“Rogers? You mean——?” “Sure, Rogers. R-O-G-E-R-S, our Rogers.” “What’s he want?” “She didn’t say, just said he wanted to see us.” “Of course you said we’d be right down as soon as we could shut up the cabin.” “Sure I did. We were going down this afternoon anyhow and it’ll save us the trouble of getting dinner. It’s only a few minutes after ten and we can make it by dinner time if we hurry.” But it was some task to close up the two cabins as the windows were all fitted with heavy shutters and the bedding had to be packed away on account of mice and squirrels which, in spite of all they could do, were bound to get in. So it was nearly half past eleven before they were ready to start. In a small space on the hillside just beyond the cabin rested an airplane with the name “Albatross” in large letters on both sides. One would have said that it would be impossible for a plane to take off in that small space and, for an ordinary plane it would have been correct. But this was no ordinary plane. It carried no heavy gasoline engine with its heavy load of fuel, but was driven by a light but powerful electric motor which received its power from a new type of storage battery. The latter was very small consisting only of a copper cylinder some eight inches long by an inch and a half or two inches in diameter. The cell was the invention of Bob and Jack Golden and a number of them had been loaned to the Hunniwell boys while the Goldens were abroad. The extreme lightness of the plane had suggested to them the possibility of lifting it vertically by means of a horizontal propeller driven by a second motor and the idea had proved a complete success. Consequently they were able to land and take off in a space barely large enough to hold the plane. “You got the fish?” Bill asked as he slipped a cell in place. “I put it in the box under your seat,” Gordon told him. “Sure everything’s all right?” “Sure. I even put out the cat.” “Well, we want to leave things right because something tells me that we’re going to be busy the rest of the summer and we may not get up here again till next spring.” “But it’s only the third week in August.” “I know that, but it’s only a month till college opens and Rogers is wanting to see us.” “And he wouldn’t be unless he had something he wants us to do.” “Exactly.” Steve Rogers was a member of The United States Secret Service and the boys had the previous summer been of great service to him in convicting the leader of the largest dope selling ring in the history of the service. They knew how busy he was and thus Bill had decided that something of more than passing importance had brought him to Maine. “Let’s go.”