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DOROTHY DIXON AND THE MYSTERY PLANE
by
DOROTHY WAYNE
Author ofDorothy Dixon Solves the Conway CaseDorothy Dixon and the Double CousinDorothy Dixon Wins Her Wings
The Goldsmith Publishing CompanyChicago
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Copyright, 1933The Goldsmith Publishing CompanyMade in U. S. A.
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TO WINKIE
who has had a finger in each of her Mummy's books
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CONTENTS
I At the Beach Club II The Three Red Lamps III Where's Terry? IV The Thunderhead V Hide and Seek VI The House on the Dunes VII Shanghaied! VIII The Cork Chain IX Deep Water X Wrecked XI From Out the Sea XII The Notebook XIII The Warning XIV Up Against It XV Run to Cover XVI The Tunnel XVII The Tombs XVIII The Flags
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Dorothy Dixon and the Mystery Plane
Chapter I
AT THE BEACH CLUB
"Here he comes again, Dot!"
Terry Walters balanced on the edge of the beach club float and pointedupward toward the approaching airplane.
Dorothy Dixon bobbed up beside the raft, blew the water from her noseand reached a long tanned arm for the young man's ankle.
"Here _you_ come into the drink, you mean!" she gurgled.
Terry yelped, lost balance, and recovering desperately, dived over herhead. His departure rocked the float, so that Phil Stanton's lankyfigure poised on the diving board, lurched and fell awkwardly into thewater.
Betty Mayo, hugging her damp knees on the middle of the float, shriekedher approval of this double exploit.
"Swell work, Dorothy!" she laughed as that young lady pulled herselfaboard. "You'll catch it in a minute though!"
Dorothy stood up. Her scarlet bathing cap flamed against the ash bluesky and her wet suit clung to her slender form like a sheath of blacklacquer.
"Maybe!" Then, in quite a different tone: "Goodness, Betty, he'smissing!"
Betty sprang to her feet. "You're crazy--" she retorted as she caughtsight of Phil and Terry knifing their way back to the float. "Why'd youtry to scare me? Those boys are all right."
But Dorothy was staring skyward.
"Not the boys! I mean the plane, Betty. Over there beyond the clubhouse. His engine's missing. Bet you an ice cream cone he'll have toland!"
"No, you won't," Betty flashed back. "I don't know a thing aboutairplanes, and I'll take your word for it. Ooh, Dorothy--do you thinkhe'll hit the roof?"
"Oh, he's all right--"
"Yes, he's over the roof now--but _look_!" Betty's voice rose to ashriek. "He's aiming the plane straight for us--it'll hit this float--"
The last word was no more than a gurgle. Betty had dived overside.
Dorothy did not trouble to turn her head. With her bare feet firmlyplanted on the timbers, her straight body balanced easily to the float'sgentle rocking, she gazed interestedly at the big amphibian sweepingdown toward her.
On came the plane, losing altitude with every split second, and sailedover her head a bare thirty feet above the water. Then as she facedabout to watch it land, the tail of her eye caught sight of Terryhauling himself over the edge of the float.
"Get you for that last one!" he cried, and scrambled to his feet. "'Wholaughs last,' you know!"
"I know--" mocked Dorothy, evading his grasp and running up thespringboard. She dived and her body entered the water with scarcely asound.
As she rose she turned lazily on her back.
"Come and get me!" she tantalized. Then as she saw him start in pursuit,she rolled over and headed out toward the seaplane which now floated twoor three hundred yards away toward the mouth of the inlet and LongIsland Sound.
Terry knew the speed developed by her flagrantly perfect crawl, and didnot attempt to follow her. He chuckled as he watched the bob of scarletand the flash of a brown arm that was all he could see of Dorothy.
"Hey, where's Dorothy?" called Betty as she and Phil clambered on to theraft.
"Halfway to Boston, I guess. Race you to the beach for the cones!"
All three cut the rumpled surface of the water with a single splash.
Dorothy's interest in the airplane that had just landed was twofold.Since qualifying for her private pilot's license earlier in the summer,she had met most of the owners of planes living in or near New Canaan.To the best of her knowledge the Loening Amphibian which her father hadgiven her for rounding up the Martinelli gang was the only one of thatmodel privately owned in that part of Connecticut. That the plane lyingjust ahead on the water was a duplicate of her own meant that the ownerwas not a local person.
Dorothy was a keen aviatrix and proud of her airbus. She wanted tocompare notes with the owner of this amphibian. She was also curious tolearn where the plane came from; and why every day for the past fewweeks it had appeared over the Club at about this same time of anafternoon. At five-thirty sharp the crowd of young people on the beachwould see it, a speck in the north, coming from over the ridge countryback of the Sound. Flying at an altitude of not more than five hundredfeet, it would swing over the beach club and cross the Sound, todisappear in the ether toward the dim line of the Long Island shore.
Terry jokingly termed it the Mystery Plane. He told Dorothy that itsowner made these daily flights in order to show her how a plane shouldbe managed in the air. She usually returned his good-natured teasingwith interest, but each time she saw the amphibian, her curiosityincreased.
As she swam nearer it was plain that this airship was actually the samestock model as her own. With the retractible landing wheels drawn up,the spoon-shaped hull of the biplane, with its two open cockpits aft ofthe inverted engine, floated easily on the water. The aviator, she saw,was busily engaged in going over his engine.
Dorothy stopped swimming when she was a few yards from the amphibian.
"Hello, there!" she called, treading water. "Need any help?"
The man looked up from his work, evidently perceiving her for the firsttime. Dorothy was surprised to see that the face below the soft helmetand goggles was bearded to the eyes.
"No, thank you," he answered and went on tinkering with the motor. Thewords, although courteous enough, were spoken in a tone that showedplainly that he wished to end the conversation then and there.
Dorothy was persistent and not easily discouraged.
"Located the trouble?" she asked.
"Not yet," replied the man without lifting his head.
"Looks like loose manifold, or gas connection, to me."
There was no reply to this helpful suggestion.
She began swimming toward the plane again.
"Mind if I come aboard?" she called.
The bearded aviator straightened his back and faced her again, his righthand grasping a monke
y-wrench.
"No. I do not wish it," he flared. "Why for do you bother me? Keep off,I tell you."
For the first time, the girl in the water noticed his strong foreignaccent.
"Aren't you polite!" she mocked. "I don't suppose you'll mind if I comealongside and rest a moment?"
"You stay where you are, young woman." As the man's anger grew, hisaccent became stronger. "I haf no time to bodder wid you. Go away--andstop away!"
"But I just want--"
"I don't care _what_ you want. Come alongside, and I'll use this wrenchon you!"
"Oh, no you won't!"
Terry Walters slipped round the engine and tripped up the aviator.Before that irate person knew what was happening he found himself flaton his back with a hundred and sixty pounds of young American kneelingon his chest, menacing him with his own monkey-wrench.
"That's not a nice way to talk to a lady!" Terry remarkeddispassionately eyeing his victim. "Ask her pardon like a good littleboy. Do it quickly, my friend, or I'll plant this wrench in the middleof that bush you call a face!"
"I didn't mean nossing," the man grunted.
"Try again!" Terry whacked his captive's shin with the wrench. "Also tryto cut the double negatives. Our English teacher says they're bad formand--"
Terry's banter stopped with a yelp of pain as the man's head jerkedupward and his teeth snapped on the hand which held the wrench.
Dorothy, who had swum to within a few feet of the amphibian, saw Terrythrown to one side. Like cats, the boy and the man seemed to land ontheir feet--but now it was the strange aviator who held themonkey-wrench.
"Look out, Terry!" shrieked the girl as she saw the man's arm swingupward.
The small deck forward of the lower wing section was far too narrow topermit dodging. Terry did the only thing possible under thecircumstances to save himself. Three seasons on the football team of theNew Canaan High had made that young man a quick thinker. He dove belowthe swinging blow and tackled the aviator just above his knees. It was awell aimed tackle and the two went hurtling overside to disappear with asplash.
Terry's blond head was the first to appear. Then as the aviator's camepopping up, facing the other way, young Walters seized him by theshoulders and sent him under once more.
"Let the man alone, Terry!" commanded Dorothy. "Can't you see he'sswallowed half the Sound?"
"But he'd have brained me with that wrench, Dot--"
"I'll 'Dot' you if you take liberties with my first name!" Miss Dixonshook her fist above her head, "Anyway, it's my fault. I butted in. Thatman and his plane are none of our business."
They were swimming back toward the float now and a glance over hershoulder told Dorothy that their late antagonist was pulling himselfaboard the amphibian.
Terry saw him too, and waved a hand. But the foreigner, occupied inwringing water out of his clothes, disregarded them.
"I've had enough of the water for one day," declared Dorothy betweenstrokes. "How's the wrist? You might have been badly hurt, Terry."
Terry motioned toward the float. "But I wasn't, old thing," he chuckled."Come over to the raft a moment, before we go ashore. I've got somethingI want to show you."
"Make it snappy, then," she rejoined. "You and I have got to be atSilvermine by seven-thirty, you know. Curtain up at eight-thirty--andyou remember what Mr. Watkins said about any of the cast being late?"
Terry swung himself up on the decking and gave a hand to Dorothy.
"I'm only a chorus man," he grinned. "We'll both get to the Sillies intime. Look at this--"
He opened his hand and held it out, palm upward.
"I'm not interested in seaweed!" Dorothy's tone was full of disgust.
"Seaweed, nothing! That's a piece of your friend's beard!"
"You don't mean to tell me you pulled it out?"
"Not out, dearie--off. That wasn't his own hair that lad was wearing."
"A _false beard_?"
"What else?"
Dorothy pursed her lips. "Well, that amphibian and its pilot are two ofthe most mysterious things I've ever run into."
"I wonder what he is up to, Dot--I mean, Dorothy?"
"I wonder, too. By the way, how did you happen out there--and just atthe right minute? I thought I saw you start a race for the beach withBetty and Phil?"
Terry nodded his wet head and laughed. "That was only a bluff to makeyou think I wasn't coming after you. As I saw you were having anargument with him, and I didn't like the way he was acting, I swamaround the tail of his plane and got aboard on the fartherdeck--and--well, you know the rest. Why did you want to go aboard?"
"Curiosity, pure and simple. Have you any idea why he flies over theClub nearly every afternoon, and always at the same time?"
"No--have you?"
"Not the dimmest. But now that I know friend pilot wears false whiskers,I'm certainly intrigued."
"Come again," frowned Terry. "I didn't get that last one. Did you say_intrigued_?"
"Cut the clowning. This is serious, Terry. That fellow is up to somemischief, or he wouldn't disguise himself."
Behind them the amphibian's engine sputtered, then roared.
"I've got an idea," said Terry as the two watched the plane taxi outtoward the takeoff. "Why don't you get your bus and follow that birdsome afternoon?"
"I'd already decided to do it tomorrow. Want to come?"
"You bet! How do you expect to work it?"
"Look here, if we're going to make that show on time, we'd better goright now. We'll make our plans later. Come along."
Their bodies cut the water with hardly a splash as they raced for thebeach. Out in the inlet the amphibian rose gracefully into the air andheaded into the mist which was creeping up Long Island Sound.