Dorothy Dixon and the Mystery Plane

“Shanghied!” Dorothy muttered thickly. “Oh, if I’d only had a chance to let loose a little jiu jitsu on that beast who scragged me!”

Why had they brought her on board this boat and tied her hand and foot? Where was the motor sailor bound? What was going to happen to her next? Mr. Walters would probably get her letter during the afternoon. Yancy seemed a dependable sort of man. Without doubt a raid on the beach cottage would follow, but by that time the birds would have flown, and what good would the raid do her! Her thoughts ran on.

Those men in the cottage were not fools. Their conversation, as they sat around the table, had meant little to Dorothy, but she no longer doubted that the gang was interested in an undertaking that was illegal and fraught with considerable danger to themselves. Could it be bootlegging? Possibly. But Dorothy did not fancy that idea. The Mystery Plane, (she had got in the habit of calling it that now) hadn’t enough storage capacity to carry any great quantity of liquor. Where did that amphibian come into this complicated scheme?

This night’s work had turned out a failure so far as she was concerned: she should never have undertaken the job of ferreting out the truth alone.

If only Bill Bolton were not away. He would never have allowed her to get into this mess!

Suddenly she heard the creak of a board and the sound of footsteps approaching. Dorothy realized that she lay huddled in the bow of the craft, with her head aft and her feet forward. That was why she had not been able to see anything of the crew. She shut her eyes again as someone flashed a torch in her face.

“She’s not much better,” said a voice she recognized as belonging to the man called Donovan. “Doesn’t look to me as if she’d be out of it for a long time. I think you must have given her an overdose of the stuff, Peters.” He stirred her none too gently with his foot.

“I hope I did!” answered a new voice. “That little wildcat got my thumb between her teeth while I was holdin’ the rag to her face. She bit me somethin’ terrible, I tell yer.”

“Never mind your thumb. We’ve heard enough of that already. How long did you hold the chloroform to her nose?”

“I dunno. I gave her plenty. If her light’s out, I should worry.”

“You’re right, you should. I’m not handling stiffs on the price of this job.” Donovan’s tone was biting.

A hand pressed Dorothy’s side.

“No stiffer than you are,” affirmed Peters matter-of-factly. “I can feel her breathe.”

“She looks pretty bad to me,” Donovan insisted. “The old man will raise the roof if you don’t get her over to Connecticut O.K. You know what he said over the phone!”

“Then why not ask Charlie? He used to be a doctor before he did that stretch up the river.” He raised his voice. “Hey, there, Charlie! Leave go that wheel and come here for a minute.”

“Can’t be done,” replied Charlie, and Dorothy knew that the third man on the beach cottage group was speaking. “What do you want me to do – run this sailor aground in the shallows?”

“Well, Donovan thinks the girl’s goin’ to croak.”

“That’s your worry. You’re the lad who administered the anesthetic. You probably gave her too much.”

“Say, Charlie, this is serious,” Donovan broke in anxiously. “Quit high-hatting and give us your opinion.”

The steersman snorted contemptuously. “She’ll come out of it all right – that is, unless her heart’s wobbly. If it is, I couldn’t do anything for her out here. You’re supposed to be running this show, Don, and Peters did your dirty work. I’m only the hired man. If she goes out, you two will stand the chance of burning, not me. Cut the argument! There’s shipping ahead. What are you trying to do – wake the harbor?”

Donovan and Peters stopped talking and went aft. Presently their voices broke out again but this time came to the girl in the bow as a low, confused murmur.

So she owed this situation to Mr. Peters. Dorothy was feeling better now and despite her discomfort she spent several minutes contemplating what she would do to Mr. Peters, if she ever got the chance.

The motor sailor’s engine stopped chugging and soon the boat came to rest.

“I’ll carry her in myself,” spoke Donovan from somewhere beyond her range of vision. “Peters bungled the business when he was on watch at that dump across the bay. I want no more accidents until she’s safely off my hands.”

Dorothy was caught up in a pair of strong arms as if she had been so much mutton.

“Think I’d drop her in the drink?” laughed Peters.

“You said it. – Sure this is the right dock, Charlie?”

“No, Donny, it’s the grill room of the Ritz – shake a leg there, both of you. We’ve got a long boat ride and a sweet little job ahead of us. We can’t afford to be late – hustle!”

Donovan did not bother to reply to this parting shot. He slung Dorothy over his shoulder, stepped onto a thwart, from there to the gunwale and on to the dock. They seemed to be in some kind of backwater from where a set of steps led up from the dock to a small wharfyard, shut in on three sides by high walls and warehouses.

Donovan shouldered open a door and ascended a narrow flight of rotting stairs. It had been dark in the yard, but inside the warehouse the night was Stygian. At the top he waited until Peters came abreast.

“Where’s your flash, Peters?” he growled.

“Haven’t got one, Cap.”

“Here – take mine, then, and show a glim. It’s in my side pocket. My hands are full of girl!”

“Got it,” said Peters, a moment later.

The light came on and Dorothy, between half-shut eyelids saw that they were in a long, dismal corridor.

“I’ll go ahead,” continued the man, “I’ve got the key.”

Down this long corridor they passed, then into another narrow passage running at right angles from the first.

Peters eventually stopped at a door which he unlocked and flung open.

“Here we are,” he announced and preceded them over the sill.

Dorothy caught a glimpse of a small room that smelt of rats and wastepaper with a flavor of bilgewater thrown in. Then she closed her eyes as Donovan dumped her on the bare floor, propping her shoulders against the wall.

“Well, that’s done,” Donovan said with great satisfaction. “Are you going to wait here for the car, Peters, or out in the yard?”

“The yard for mine, Cap. This joint is full o’ spooks. It’s jollier outside.”

“Right. We’ll get going then.”

Peters paused and looked at the girl. “There might be some change – maybe a bill or two in the lady’s pockets, Cap?” He winked at Donovan hopefully.

“You leave the girl’s money alone. The boss distinctly said not to search her. He wants her delivered just as she is.”

“Well, what if she passes out on me hands, Cap?”

“Deliver her just the same. And mind – you obey orders or you’ll bite off a heap more trouble than you can chew. Come along now!”

The two men left the room. The bolt in the door shot home, then the key turned in the lock; As the sound of their footsteps over the bare floor died away, Dorothy opened her eyes. Summoning all her strength, she wrenched at the bonds that held her, but she accomplished no more than lacerating her wrists.

She was to be shifted to some safer place, presumably in Connecticut, where she was to be taken by car. Meanwhile, there was no escape from where she was, even if her limbs were free. Should she show signs of consciousness, the best she had to hope for was another dose of chloroform or a gag when that enterprising thug, Mr. Peters, returned. He was not the kind to leave anything to chance.

Almost before she had got her wits to work, Dorothy heard steps in the passage and let herself go limp again, her knees drawn up, her head and neck against the wall. The bolt was drawn, and Peters entered the room. He flashed the torch over his prisoner.

“I don’t think there’ll be any harm in me takin’ a dollar or two,” he muttered. “What’s the use of money to a stiff? And you sure do look good and dead, young woman!” he chuckled as he bent down to begin the search.

“Guess again!”

Dorothy’s bound feet shot upward with the force of a mainspring uncoiling. Her neck was braced against the wall and the whole strength of her thighs was behind the kick that drove her boot heels smashing under her captor’s chin. The gangster sailed backward. His head hit the base of the opposite wall with a resounding crack and he lay like a log.

The electric torch trundled over the planks and came to a standstill, throwing its pencil of light across the floor. For a couple of seconds, Dorothy peered and listened. Then with intense exhilaration of spirit, she rolled and wriggled herself across the intervening space until she was underneath the window. Here, after a little straining and wobbling, that nearly cracked her sinews, she got on her knees. Then she heaved herself upright so that she leaned sideways against the sash. With a thrust she drove her elbow through the pane. There was a crash and a tinkle of falling glass.

Two more thrusts shivered the pane until there remained only a fringe of broken glass at either side. Turning her back to it, she felt for the broken edge with her fingers and brought her rope-lashed wrists across it. Splintered window glass has an edge like a razor. Dorothy fumbled the cord blindly to the cutting edge, sawed steadily and felt one of the turns slacken and part.

It was enough. In a few seconds her wrists were free and she stooped and cast loose the lashings from her ankles. She staggered a little and collapsed on the floor. After chafing her arms and legs, she turned to attend to her companion.

There was no need. Mr. Peters showed no further sign of animation than a ham. To insure against interference or pursuit, Dorothy turned him over, untied a length of cord from her ankle-bonds, and cast a double sheet-bend about his wrists.

Picking up the flashlight, she hurried out through the door which that canny seeker of “pickings” had left open. She hurried along the two passages and down the rickety stairs. The door at the bottom was closed, so snapping off her light, she pulled it open and stepped into the yard.

But here she was certain there was no egress except by swimming unless she could find a way through the other side of the house. Somewhere out in the darkness she heard the lap and plash of water and the faint creak of rowlocks. Instantly she ducked behind a pile of empty barrels.

A boat skulled stealthily through the gloom and fetched up alongside the dock. A tall figure made the little craft fast, climbed the steps and peered around the yard.

At that very moment, a water rat dropped from the top of the wall to the ground by way of Dorothy’s shoulder. It was impossible for her to suppress the exclamation of fright that escaped her.

The figure in the middle of the yard swung round and an electric torch flashed over the barrels.

“Come out of that or I’ll shoot!” ordered the stranger. “And come out with your hands up!”

Chapter VIII

THE CORK CHAIN

With the white sabre of light blinding her vision, Dorothy walked out from behind the stack of barrels, hands above her head.

“Dorothy!” exclaimed the tall figure in astonishment. “What on earth are you doing here?”

There was an instant’s pause; then Dorothy giggled.

“Gee, what a relief – but you scared me out of six years’ growth, Bill Bolton!”

As her arms dropped to her sides, she staggered and would have fallen if Bill had not stepped quickly forward and placed his arm about her. He led her to an empty packing case and forced her to sit down. The surprise of this meeting coming as a climax to the strenuous events of the evening had just about downed her splendid nerves.

“Oh, Bill – ” she sobbed hysterically on his shoulder – “you can’t guess how glad I am to see you. I’ve really had an awful time of it tonight.”

“Take it easy and have a good cry. Everything’s all right now. You’ll feel better in a minute,” he soothed.

“What a crybaby you must think me,” she said presently, in a limp voice. “Do you happen to have a handkerchief, Bill?”

“You bet. Here’s one – and it’s clean, too.”

Dorothy dried her eyes and blew her nose rather violently.

“Thanks – I do feel much better now. Do you mind turning on the light again? I must be a sight. There – hold it so I can see in my compact.”

Bill began to laugh as her deft fingers worked with powder, rouge and lipstick.

“What’s the joke?” she asked, then answered her own question. “Oh, I know! You think girls do nothing but prink. Well, I don’t care – it’s horrid to look messy. Is there such a thing as a comb in your pocket, Bill? I have lost mine.”

“Sorry,” he grinned, “but I got my permanent last week. I don’t bother to carry one any more.”

“Don’t be silly!” she began, then stopped short. “We’ve got to get out of here,” she said and snapped her compact shut. “They are coming after me in a car. Donovan or Peters, I forget which, said so.”

“Who are Donovan and Peters – and where are they going to take you?”

“Not that pair – other members of the same gang. D. and P. are two of the crew over at the beach cottage who chloroformed me, then tied me up and carted me over here in an open motor sailor.”

“Well, I’ll be tarred and feathered!” Bill switched off his torch. “Here I’ve been following you for over two hours and never knew it was you! Never got a glimpse of your face, of course – took you for a man in that rig! Well, I’ll be jiggered if that isn’t a break!”

“So you were the man I thought I saw in the grass clump?”

“Sure. You led me to the house. I knew the gang had a cottage somewhere along that beach, but I didn’t know which one it was. By the way, I’ve got your Mary Jane tied to a mooring out yonder – Couldn’t take a chance on running in closer. That old tub’s engine has a bark that would wake George Washington.”

Dorothy sprang to her feet. “That’s great! We’ll make for the Mary Jane, Bill, right now. If those men in the car catch us here there’ll be another fight. Dorothy has had all the rough stuff she wants for one night, thank you!”

Bill took her arm.

“O.K. with me,” he returned. “Think you’re well enough to travel?”

“I’m all right. Hanging around this place gives me the jim-jams – let’s go.”

Together they crossed the yard and hurried along the narrow planking of the dock to the dinghy. Bill took the oars and a few minutes later they were safely aboard the motor boat. It began to rain again and the dark, oily water took on a vibrant, pebbly look.

“Come into the cabin,” suggested Dorothy, watching Bill make the painter fast. “We’ll be drier there – and I’ve got about a million questions for you to answer.”

“Go below, then. I’ll join you in a minute.”

Dorothy slid the cabin door open and dropped down on a locker. Presently Bill followed and took a seat opposite her.

“Better not light the lamp,” he advised, “it’s too risky now. By the way, Dorothy, I’m darn glad to see you again.”

Dorothy smiled. “So ’m I. I’ve missed you while you were away, and I sure do need your help now. Tell me – where in the wide world am I?”

“This tub is tied up to somebody else’s mooring off the Babylon waterfront, – if that’s any help to you.”

“It certainly is. I hate to lose my bearings. Here’s another: I don’t suppose you happen to know what this is all about?”

Bill crossed his knees and leaned back comfortably.

“There’s not much doubt in my mind, after tonight’s doings. Those men in the beach cottage are diamond smugglers and no pikers at the game, take it from me!”

“Ooh!” Dorothy’s eyes widened. “Diamonds, eh! That’s beyond my wildest dreams. How do they smuggle them, Bill?”

“Well, these fellows have a new wrinkle to an old smuggling trick. Somebody aboard an ocean liner drops a string of little boxes, fastened together at long intervals – the accomplices follow the steamer in a boat and pick them up. And now, from what I’ve found out, there’s every reason to believe that this gang are chucking their boxes overboard in the neighborhood of Fire Island Light.”

Dorothy sat bold upright, her eyes snapping with excitement.

“Listen, Bill! Those men in the cottage – I heard them talking, you know – couldn’t make anything out of their conversation then, but now I’m beginning to understand part of it.”

“Didn’t you tell me they were arguing against going somewhere – or meeting someone – in the fog?”

“That’s right. It was the man they called Charlie – the one who’d been a physician. Let me see … he said that there was a rotten sea running out by the light. That must mean the Fire Island Light! Then, listen to this. He was sure that by three o’clock the fog off the light would be thick enough to cut with a knife – and that they would probably miss her anyway! – Don’t you see? ‘Her’ means the liner they are to meet off the Fire Island Light about three o’clock this morning!”

“Good work, Miss Dixon – ” Bill nodded approvingly. “And that is where Donovan and Charlie headed for when they parked you with Peters,” he supplemented. “On a bet, they’re running their motor sailor out to the light right now.”

Dorothy glanced at the luminous dial of her wrist watch.

“It is just midnight. Think we have time to make it?”

“Gosh, that’s an idea! But, look here, Dorothy – ” Bill hesitated, then went on in a serious tone, “if we run out to the lightship and those two in the motor sailor spot us, there’s likely to be a fight.”

Dorothy moved impatiently. “What of it?”

“Oh, I know – but you’ll stand a mighty good chance of getting shot. This thing is a deadly business. They’re sure to be armed. Now, listen to me. I’ll row you ashore and meet you in Babylon after I’ve checked up on those guys.”

Dorothy stood up and squeezing past Bill, opened the cabin door.

“And my reply to you is —rats!” she flung back at him. “Of course I’m going with you. There’ll be no argument, please. Get busy and turn over that flywheel while I go forward and slip our mooring.”

Bill made no answer, but with a resigned shrug, followed her out to the cockpit. They had known each other only a few months, but their acquaintance had been quite long enough to demonstrate that when Miss Dixon spoke in that tone of voice, she meant exactly what she said. Bill knew that nothing short of physical force would turn the girl from her project, so making the best of things as he found them, he started the engine.

Bill was heading the boat across the bay when Dorothy came aft again. She went inside the cabin and presently emerged with a thermos of hot coffee, some sandwiches and hard-boiled eggs.

“We may both get shot or drowned,” she remarked philosophically, “but we needn’t starve in the meantime.”

“Happy thought!” Bill bit into a sandwich with relish, “One drowns much more comfortably after having dined.”

“Hm! It would be a cold wet business, though. Doubly wet tonight.” She looked at the black water pock-marked with raindrops and shook her head. “Hand me another sandwich, please. Then tell me how you came to be mixed up with this diamond smuggling gang, Bill.”

By this time they were well on their way across Great South Bay toward the inlet. From the bows came the steady gurgle and chug of short choppy seas as the stiff old tub bucked them. Holding a straight course, the two by the wheel were able to make out the grey-white gleam of sand on Sexton Island.

“Well, it was like this,” began Bill. “You remember the Winged Cartwheels.1 Well that was a Secret Service job for the government.”

“I know,” nodded Dorothy.

“Well, as I was saying – because of that and some other business, Uncle Sam knew that I could pilot a plane. Six weeks ago I was called to Washington and told that an international gang of criminals were flooding this country with diamonds, stolen in Europe. What the officials didn’t know was the method being used to smuggle them into this country. However, they said they had every reason to believe that the diamonds were dropped overboard from trans-Atlantic liners somewhere off the coast and picked up by the smugglers’ planes at sea. My job was to go abroad and on the return trip, to keep my eyes peeled night and day for airplanes when we neared America.”

“Did you go alone?”

“Yes, but I gathered that practically every liner coming over from Europe was being covered by a Secret Service operative. I made a trip over and back without spotting a thing. On the second trip back, something happened.”

“When was that?”

“Night before last. The liner I was aboard had just passed Fire Island lightship. I stood leaning over the rail on the port side and I saw half a dozen or more small boxes dropped out of a porthole. They seemed to be fastened together. Once in the water, they must have stretched out over a considerable distance. Of course, there are notices posted forbidding anyone to throw anything overboard: and there are watchmen on deck. But they can’t very well prevent a person from unscrewing a porthole and shoving something out!”

“Did you report it?”

“You bet. The skipper knew why I was making the trip. We located the stateroom and found that it belonged to three perfectly harmless Y.M.C.A. workers who were peaceably eating their dinner at the time. Somebody slipped into their room and did the trick.”

“Did you hear or see any plane?”

“I thought I heard a motor, but it didn’t sound like the engine of a plane. I couldn’t be sure.”

“The motor sailor, probably?”

“It looks like it, now. Well, to continue: I landed in New York and took the next train to Babylon. Then I got me a room in one of those summer cottages on the beach. I was out on the dunes for a prowl when the Mary Jane put in at that little cove. That in itself seemed suspicious, so I followed you to the house and saw Peters scrag you. Although, at the time I had no idea who you were. Then when they tied you up and went off with you in the motor sailor, I knew for certain that some dirty work was on. So I beat it back to the cove and came along in this old tub.”

Dorothy finished the last of the coffee.

“Did you see the amphibian tied up to the cottage dock?” she asked.

“Yes. It took off just before the motor sailor left.”

“Just how do you figure that it comes into the picture?”

“I think these people have a lookout stationed farther up the coast – on Nantucket Island, perhaps. When a ship carrying diamonds is sighted off the Island, the lookout wires to the aviator or his boss and the plane flies over to let the men in the cottage know when to expect her off the lightship. Then when they pick up the loot, he flies back with it to their headquarters next day. Of course, I don’t know how far wrong I am – ”

“But he’s been doing it every day for weeks, Bill – maybe longer. Surely they can’t be smuggling diamonds every day in the week?”

“He probably carries over their provisions and keeps an eye on them generally. I don’t know. What he is doing is only a guess, on my part, anyway.”

Dorothy smothered a yawn. “Do you suppose the red flag those men spoke of is a signal of some kind?”

“Guess so. But look here, you’re dead tired. I can run this tub by myself. Hop in the cabin and take a nap. I’ll call you when we near the lightship.”

“You must be sleepy, too.”

“I’m not. I had an idea I might be up most of the night, so slept until late this afternoon. And after those sandwiches and the coffee, I feel like a million dollars. Beat it now and get a rest.”

Dorothy yawned again and stretched the glistening wet arms of her slicker above her head.

“Promise to wake me in plenty of time?”

“Cross my heart – ”

“Good night, then.”

“Good night. Better turn in on the floor. We’re going to run into a sea pretty soon. Those lockers are narrow. Once we strike the Atlantic swell you’ll never be able to stay on one and sleep!”

“Thanks, partner, I’ll take your advice.” She turned and disappeared below.

Chapter IX

DEEP WATER

The ebb tide soon caught the Mary Jane in the suck of its swift current and the boat rushed seaward. Presently she struck the breakers and floundering through them like a wounded duck, commenced to rise and fall on the rhythmic ground swell.

Dorothy came out of the cabin rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“You didn’t take much of a rest,” said Bill from his place at the wheel.