CHAPTER XIV.

THE END OF THE FLIGHT.

When the _Ann_ rose above the valley Carl saw the _Louise_ some distance to the south. The strange machine was still in the lead, but the boys appeared to be gaining on her. Both were going fast.

The sky was now tolerably clear, although a brisk wind driving in from the west was bringing fleecy clouds from the Pacific coast. There would be a moon sometime between midnight and morning, but the prospects were that there would be a bank of driving clouds stretched over the earth before she showed herself.

The Englishman, unfamiliar with aeroplaning, began asking questions of the boy as soon as they were in the air, but, as the racing of the motors and the rush of the air drowned his voice, he soon lapsed into silence and contented himself with such views of the distant summit as he could secure. Several times he flung out an arm—including the shining stars, the drifting clouds, the wide stretch of mountain and valley in the sweep of it—and Carl understood that he was saying in the only language available there how much he loved the wild beauty and the majesty of it all.

After a time the strange aeroplane began to seek the higher levels. She climbed up, up, up until the summit showed white and sparkling under her flying planes.

Carl saw the _Louise_ following the stranger into the snow zone and wondered at it. To the boy it seemed that the distance traveled upward might better be gained in level flight. Every unnecessary foot of altitude seemed to him to be a foot lost in the race.

“Ben doesn’t have to follow the stranger in the air,” he mused as he shot the _Ann_ ahead on the same level he had been traveling. “All he has to do in order to overtake her is to keep her in sight and go faster than she does. He lost several yards by following her up to the summit.”

After a time the stranger changed her tactics turning to the west and seeking the valley again. The _Louise_ followed in her wake as before and seemed to be gaining. The _Ann_ was traveling much faster than either of the others and would soon be within striking distance.

That was a mad race under the stars. The stranger seemed to develop new speed possibilities as she swept along. The _Louise_ appeared to be losing ground. The _Ann_ swept forward relentlessly and was soon close to the rear machine.

Then a remarkable thing happened. The aeroplane in advance dropped like a plummet. It seemed to Carl, watching her light eagerly from his seat on the _Ann_, that she ceased her forward motion and lost her buoyancy at the same moment. He could not, of course, see the bulk of the machine but he could see her light.

The light seemed to be down to the surface of the earth in a minute. The _Louise_, following on, dropped, too. To the watching boy the falling of the two aeroplanes seemed as if they had dropped over a precipice.

Although not a very old or experienced aviator, Carl sensed what had taken place. The machines had dropped into a hole in the air! As is well-known to those conversant with the navigation of the air, there are actually “holes” in the atmosphere—holes into which machines drop as they would drop into a pit on the surface of the earth. There are also cross currents which tug at the planes in a wholly unaccountable manner.

These holes in the air result, of course, from conditions of temperature. They are dreaded by all aviators, and one of the first things taught in schools of aviation is to keep such control of his machine as will enable him to handle her successfully when such pitfalls and cross currents are encountered.

Carl had learned this lesson well under the tuition of Mr. Havens, and his first act when the _Louise_ fell was to shift the _Ann_ far away to the north of the place of descent.

He dropped down, too, in a moment in order to see what had happened to the other machines. The stranger lay a wreck in a rocky valley below and the _Louise_, some distance in the rear, was fluttering down. It seemed to Carl that some of her guy wires had been broken during the strain of the fall, and that she was almost beyond control of his chum.

Circling about the wrecked machine and the one which appeared to be in danger of being wrecked, Carl dropped lower and lower until at last his light disclosed a level bank at the side of a stream where he believed a landing might be effected.

By this time the _Louise_ lay on the ground. He could not tell whether she had fallen with a crash or had gradually settled down. However, her lights were still burning, and he could see one of the boys moving about. The lights of the other machine were out.

The _Ann_ came very near tipping over into the stream as Carl landed and a growth of bushes at the water’s edge scraped the ends of the planes cruelly as she settled down. Without stopping to inspect any damage that might have been done to the aeroplane, Carl dashed over to the _Louise_.

The boys were at that moment leaving their machine, turning their footsteps in the direction of the stranger. It was quite dark in the valley, as the timber line extended far up on the easy slope, and the boys were using their electrics as they moved along.

“Are you boys all right?” asked Carl, as he came panting to their side. “I thought I heard one of you groaning!”

“We’re all right!” exclaimed Jimmie. “The _Louise_ strained her guy wires when we struck that hole in the air, but we managed to flutter down. Except for the broken guy wires the machine is as good as ever she was. We can fix the guy wires right here!”

“But the other machine fell!” Ben added. “When she went into the hole the driver wasn’t attending to his business, so she twisted sideways and turned turtle a hundred feet from the ground. We’re going over there now to see if the man is dead.”

“This ends my after-dark journeys in the air!” declared Carl.

“There’s no sense in it!” added Ben.

DuBois, the Englishman, now came stumbling through the darkness and paused in the circle of light made by the electrics. He was still shivering with cold, although the _Ann_ had not mounted to a high level.

“What’s the bloody trouble?” he asked.

“You’re right about the trouble being a bloody one!” Jimmie replied. “The man we were chasing wrecked his machine.”

DuBois looked the _Louise_ over critically.

“This one fell, too, don’t you know,” he said.

“Oh, we always come down like that!” declared Jimmie.

The Englishman stood leaning against the _Louise_ when the boys left for the wrecked machine. It was all new to him, but he seemed to be taking in the situation slowly.

When the boys reached the wreck the aviator who had driven the machine lay on the ground, a dozen or more feet away from the seat he had occupied. He appeared to be quite dead. The body had the appearance of having fallen free of the machine some distance up in the air and crushed down upon the soft grass of the valley.

Ben stooped over the still figure for a moment and then turned to his chums with a queer look on his face.

“Do you remember the heavy man in brown who stood in the corridor at the door of Colleton’s room?” he asked.

“We certainly do!” answered Jimmie. “I’ve been thinking about that husky man in brown ever since Mr. Havens told us the story.”

“What brings that to your mind now?” asked Carl.

“Look at this body!” answered Ben. “Look at the heavily-bearded face. Look at the brown suit. Look at the refined and yet business-like makeup of the man. Even in death he seems domineering and forceful.”

“That man was no aviator!” Jimmie exclaimed.

“His handling of the machine showed that!” Carl put in.

“And do you think?” asked Jimmie in a moment, “that——”

The boy was interrupted by the sudden appearance of the Englishman, who came out of the darkness with his hands pushed far into his pockets and his teeth rattling with the cold. The boys stepped aside as he drew near the body on the ground and waited for him to speak.

“Don’t you remember,” Jimmie whispered to Ben, “that DuBois bought that hand-bag of a porter on the Pullman-car which carried a sick man in a private stateroom across the continent?”

“What’s that got to do with it?” demanded Carl.

“Wait a moment!” advised Jimmie. “Watch the Englishman’s face to see if he recognizes the dead man.”

“Is this another page out of your dream-book?” asked Carl.

“How do we know” demanded Jimmie impatiently, “that DuBois didn’t see a score of times on that trip the man who occupied the stateroom with the man who was sick?”

“Oh, I see!” Carl said. “You think this man lying here dead is the man who stood at the corridor door that day?”

“I didn’t say so!” whispered Jimmie. “I said to watch for some sign of recognition in the Englishman’s face.”

The Englishman bent over the dead man, searching outline of face and figure under the dim light of the stars. The boys heard a little exclamation of impatience, and then DuBois motioned to Ben to advance his searchlight so as to bring the dead face under its rays.

Ben did so immediately and the Englishman stood for what seemed to be a long time looking downward with a puzzled face. He brought his hand to his brow several times as if seeking to urge his slow brain into action and finally turned away without saying a word.

“That was a bad fall!” Ben said, seeking to engage the Englishman in conversation. “We came near lying where he does this minute.”

“A bad fall!” repeated the Englishman. “Do you know who the man is?”

“Never saw him before to-night!” replied Ben.

“You might look in his pockets, don’t you know!” suggested DuBois.

“That’s a good suggestion!” cried Jimmie who had been listening to the conversation. “I’ll see what I can find right now, if you’ll hold the light, Carl,” he added.

Carl advanced with the light and a thorough search was made of the dead man’s clothing. The pockets were entirely empty save for a watch, a pocket-knife, a fountain pen and a collapsible tube of adhesive material. The underclothing, shirt, collar and cuffs were new and bore no name or laundry mark. The collar of the coat bore the trade mark of a well-known firm of manufacturers dealing only in ready-to-wear clothing. On the inside of the right sleeve was the union label of the garment workers. The serial number of the label was blurred and could not be read.

Ben opened the watch case eagerly but found no initials on the inside. There was nothing whatever about the man to give information as to his name, occupation, or place of residence. That he had been a business man and not a professional aviator was clear to the boys but their information went no farther.

The Englishman stood by while the articles taken from the dead man accumulated on the grass but said nothing. Now and then he stepped closer and looked down into the white face.

“Don’t you know,” he said presently, “I think I’ve seen that man before!”

Jimmie nudged Carl impulsively but said nothing.

“You might have seen him in Washington,” suggested Ben.

“No,” answered the Englishman. “The man is not associated in my mind with anything that took place in your capital city.”

“On the boat coming over?” suggested Carl with a wink at Jimmie.

“No-o,” hesitated the Englishman. “I can’t associate that face with anything on board the steamer. It might have been on the train coming across the continent,” he went on in a musing tone. “It might have been in the Pullman on the way over.”

“If your recollection is so indistinct,” Jimmie put in, “it must be because you didn’t see much of him on the train. Perhaps he remained in his stateroom most of the time.”

“That’s clever of you, don’t you know!” the Englishman drawled. “Your suggestion of the stateroom brings it all back. This dead man, don’t you know, often passed in and out of the stateroom door and we noticed his goings and comings because he never permitted any one to see inside the door, don’t you know.”

“Did the man lose anything on the train?” asked Jimmie.

“Yes, he told the porter he had lost his bag.”