The Secret Agent on Flight 101 (12 page)

The Hardys dropped Chet off at his farm, then drove quickly to their home. “Hello!” Mrs. Hardy cried out, and hugged her sons. “Did you see your dad?”

“No, Mother.”

“He phoned a few minutes ago but didn't say where he's going. He's all right, though.”

“Where did he phone from?” Joe asked.

“I don't know.”

“You two boys look peaked,” Aunt Gertrude spoke up, “but a few home-cooked meals will remedy that.”

“It's good to be back,” Frank declared.

The two women showed their disappointment when they heard that Frank and Joe would be returning to Scotland so soon.

“But we're sure eager for a shower and some American chow!” Joe said, grabbing the boys' two suitcases and bounding up the stairs. He set his bag on the bed and opened it to get a clean shirt.

“Hey! What's this?” he exclaimed, and picked up a carelessly hand-printed note from the top of his shirts. It read:

“But who could have written this note and put it in your bag?” Frank exclaimed. “Didn't you lock it?”

“No, I never do.” Joe looked at the message. “Maybe Hexton found out about our assignment, and had one of his UGLI men plant the note to throw us off the track.”

Joe nodded. “And I bet I know when. At Prestwick the porter put our bags on his cart with a lot of other luggage, but then he went away for a while and the cart stood unattended.”

Frank shrugged. “But what could Hexton possibly hope to gain? He knew it wouldn't stop us and we're aware it's dangerous.”

Two days later Frank and Joe were again saying good-by to their mother and aunt. They picked up Chet at the Morton farm and headed for the airport, where Jack was waiting to fly them to the Great Circle base.

On the return trip to Scotland, the plane encountered moderate turbulence, but all the passengers took it calmly. The steward proved to be Ross. When he saw them, the man at once became ill at ease.

After the boys took their seats, Joe whispered to Frank, “I wonder if he suspects we're watching him.”

During the first half of the flight a blond-haired man, wearing dark glasses, sideburns, a small mustache and a beard, made his way down the aisle several times.

“I have a feeling he's looking us over,” Frank said. “We'd better watch him as well as Ross.”

Nothing suspicious happened during the flight, however, and in the morning the jetliner landed at Prestwick Airport. Frank and Joe made a point of being the last passengers to leave. Chet was just ahead.

While debarking, they all noticed that the steward seemed in a hurry to leave the plane. He ran down the steps after them and shot past. Instantly the man in the dark glasses hurried toward the steward. Ross, seeing him, broke into a run. The passenger sprinted ahead.

“Come on!” Frank exclaimed. “Let's see what's up! It could be that passenger is a SKOOL man! Maybe we can help him!”

The boys dashed after the two men, who disappeared around the corner of a hangar. Frank spotted the steward running into the building.

“Chet! Stay outside and cover the exits!” Frank cried. “Joe and I will go in after him!”

The building was filled with aircraft, which made it difficult for the Hardys to spot their quarry.

“Let's split up,” Frank suggested. “I'll cover the left side, you take the right.”

The boys separated. As Frank slowly wound his way among the aircraft, he heard a muffled noise and stopped to listen.

There it was again! The young sleuth's attention focused on a twin-engine plane directly ahead. Cautiously he stalked toward the cabin door. Just as Frank reached it, the door burst open and slammed into the boy's head with a force that made him cry out and sent him crashing to the floor. Half dazed, Frank looked up to see Ross leap from the craft and dart toward a side exit of the hangar.

“What's going on?” Joe called as he ran past the closely packed planes to his brother's side. “Are you all right?”

“I'm okay,” Frank replied, getting slowly to his feet. “Just a little dizzy. Quick! Outside! Maybe Chet spotted Ross leaving the hangar!”

As the Hardys dashed from the building, they saw Chet leaning against a low wire fence which enclosed an automobile parking lot. He was breathing hard.

“G-golly, but that guy could run!” the stout youth gasped as the Hardys approached him. He gulped in more air. “He's faster than a gazelle.”

“You mean the steward?” Joe asked.

“Yes.”

“Where did he go?” Frank queried.

“He jumped the fence into the parking lot and roared off in one of those little foreign sports cars,” Chet answered. He stared at the ground with a sheepish expression, then began to shuffle some pebbles with his foot. “Sorry I goofed, fellows. I was checking the rear of the hangar when Ross zipped from the side exit. He had too much of a head start.”

“That's okay,” Frank said. “It would take a dozen men to cover a building that size.”

“Hey! And something else!” Chet exclaimed, glancing up. “Just after you two chased inside after the steward, I caught a glimpse of that guy in the dark glasses watching from around a corner of the next hangar.”

“Did you let on that you saw him?” Frank asked.

“Yes,” his chum admitted. “In fact, I started walking toward him and he ducked behind the hangar. I thought of chasing him, but I didn't want to leave the exits unguarded.”

“It's funny,” said Frank. “He was chasing the steward, but apparently didn't try to catch him.”

“That's not the only mystery,” Joe added. “Chet, we wonder if that passenger is a secret agent from SKOOL. Let's try to find him and give a sign we're sort of working second hand for the organization.”

“What kind of sign?” Chet asked.

“Oh, we could talk about school and school rings,” Frank answered.

Chet was enthusiastic at once. “I'd feel a lot safer if I could hook up with a full-fledged SKOOL man.”

The three boys made a thorougn search of the place but failed to find the man. At last they gave up, went through customs, and took a taxi to Ianburgh. When they arrived, they found Inspector Clyde and the chief constable anxiously awaiting them.

“One of the constables was rechecking Timken's personal effects and he discovered a secret compartment in his wallet,” the inspector explained. “Look what he found there—most extraordinary.”

He handed an envelope to the young sleuths. Inside were a one-way train ticket to Edinburgh and a newspaper clipping. The item was headed:
“Nairn Loch Manor? Jewel collection? What's this about?” Joe asked.

“The Manor is to be maintained by the Scottish Trust as a historical shrine,” Burns explained. “When they began to renovate it a few months ago, a worker discovered a magnificent collection of jewels hidden beneath the floor. It is said they were placed there about four hundred years ago.”

“I remember reading about the discovery in a newspaper back home,” Frank recalled. “The value of the collection is considered second only to the crown jewels in the Tower of London.”

“Precisely,” the inspector replied.

Joe looked at the clipping and train ticket again. “Do you think Hexton and his UGLI men might be planning to steal the collection?”

“I don't know,” Inspector Clyde admitted. “We have to consider that possibility, of course. But the place will be so heavily guarded that any thieves will be caught.”

“Why would Timken go to Edinburgh by train?” Joe asked. “I should think the thieves would use a car for a quick getaway.”

“Most likely they will,” Frank said. “Maybe Timken was only being sent there to case the place for Hexton.”

“Exactly the conclusion I came to,” Inspector Clyde declared. “Now they'll have to use someone else.”

Joe snapped his fingers. “Perhaps that's where Ross was heading.”

“We'll check,” Clyde told him.

Frank was thoughtful for several seconds, then said, “Probably Hexton, with his sleight-of-hand ability, will do the actual stealing.”

The conversation turned to the reason the boys had come to Scotland—to get into Hexton's castle.

Inspector Clyde paced the floor in thought. “The question remains, just how do you manage to do that?”

“Perhaps another reconnaissance flight will give us an idea,” Frank suggested. “Let's alert McHugh.”

“Oh!” Burns said quickly. “He isn't available at the moment. He's off ballooning.”

“He's what?” Joe asked, with a puzzled expression.

“Ballooning,” the chief constable repeated. “McHugh belongs to a club of enthusiasts who go darting about in bags filled with hot air. Jolly good fun, they think, unless they get caught in a tree, or on a church spire. They're having a race somewhere near Perth.”

“What a ball!” Chet burst out. “I'd like to see that.”

“Hold on!” Frank put in. “That solves our problem. We'll balloon into Hexton's castle!”

INSPECTOR Clyde laughed. “See here, my dear fellow. You're not serious about ballooning into Hexton's stronghold, are you?”

“I realize it sounds fantastic,” Frank admitted. “But at least it's worth discussing with McHugh.”

Joe scratched his head dubiously. “Hexton's guards are bound to spot a balloon.”

“Maybe not if we drop in at night,” Frank replied.

Chet pointed a determined finger at his friends. “Don't think you two are going to get me to ride in one of those oversized basketballs!”

Joe grinned. “Okay. Anyway, I don't believe there's enough hot air in Scotland to lift
you
off the ground!”

A little later the boys rented a car and drove to the site of the race. On a grassy plain a few miles west of Perth, more than fifty balloons of all shapes and sizes were preparing for the competitions. Their bright colors and vivid designs gave the scene a touch of the pageantry of a medieval tournament.

“Look at that!” Chet yelled as they walked across the field. He pointed to a balloon displaying the French national colors from its gondola. “What a beauty!”

At the firing of the starting gun, the contestants leaped onto bicycles, sped to their balloons, and jumped into the gondolas. Then the balloons were released from their moorings and sailed across the field. One of them never lifted off the ground; another, the French entry, rose into the air but became snagged in a tree branch.

“Nom d'une pipe!”
screamed the flier.
“Il est fichu, mon beau ballon!”

“Tough break,” said Joe.

Frank asked one of the club members for McHugh. He learned that the pilot was not racing that day, but was helping another contestant a short distance down the field.

McHugh was surprised to see the boys. Frank told him about the plan for getting into Hexton's castle.

McHugh chuckled. “So ye want to be invaders?” he teased. “ 'Tis a daring plan ye've come up with, lad. And it will no' be an easy thing to do.”

“Can you get a balloon large enough to carry all of us?” Frank asked.

“Sure. We'll borrow one from the club.”

“I'm
not going,” Chet insisted.

“But we need you for ballast,” Joe said with a grin.

“If we get into Hexton's castle,” Frank added, “you might see some of his magic equipment!”

“Well—” Chet muttered, weakening. “I guess you'll need somebody around to keep you two out of trouble.”

After the races, McHugh and the boys returned to McHugh's apartment in Ianburgh to plan their daring adventure. The pilot examined an aeronautical chart and carefully plotted the position of the castle. He pointed out that their success depended entirely upon the winds and the position from which the balloon was launched.

“I understand a balloon has no directional control,” Joe said.

“That's not entirely true,” McHugh replied. “Since the wind direction generally changes with altitude, we can get some control by ascending or descending.”

“How do you do that?” Chet questioned.

“By varying the amount of ballast, or weight carried in the form of sandbags,” the pilot explained. “The more ballast dumped overboard, the higher the balloon will go. To descend, we simply release some of the gas from the bag by means of a valve.”

“Just one thing,” Joe put in. “If we manage to reach Hexton's castle, how do we keep from floating right on past it?”

“By using a length of rope attached to a grapnel,” Frank replied. “We'll lower it as we approach the castle—and hope it catches somewhere on the wall. This will act as a mooring. Then we can slide down the rope.”

Chet took a deep gulp.

“Obviously,” Frank continued, “we can't keep the balloon moored there. Hexton's men would spot it sooner or later. So, after we're down, we'll release the grapnel.”

“Then I'll sail the balloon a short distance away and land,” McHugh added. “With your approval, I'll ask one of the club members to help us. He can drive the lorry containing the launching equipment and assist in our take-off preparations. Later, he can rendezvous with me at the landing spot.”