XXXII 

XXXIII 

XXXIV 

THE HAUNTED HANGAR

CHAPTER I “SUSPICIOUS SANDY”

“SUSPICIOUS SANDY”

“Steady, all! Engine’s quit and left us with a dead stick! No danger.”

Neither sixteen-year-old Larry Turner nor Dick Summers, a year his junior, had any more fear than had Sandy Maclaren, hardly thirteen and seated just back of the pilot who, in flying the four-place, low-wing airplane, had called back reassuringly.

“Jeff’s a war ace and knows his stuff,” Larry mused, “and the engine couldn’t have died in a better spot. We are high enough and within gliding distance of that old, abandoned private field.”

Dick, who saw something to make light of in any situation, turned with his plump face cracked by a broad grin.

“I always said whether you fly a crate full of passengers or handle one full of eggs, you get a good break sometimes!”

Larry nodded in his calm, half-serious way.

Only the youngest member of the trio, as the craft nosed into a gentle glide and banked in a turn to get in position to shoot the private landing spot on the old estate, took the occasion as anything but a lark.

Dick joked, Larry admired the skill of the pilot.

And Jeff, chewing his gum casually, justified their confidence.

Sandy Maclaren, with narrowed eyes and an intent frown, bent his gaze on the pilot’s back and muttered under his breath.

“That engine didn’t die. I saw what Jeff did. He was as quick as a cat—but he didn’t fool me.”

His expression altered to a puzzled scowl.

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