The Great Airport Mystery by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

the southeast. It quickly disappeared beyond the crest of hills.
    Frank and Joe returned to the cave. Two troopers had posted themselves at the entrance. The brothers went inside to take a closer look, beaming their flashlights at every inch of the rocky interior. They found nothing of significance.
    Finally Joe went to the very rear of the cavern to search.
    Frank, meanwhile, walked over to the airplane and climbed into the cockpit. Looking toward the rear, he spotted a small but powerful electric hoist mounted on rails that straddled a hatch in the floor of the cabin. Several hundred feet of light cable were wound around the hoist’s spindle.
    â€œWhat’s a device like this doing in a passenger airplane?” the young detective puzzled. “And what’s it used for?”
    Making a mental note of the hoist, Frank turned his attention to other areas of the cabin and cockpit. He searched through all the compartments but all he found were some air charts and an old navigational plotter.
    â€œWhoever stole this plane made sure he left nothing around to identify him!” Frank muttered.
    He extracted a fingerprint kit from his pocket and dusted the wheel, instrument panel, throttle, and other normally exposed areas for telltale prints. As he had expected, there were none; the occupants had been clever enough always to wear gloves.
    Frank now bent low with his flashlight and searched underneath the seats. Suddenly he noticed a small leather object jammed between those of the pilot and copilot. He had difficulty reaching it, but finally managed to grasp the object and pull it out. A leather glove!
    The young detective examined the lining of the fairly new glove. What he saw caused him to shout in excitement. Marked on the lining with indelible ink were the initials L.P.
    â€œLance Peterson!” Frank exclaimed, bolting out of the plane.
    Excitedly he called to Joe, who came running. “What’s up?”
    â€œLook!” Frank cried, thrusting the glove toward his brother.
    Joe’s eyes widened as he spotted the initials. “They must stand for Lance Peterson!”
    â€œRight! Mr. Allen should know about this as soon as possible!”
    The boys hurried from the cave and told the troopers of their discovery. One of the policemen took his walkie-talkie radio out of its case, pulled the telescopic antenna from its housing, and flipped a toggle switch.
    â€œThese units can’t transmit more than a mile or two,” the trooper said. “But one of our patrol cars might be within range somewhere. They can get a call through to Mr. Allen.”
    The trooper succeeded in reaching a patrol car and transmitted the message. While awaiting a response, the boys discussed Peterson’s connection with the racket.
    â€œHe must have stolen Clint’s plane himself,” Joe surmised.
    â€œIt sure looks that way,” said Frank. “But if Peterson is using the plane to fly in the stolen loot, I wonder where he makes the pickup. It certainly couldn’t be Bayport. The airplane would be recognized there at once.”
    A crackling sound from the trooper’s walkie-talkie signaled them that a message was about to come in. The policeman put the receiver to his ear and listened intently. After a couple of minutes he put down the instrument and turned to the boys.
    â€œMr. Allen has just arrived back at Stanwide. He has received your message and congratulates you on the new clue. Also, he wants you to know that he checked with Bayport tower and was told that nothing new has turned up on the whereabouts of Peterson and Lieber.”
    â€œThanks,” said Joe.
    He suggested to his brother that since it would be another couple of hours before the helicopter returned to pick them up, they do some investigating outside the cave.
    â€œGood idea, Joe. Say, do you remember the small cabin I spotted when we flew around here with Randy Watson?”
    Joe nodded.
    â€œI’d like to