of any kind with which he might catch us off guard. I wish I’d thought to take his matches, too.”
“Gosh, a map!” said Smitty, staring at the paper. “Negro River. Manaos. Line through the jungle, east and a little north. A big X. That’s where Stahl must be.”
Marge’s face was full of hope again. But Mac went on:
“All right. Ye have a map. But how can ye get to the spot except by air? In a hurry, that is.”
“We will go by air,” Dick said.
He looked around to make sure they were alone.
“A lot of people know of the army planes at Martinique which were ordered by the French Government before France fell. They know the planes have been rusting there ever since, because no one knows where to ship them or what to do with them. Not so many people know that there are fourteen similar planes, in exactly that same situation, here at a field near Cayenne.”
It was another instance of the vast fund of knowledge possessed by the man with the coal-black hair and the pale, infallible eyes. He seemed to know everything.
“They are at a little-known airfield about four miles from here. We will take two of those planes.”
That was a small statement, but The Avenger’s aides instantly knew, even if Marge Stahl didn’t, what a colossal feat it represented.
Those planes must be rigidly watched and interned. The United States didn’t want France to get them for fear they’d be turned over to the enemy. France didn’t want the United States to get them back for fear they’d be used eventually to bomb France. The enemy didn’t want either nation to get them.
All three would probably have guards near, if not actually in evidence.
In addition, the planes would be in no shape to fly. They’d be coated with grease, rusted where not coated, empty of fuel and gas, perhaps not even fully assembled.
But The Avenger talked calmly of taking two of them and flying off over the jungle!
“He’ll do it, too,” said Nellie in a low tone to the wondering Marge. “It’s impossible—but he’ll do it.”
The Avenger, meanwhile, had walked back down the wharf, to the wharf’s owner, his friend. He came back in a moment, colorless eyes calm and chill.
“A Frenchman is in charge of the field. A German ‘tourist’ is with him constantly. Every evening, a young fellow from the American consul’s office drops around just for a ‘chat.’ But the few mechanics and attendants marking time at the field are all French.”
Mac was still deeply pessimistic.
“Even if ye get two planes, Heber has a long start. The mon’ll no doubt be able to contact his gang. They’ll have the transport fixed up by now, and they’ll surely be ahead of us in the jungle and give us a hot reception.”
“It’s quite possible,” said Benson evenly. “You and Nellie and Miss Stahl stay here, Mac. Smitty, you and I will get the planes.”
He looked at his watch. It was six o’clock in the morning, although it seemed as if it ought to be late afternoon, so much had happened since they’d landed at dawn.
“At three o’clock, join us at the airfield,” Benson told them. Then he and the gigantic Smitty set off for the field.
Mac stared glumly at Nellie.
“Those will be military planes— if he can get them. Military planes have a small cruisin’ range. There’ll be barely enough fuel capacity to take us to where we’re goin’, with no chance of gettin’ gas at that end for a return trip. Also, they’ll not have pontoons, and there’s no place for wheels to roll in a jungle. So how can we land? And if we crash-land, how can we take off again?”
“Maybe we can grow wings,” said Nellie. “Like angels. You’d make a bee-yootiful angel, Mac.”
“ ’Tis no time for levity,” said the Scot severely. “Another thing. This Heber skurlie went off with the antitoxin. His gang’ll have it; we won’t. So we’ll get sick and be turned into monkeys, while Heber and his unholy crew will get off scot-free.”
“Are
“Gosh, a map!” said Smitty, staring at the paper. “Negro River. Manaos. Line through the jungle, east and a little north. A big X. That’s where Stahl must be.”
Marge’s face was full of hope again. But Mac went on:
“All right. Ye have a map. But how can ye get to the spot except by air? In a hurry, that is.”
“We will go by air,” Dick said.
He looked around to make sure they were alone.
“A lot of people know of the army planes at Martinique which were ordered by the French Government before France fell. They know the planes have been rusting there ever since, because no one knows where to ship them or what to do with them. Not so many people know that there are fourteen similar planes, in exactly that same situation, here at a field near Cayenne.”
It was another instance of the vast fund of knowledge possessed by the man with the coal-black hair and the pale, infallible eyes. He seemed to know everything.
“They are at a little-known airfield about four miles from here. We will take two of those planes.”
That was a small statement, but The Avenger’s aides instantly knew, even if Marge Stahl didn’t, what a colossal feat it represented.
Those planes must be rigidly watched and interned. The United States didn’t want France to get them for fear they’d be turned over to the enemy. France didn’t want the United States to get them back for fear they’d be used eventually to bomb France. The enemy didn’t want either nation to get them.
All three would probably have guards near, if not actually in evidence.
In addition, the planes would be in no shape to fly. They’d be coated with grease, rusted where not coated, empty of fuel and gas, perhaps not even fully assembled.
But The Avenger talked calmly of taking two of them and flying off over the jungle!
“He’ll do it, too,” said Nellie in a low tone to the wondering Marge. “It’s impossible—but he’ll do it.”
The Avenger, meanwhile, had walked back down the wharf, to the wharf’s owner, his friend. He came back in a moment, colorless eyes calm and chill.
“A Frenchman is in charge of the field. A German ‘tourist’ is with him constantly. Every evening, a young fellow from the American consul’s office drops around just for a ‘chat.’ But the few mechanics and attendants marking time at the field are all French.”
Mac was still deeply pessimistic.
“Even if ye get two planes, Heber has a long start. The mon’ll no doubt be able to contact his gang. They’ll have the transport fixed up by now, and they’ll surely be ahead of us in the jungle and give us a hot reception.”
“It’s quite possible,” said Benson evenly. “You and Nellie and Miss Stahl stay here, Mac. Smitty, you and I will get the planes.”
He looked at his watch. It was six o’clock in the morning, although it seemed as if it ought to be late afternoon, so much had happened since they’d landed at dawn.
“At three o’clock, join us at the airfield,” Benson told them. Then he and the gigantic Smitty set off for the field.
Mac stared glumly at Nellie.
“Those will be military planes— if he can get them. Military planes have a small cruisin’ range. There’ll be barely enough fuel capacity to take us to where we’re goin’, with no chance of gettin’ gas at that end for a return trip. Also, they’ll not have pontoons, and there’s no place for wheels to roll in a jungle. So how can we land? And if we crash-land, how can we take off again?”
“Maybe we can grow wings,” said Nellie. “Like angels. You’d make a bee-yootiful angel, Mac.”
“ ’Tis no time for levity,” said the Scot severely. “Another thing. This Heber skurlie went off with the antitoxin. His gang’ll have it; we won’t. So we’ll get sick and be turned into monkeys, while Heber and his unholy crew will get off scot-free.”
“Are
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