other,” snapped the big fellow. “East end of the lake, as soon as you pick up the beacon light in the distance. We’ll fix the big dope like we fixed that other dummy who was fool enough to force his way on board. This guy got on at Buffalo—but he’ll never get off at Montreal.”
CHAPTER XII
Smitty Takes the Risk
A trip in a big transport plane, particularly at night, is not very exciting. The motion is smooth, there is nothing to see out of the windows, and the subdued roar of the motors is lulling. Passengers feel more like dozing than anything else.
The seven in the Montreal plane acted as dull and sleepy as any normal passengers would. Now and then, the big fellow with the hairy hands would lean forward and say something to the man who was always smiling with his lips but not the rest of his face. But that was about the only sign of life any of them gave.
Only the tremendous fellow with the hump on his back seemed excited. He looked as if this were his first plane trip. He stared out the window and down, trying to see something in the June dark, and then grinned at his fellow passengers. He looked like a huge kid with a new red sled. But it wasn’t fooling the fellow with the perpetual, meaningless smile.
“I make the guy now,” this man said to the big fellow across the aisle from him, voice low enough to be drowned from other ears by the motor hum. “He drove Leon’s car.”
The big fellow whistled soundlessly.
“So he’s not the dope he looks to be! Leon’s chauffeur, huh? I suppose he thinks he’s disguised, with that hump on his back. Might as well try to disguise Pikes Peak!”
“He must be hired by this Benson guy,” said the smiling man. But his smile was a little worried. “So now what?”
The other shrugged. “You know what. It woudn’t make any difference if he was as harmless as he’s tryin’ to look. Any way it lays, he goes out the trapdoor just the same.”
“He’s awful big. And did you see him lift the monkey at the field in one hand?”
“The bigger they are, the harder they fall. Got that stuff in your suitcase?”
“Sure.”
“Go and get it.”
The smiling man got up, after a moment, and went to the tail of the plane. The stewardess, the same rather pretty girl with the slightly shifty eyes who was always on these runs, got him his bag. The man took from it an innocent-looking handkerchief, and blew his nose loudly. But when he shut the bag, and put the handkerchief in his pocket, there was a small vial of colorless stuff in the linen folds.
The man came back, stared out the window of his side, and then crossed over to Smitty’s side. With an apologetic look, he sat in the seat just ahead of Smitty’s, and stared out the window there, as though searching for some spot not to be seen from his own seat.
Smitty settled more comfortably against the hump on his back—and waited.
He had told Benson he had an idea how they could find the criminals’ headquarters. He had explained in eight words:
“I’ll force my way into the plane, too.”
Then after he had deliberately placed himself in the position which had spelled such tragedy for his boss, a month ago, Smitty would wait and see what happened. If he could out-smart the gang and stay alive!
The first part of the scheme had worked all right. He was aboard the plane, and they were getting close to the Thousand Islands region. But that first part was a cinch compared to the second—staying alive.
Smitty grinned like a pleased kid and watched every move of the others. Particularly he kept his eyes on the man who had just sat in front of him, and who had gone to the rear and gotten a handkerchief from his bag. It was from this source that Smitty expected danger.
Because he was looking ahead so hard, he didn’t hear or sense the man behind him move a little. This one, a slim, dapper fellow with no chin, stealthily reached to his armpit and got out a gun. He leaned suddenly forward.
Smitty, with all
CHAPTER XII
Smitty Takes the Risk
A trip in a big transport plane, particularly at night, is not very exciting. The motion is smooth, there is nothing to see out of the windows, and the subdued roar of the motors is lulling. Passengers feel more like dozing than anything else.
The seven in the Montreal plane acted as dull and sleepy as any normal passengers would. Now and then, the big fellow with the hairy hands would lean forward and say something to the man who was always smiling with his lips but not the rest of his face. But that was about the only sign of life any of them gave.
Only the tremendous fellow with the hump on his back seemed excited. He looked as if this were his first plane trip. He stared out the window and down, trying to see something in the June dark, and then grinned at his fellow passengers. He looked like a huge kid with a new red sled. But it wasn’t fooling the fellow with the perpetual, meaningless smile.
“I make the guy now,” this man said to the big fellow across the aisle from him, voice low enough to be drowned from other ears by the motor hum. “He drove Leon’s car.”
The big fellow whistled soundlessly.
“So he’s not the dope he looks to be! Leon’s chauffeur, huh? I suppose he thinks he’s disguised, with that hump on his back. Might as well try to disguise Pikes Peak!”
“He must be hired by this Benson guy,” said the smiling man. But his smile was a little worried. “So now what?”
The other shrugged. “You know what. It woudn’t make any difference if he was as harmless as he’s tryin’ to look. Any way it lays, he goes out the trapdoor just the same.”
“He’s awful big. And did you see him lift the monkey at the field in one hand?”
“The bigger they are, the harder they fall. Got that stuff in your suitcase?”
“Sure.”
“Go and get it.”
The smiling man got up, after a moment, and went to the tail of the plane. The stewardess, the same rather pretty girl with the slightly shifty eyes who was always on these runs, got him his bag. The man took from it an innocent-looking handkerchief, and blew his nose loudly. But when he shut the bag, and put the handkerchief in his pocket, there was a small vial of colorless stuff in the linen folds.
The man came back, stared out the window of his side, and then crossed over to Smitty’s side. With an apologetic look, he sat in the seat just ahead of Smitty’s, and stared out the window there, as though searching for some spot not to be seen from his own seat.
Smitty settled more comfortably against the hump on his back—and waited.
He had told Benson he had an idea how they could find the criminals’ headquarters. He had explained in eight words:
“I’ll force my way into the plane, too.”
Then after he had deliberately placed himself in the position which had spelled such tragedy for his boss, a month ago, Smitty would wait and see what happened. If he could out-smart the gang and stay alive!
The first part of the scheme had worked all right. He was aboard the plane, and they were getting close to the Thousand Islands region. But that first part was a cinch compared to the second—staying alive.
Smitty grinned like a pleased kid and watched every move of the others. Particularly he kept his eyes on the man who had just sat in front of him, and who had gone to the rear and gotten a handkerchief from his bag. It was from this source that Smitty expected danger.
Because he was looking ahead so hard, he didn’t hear or sense the man behind him move a little. This one, a slim, dapper fellow with no chin, stealthily reached to his armpit and got out a gun. He leaned suddenly forward.
Smitty, with all
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