” he continued, “and possibly
none of its pleasures.”
“I’m an old, old woman to leave the East Side,” wailed the hag.
“Besides,” she went on, “how do I know that you would play fair with me?
Once out of this place, you’d be likely to hand me over to the police
instead of handing the money over to me! I don’t think I can trust you!”
“Tell me this,” asked Havens, “by whose orders was I brought here?”
The old woman hesitated and then shook her head.
“Tim brought you here,” she said in a moment, “and that’s all I know
about it. He told me to keep you safe and sound.”
“Who’s Tim?” asked Havens.
“One of the boys,” was the indefinite reply.
“What else did he say?” asked Havens.
“Not much!” was the sullen reply. “Nothing at all!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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