Chapter XI

"No use talkin' Mr. Jardin," one of the men blurted out as Bill came up. "There is some monkey work going on here. Somebody is foolin' with your plane. We lock the hangar every night, and someone is always around all day, but allee samee, as the Chinee says, allee samee, _somebody_ gets that machine all out of tune as soon as I get it right. And it's no fool, either. Whoever is tinkering with it understands that type of flyer down to the ground. He knows just what to discombobolate in order to make us the most trouble."

Ernest laid a hand on the man's shoulder.

"The thing is, Tom, we will have to look for a motive. Now what earthly motive can anyone have?"

"Search me!" said Tom. "Whoever is doing it doesn't want to hurt Mr. Jardin here, because the damage is always to something that will keep the plane from rising. For instance, yesterday the spark plugs had mud in 'em. Before that, the exhaust wouldn't work; one time the priming pin was clean gone; once the dust cap was half off; then the drum control, warping the wings got on the blink. I tell you, it is enough to drive anybody crazy! Lately we have took to sleeping in the hangar, but things happen just the same."

"I am afraid it is a case of poor construction," said Ernest. "There is no one who would pick on Jardin like that. Why don't they do something to _my_ plane? Jardin has no enemies. He has invited about every boy in the whole school to ride with him."

"Certainly I have!" said Jardin. "I guess I more than pay my way around this place! I have stood treat oftener than any one in the whole school. It doesn't pay to be an enemy of mine."

Ernest frowned. "It is not a case of treating," he said sternly. "It is merely that no special fellow here owes you a grudge. So, as they have no reason to owe me a grudge either, I don't see why I do not come in for some of the damage, or you, Tom. There are only three planes here. Why do they pick on Jardin? It beats me! There is something back of this that I do not understand."

Bill, cautiously studying Frank, said to himself, "There will be trouble with the other planes to-morrow. The conversation has given Frank an idea."

"Well," said Jardin mysteriously, "after today I don't care what happens. Come along, Tom, and see if she is all to the bad today."

Together they walked over to the hangar and wheeled Jardin's plane out into the field. It could not be made to start. Tom gave a short, hard laugh.

"I am beaten!" he declared. "The screws are all loose on the interrupter and it will take me all day to adjust the engine again."

"Gee, that's a shame!" said Frank, shaking his head.

Bill looked at him with amazement. After what he had seen in the hangar, the boy's sly cunning filled him with amazement. He had an overwhelming desire to confide in someone, and Ernest flashed into his mind.

The sky was growing very dark, and a queer yellow light spread the northwest like a blanket.

Tom turned the plane and headed it back toward the hangar. "No flyin' today," he said. "Look at that sky!"

The boys helped him put the plane away, then they sauntered up to the school. A flash of lightning split the sky.

"Funny time of year for lightning," said Bill.

"It is, at that!" answered Ernest. "But it looks to me as though we were going to have a real electrical storm. Let's get under cover."

They raced up the hill and into the building just as the storm descended in good earnest. As Bill hurried to his room to shut the window, the boy in the telephone booth called him.

"Telegram for you," he said, shoving the message through the wicket. Bill signed the slip with a hand that shook a little. His mother! She was his first thought. But her name was at the foot of the message which proved to be a night letter.

"Lee will be taken to Leavenworth on Tuesday," it ran. "Circumstantial evidence too strong. He is in a dreadful state but promises me to take it like a soldier. Wish that you were here, but am told the quarantine is absolutely strict. Will see you Thanksgiving if possible. Love. Mother."

Bill turned abruptly and went after Ernest. No one had seen him. Presently he gave up the search and went to his room where he found everything in the greatest disorder and a gale sweeping clothing, papers and bedding from their places. He closed the window and straightened up the place, moving the two army lockers to a new and better position and rearranging his desk. He was too worried and restless to work, so he went to the window, and leaning against the sash, watched a spectacular storm sweep across the valley. In the distance he could see the trolley cars struggling against the blast, but presently they were seen no more. Great branches broke from the trees and whirled through the air. The steel flag-pole before the main building bent perilously and, as Bill watched, a row of telephone poles went toppling over. Blacker and blacker grew the air, and at last with a crash the rain fell. Bill drew a chair and moodily stared out into the whirling wet landscape.

All day the storm raged and Bill, worried and irresolute, sought Ernest. It was not until supper time that he found him.

He had shut himself in the clubroom over the grill and had been boning for an examination. Mess over, they wandered out on the terrace. The storm was over, completely and wholly. The air was clear, the sky cloudless. A gentle breeze fanned them. Trolley wires, telephone poles and trees lay in every direction, with here and there a rolled-up tin roof. It had been bad enough while it lasted.

"Come over here by the tennis court," suggested Bill. "I want to talk to you. A lot of things have happened in the last few weeks, and I don't know what to make of them."

"Fire ahead if I can help," said Ernest.

Bill commenced his story with the influence Jardin seemed to have over Frank and concluded with what he had seen in the hangar.

"What's the game?" he demanded at last.

"I can't guess unless he wants Jardin to get so disgusted that he will give him the plane. Has Frank any money?" asked Ernest.

"He had a present from a friend of ours when we came," said Bill, "but most of that has been frittered away. Besides that, he hasn't a cent although he goes strutting around as though he had a little private wad to draw on. But I know he hasn't any. Where would _he_ get money? His folks have only their army pay."

"It surely is funny about that plane," said Ernest. "I never saw a chap so crazy about flying, but he can't expect to get a plane like that for nothing, and yet what you saw looks suspiciously as though he was up to some scheme. What sort of a chap was he at home?"

"Not bad," replied Bill generously. "There was a lot of things I didn't like about him, but I never suspected he would do anything underhanded. Why, he might kill Jardin, monkeying that way with the plane!"

"He is determined not to harm him," said Ernest. "Everything that has happened to the plane has been of a nature that has made it impossible to get it off the ground. So Jardin is safe for the present at least. I think I will manage to secrete myself in that hangar to-morrow morning. I don't believe we had better tell anyone about this, Bill; it would stir up such a fuss. The plane is in perfect order now. I saw Tom a little while ago and he has it tuned up to perfection. In the meantime I think I will seek our friend Jardin and sound him a little. Later I will drop in." He strolled off in the direction of the billiard room where Jardin was usually to be found, and Bill went to his own room and tried to read. The thought that in a short time Lee, good, honest, loyal Lee, would be on his way to prison, a convicted thief, was more than he could bear. The print danced before his eyes. He heaved a sigh of relief when a tap on the door was followed by the entrance of Ernest.

"The plot thickens," he said, closing the door carefully and glancing about to assure himself they were alone. "I have had a long talk with young Jardin and it was very mystifying. You are mistaken about Frank, I think. He must have a bank account or something of the sort, because he has actually offered to buy that plane. I suspect he has offered very little for it, because Jardin would not tell me the price. But the deal is good as closed. Jardin is going to get a new machine, and Frank is to pay him for this one to-morrow."

Bill was silent for a long time. "I don't know what it all means," he said finally. "Something queer has happened to me that worries me. I wonder--do you think--no, it couldn't be."

"Probably it couldn't," agreed Ernest, "but I can't think before you explain what to think about."

"It was a letter from my dad," explained Bill, and went on to tell him about the watch that was in the pawnshop in his name. And then, because he had a good start, he told Ernest about Lee.

"That pawnshop affair may have something to do with Frank," said Ernest, "but you can't connect him with that robbery. That is too big and too serious. Six hundred dollars, you say?"

"I think that was what they told me," said Bill. "No, of course Frank has nothing to do with that, and I know Lee is perfectly innocent of it too. I just about go crazy when I think about it."

"It is terrible," said Ernest, deeply troubled.

For a long while they sat talking things over, but were finally interrupted by the entrance of Frank, who came bursting noisily into the room, throwing his cap across the bed and tearing off his coat.

"Taps going to sound!" he said.

"I don't have to go to bed until I want to," said Ernest. "Will it disturb you boys if I stay awhile?"

"Don't mind me!" said Frank. He took off his stock, and sat down on his bed with his back to them.

"I never did show you the pictures of my folks, did I?" asked Bill of Ernest. He went over to the lockers.

"Darn these lockers," he laughed. "They are exactly alike. I never know which is mine."

"Yours is next the window," said Frank, "and mine is always locked."

"They are both locked now, as it happens," said Bill. He went over to the dresser and picked up a key. "That doesn't look like mine," he said, squinting at it.

"Mine is in my pocket," said Frank.

Bill took the key and opened the locker. He tipped up a corner of the tray and felt under it, drawing out a square photograph case.

"Our folks fitted us out just alike as to kit bags and toilet sets and photograph cases," said Bill, coming over toward the light with the case. It slipped out of his hand as he spoke and he made a grab for it, catching it by one corner. A photograph and a long envelope fluttered to the floor.

"This isn't--" said Bill, then stopped and glanced at Frank who was lying on his back on the bed with both legs in the air, unfastening his puttees. With trembling fingers Bill seized the paper and scanned it. He took one look at its contents and for a moment stood as though turned to stone.

He passed a shaking hand across his forehead, then in a terrible voice he cried:

"Anderson, you--you--you thief, I've got you! Oh, you dog, I've got you!"

He choked and took a step toward Frank who had bounded to his feet.

"Stop!" cried Ernest. "Stop, Bill! What does this mean?"

"The envelope!" cried Bill, violently striking the paper in his hand. "The envelope! And the money! The money Lee is going to prison for!"

"No such thing!" cried Frank, finding his tongue. "That money is mine!"

"Here is the paymaster's endorsement on the envelope," cried Bill furiously. "You stole it--stole it and somehow put the blame on Lee. And then you took his present!"

He struck away Ernest's restraining hand.

"Give me that money!" cried Frank. "I found that envelope; that's all there is to that! The money is _mine_. Give it to me!"

"Yours?" said Bill. "Well, you won't get it!" and he thrust the long envelope full of bills into Ernest's grasp.

With a muttered word, Frank made a leap for it and Bill met him half way. Bill parried the blow that Frank launched as he realized that the money was out of his grasp, and in another instant they were fighting silently and desperately. Both were furiously angry, but Frank was desperate. Ruin stared him in the face. He was too stunned to realize that the game was up, his hand played out, and he fought with a primitive impulse to down the person who had trapped him.

That Bill had changed the trunks around when the storm was raging and that the keys were identically alike never occurred to either of them. Bill's mind was a blank save for the one overwhelming thought that he had found the envelope that would free Lee.

Frank's mind was chaos. A wild and whirling fury at Bill, at himself for carelessly keeping the money in the envelope although its hiding place back of the photograph seemed absolutely safe, at fate for playing him such a trick, the thought of exposure--everything was mixed into a poisonous potion which filled his brain and of which his soul drank. He leaped upon Bill and tried to throttle him. He fought with the strength of ten. Somehow both boys seemed to feel the need for silence. Except for the quick intake of their labored breathing, there was no sound save the scuffle of Bill's shoes and the impact of their blows.

When Frank clinched and tried to gouge, Bill in self-defence dropped his sparring and resorted to the Indian tricks taught him by Lee. He took joy in the thought that the person who had taught him such clever modes of self-defence was now to be benefitted by them.

Frank went down like a rock, and Bill, still holding him helpless, said panting, "Will you give up?"