Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morganand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team athttps://www.pgdp.net
_A Mystery Story for Girls_
GYPSY FLIGHT
_By_ ROY J. SNELL
The Reilly & Lee Co. Chicago
COPYRIGHT 1935 BY THE REILLY & LEE CO. PRINTED IN THE U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE I The Dark Lady 11 II The Vanishing Bag 34 III The "Flying Corntassel" 48 IV With the Aid of Providence 58 V Danby's Secret 64 VI The Gypsy Witch Cards 75 VII A Strange Battle 83 VIII Trailing an Old Pal 94 IX Little Sweden 103 X One Wild Night 111 XI Goodbye Fair 118 XII Flying Through the Night 126 XIII Suspects 135 XIV Gypsy Trail 142 XV Lady Cop of the Sky 150 XVI A Suspicious Character 161 XVII A Surprise Visit 170 XVIII The Red Devil 178 XIX The Fire-Bird 189 XX Someone Vanishes 195 XXI An Astonishing Discovery 202 XXII The Silver Ship 211 XXIII The Gypsy's Warning 217 XXIV 48-48 228 XXV Lost in the Air of Night 238
GYPSY FLIGHT
CHAPTER I THE DARK LADY
Rosemary Sample adjusted her jaunty cap carefully, smoothed out herwell-tailored suit, then lowering her head, stepped from hertrans-continental airplane.
Oh yes, that was Rosemary's plane. Rosemary was still young, and shelooked even younger than her years. A slender slip of a girl wasRosemary, rather pretty, too, with a touch of natural color and a dimplein each cheek, white even teeth, smiling eyes of deepest blue.
Strange sort of person to have a huge bi-motored plane with two 555horse-power motors and a cruising speed of one hundred and seventy milesper hour. It cost seventy thousand dollars did that airplane. Yet thisslip of a girl was its captain, its conductor, its everything but pilot,as long as it hung in air. Rosemary was its stewardess--and that meant avery great deal.
Rosemary stepped across the cement runway with a buoyant tread. "Life,"she thought with a happy tilt of her head, "is just wonderful! It isperfection itself."
Rosemary loved perfection. And where may one find perfection of highdegree if not in a great metropolitan airport? Those giant silver birdsof the air, their motors drumming in perfect unison, wheeling intoposition for flight--how perfect! The touch of genius, the brain andbrawn of the world's greatest has gone into their making. And as to thecare of them, Rosemary knew that the most valuable horse in the worldnever received more perfect treatment.
The depot, too, was perfect. Its hard white floor was spotless. Theticket sellers, the loitering aviators, even the black-faced redcapssomehow appeared to fit into a perfect picture.
"The travelers and their luggage," she whispered, "they too fit in. Noshabby ones. No drab ones. Per--"
She did not finish for of a sudden, as if caught and banged against apost, her picture was wrecked, for a young man apparently unsuited tothe place had dashed through the depot's outer door and, grasping her bythe arm, said in a low hoarse whisper:
"I must speak to you personally, privately."
For a space of ten seconds there was grave danger that Rosemary woulddeviate from the path of duty, that she would smash Rule No. 1 for allairplane hostesses into bits. "Courtesy to all," that was the rule. Andin the end the rule won.
Getting a steady grip on herself, the girl glanced about, noted that thesmall room to the right was at that moment vacant, motioned herstrangely distraught visitor--who, if appearances could be trusted, musthave slept the night before in an alley and fought six policemensingle-handed in the morning--inside, after which she closed the door.
"Than--oh thank you!" the young man gasped.
Then for a period of seconds he seemed quite at a loss as to what hemight say next.
This gave the girl an opportunity for a swift character analysis. Shewas accustomed to this. She had flown for two years. Four hundredthousand miles of flying were down to her credit. Passengers, usuallyten of them, flew with her. It was her duty to keep them comfortable andhappy. To do this she must know them, though she had seen them but foran hour.
"He's not as bad as I thought," was her mental comment. "He's not beendrinking. He needs sleep. There's a lot of trouble somewhere. But it'snot _his_ trouble--at least not much of it. He needs help. He--"
As if reading this last thought, the youth gripped her arm to exclaim:
"You must help me!"
"All right." Rosemary displayed all her teeth in a dazzling smile."That's my job. How shall I help you?"
"You're flying west to Salt Lake City. Plane leaves in half an hour. Imust have a place in that plane."
"I'm sorry." Rosemary truly was. She had seen most of the otherpassengers. They promised to be rather dull. But this young man--"I'msorry," she repeated. "The trip was sold out forty-eight hours ago."
"I know--" The young man's tone was impatient. "But--but it must bearranged. Here!" He crowded a small roll of bills into her hand. "Youcan fix it. I can't. You know who they are. There must be no fuss. Noone must know. You find one. You know folks; you can pick the right one.Surely there's one of them that will wait until the night plane. That'snot sold out yet.
"Be-believe me!" His eyes were appealing as he saw her waver. "It's notfor myself. If it were, I'd never ask it. It--it's for a thousandothers."
"No," Rosemary was saying under her breath, "it's not for himself. Andso--"
"All right," she said quietly, "I'll try."
She went away swiftly, so swiftly he could not catch at her arm to thankher.
On entering the main waiting room of the airport, the young stewardesslooked quickly about her. Twenty or more people were in the room. Whichwere passengers, which mere sightseers? She knew some of the men whowere to be with her on this trip. They were old-timers, mostly travelingmen. She would not dare suggest to one of these that he sell hisreservation.
Her gaze at last became fixed upon a youth. "Must be about twenty," shetold herself. "He's going. First trip. Nervous, and trying not to showit. He'll welcome a delay, like as not. Have to try." She took in hisready-to-wear suit, his $5.99 variety of shoes, wondered vaguely why hewas going by air at all, then plunged.
"You mean to tell me," he was saying slowly three minutes later, "thatsome man will give me fifty dollars just to wait six hours for the nextplane? Say! I'd wait a week. Where's the money?"
"Here! Here it is." Rosemary felt a great wave of relief sweep over her.She wanted to ask
this youth a dozen questions, but there was not time.
"What's the name of the man that's taking your reservation?" the ticketseller asked of the ready-to-wear youth.
"Why I--"
"I'll have that for you right away, Charlie," Rosemary broke in.
"O.K." Charlie turned to other matters.
Ten minutes later Rosemary received the second shock of the day and fromthe same source. Someone touched her on the arm. She wheeled about tofind herself looking at a young man in spotless linen, faultless graysuit and traveling cap. In his hand he carried a dark brown walrus-hidebag.
"I--I--why you--" she stammered.
"Quick change artist." He smiled broadly. "Got hold of my bag, you see."
It was the young man who only a brief time before did not fit into herpicture of perfection.
"Di-did you get it?" he asked. There was a slight twitch about hismouth.
She nodded. "Step over here."
"You're a marvel!" he murmured. "I can't tell you--"
"Don't," she warned.
"You'll have to give your name and address here," she said in a brusquetone. Then, "Here Charlie. This is the man."
"Name and address, please," said Charlie.
"Danby Force, Happy Vale, Connecticut," said the young man promptly.
"Goodbye," said Rosemary, "I'll be seeing you." And indeed sheshould--many times. The power behind all things, that directs the starsin their courses, that keeps all the little streams moving downhill andnotes the sparrow's fall, had willed that their paths should cross manytimes and in many curious places.
"There is time," Rosemary told herself, "for a stroll in the open airbefore we take to the air." Then, of a sudden, she recalled a curioussort of plane that had landed but a short time before. "Wonder if it'sstill here." She hurried out to the landing field.
"Yes, there it is! I must have a look."
Speeding over the broad cement way, she crossed to a spot where a smallplane rested. Truly it was a strange plane. It had been painted torepresent a gigantic dragon fly. Its planes seemed thin and gauze-like.This, she knew, was pure illusion.
"But how beautiful!" she exclaimed.
"Yes, it is beautiful." To her surprise, she was answered by ablonde-haired girl who had just stepped round the plane.
"Is--is it yours?" she asked in surprise.
"But yes." The strange girl spoke with a decided French accent. "I amthe one they call Petite Jeanne. You have heard of me. No? Ah well, itdoes not matter." She laughed a silvery laugh. She was, Rosemary noted,a slender girl with beautifully regular features and dancing eyes."Dancing feet too," she whispered to herself. "They are never still."
Unconsciously she had been following the girl round the plane. There, onthe other side, she met with a surprise. Seated on bright coloredbundles, close to a small fire over which a small teakettle steamed, wasa large, stolid-looking gypsy woman and a small gypsy girl.
"So the gypsies are taking to the air!" she exclaimed. "And you--" sheturned to the blonde girl, "are you a gypsy too?"
"As you like." A cloud appeared to pass over the girl's face. It wasfollowed by a smile. "Anyway," she said, "I am flying now. And you,since you are flying always, you may see me again in some strange newplace.
"Indeed," she added after a brief silence, "Madame Bihari here, who ismy foster mother, was telling my fortune with cards."
"Your fortune?"
"But yes." The girl laughed merrily. "What would a gypsy be if she didnot tell fortunes?
"And in my fortune," she went on, "I was to meet a stewardess of theair. This meeting was to lead me into strange and mysterious adventures.And now here you are. Is it not strange? It is very wonderful, truly itis, this telling fortunes with gypsy cards. You must try it."
"I will," replied Rosemary. "But now it is almost time for my plane.I'll hope to be seeing you. I--"
"One moment please!" Bending over, the blonde girl picked up three smallsticks. "Wherever I land," she went on, "I shall put two sticks so, andone stick so, close to the door of the airport depot. If you see it youwill know that I have been there and may be there still."
"I get you," Rosemary laughed, "but what do you call that?"
"It is our gypsy _patteran_," the girl explained soberly. "It is acustom older than any of your country's laws."
"Good! I'll be seeing you!" Rosemary hurried away. She was not soon toforget this blonde-haired Petite Jeanne, whom so many of you alreadyknow well. Nor was she to forget that even the gypsies had taken to theair.
After casting a practiced eye over the interior of her ship, adjusting achair and looking to her supply of newspapers and magazines, Rosemarystepped down from the plane into the sunlight of a glorious day.
A porter was wheeling the baggage cart into position, the chain wasbeing dropped. In an even tone through a microphone the announcer wassaying, "Plane No. 56 leaving for Omaha, Cheyenne, Salt Lake City andpoints west, now loading."
"We'll be in the air soon," Rosemary whispered to herself. The faintestpossible thrill ran up her spine. For this very-much-alive girl, evenafter two years of flying, could never quite still the joy and thrill offlight.
Then the sound of an excited voice reached her ears.
"I must take the bag with me in the cabin," a woman's voice was saying.
"But that is contrary to the rules," the attendant at the gate repliedpolitely. "The cabin is small. A brief case is quite all right. Butbags, no. If everyone took a bag inside, there'd be no getting about. Wewill give you a check for your bag. It will be locked in the baggagecompartment. Nothing can happen to it. In case of loss, the Company'smillions insure you."
"But I want--" The tall, dark-complexioned owner of the bag cast asweeping glance over her fellow travelers who stood awaiting their turnat the gate. She appeared to suspect them, one and all, of havingdesigns on her bag.
The much-traveled commercial passengers smiled indulgently, two ladiesgave the dark-complexioned one a half sympathetic glance. But the youngman who had, through Rosemary's good offices, so recently acquired aplace on the plane favored her with not so much as a look. He appearedto have become greatly interested in a small yellow plane that was justthen taking off.
"He just _seems_ to be interested in that plane." The thought leaptunbidden into the young stewardess' mind. "He's more interested in thatwoman than he'd like anyone to know. I wonder why?"
"Oh well, if you insist!" The dark-complexioned lady dropped her bag,grabbed impatiently at the check offered for it, then hurrying pastRosemary without affording her so much as a look, climbed aboard theplane to sink into the seat farthest to the rear.
"As if she proposed to watch the others all the way to Salt Lake City,"was Rosemary's mental comment, although she knew the thought to beunwarranted and absurd.
Ten minutes later, with all on board, they were sailing out over thecity. Rosemary settled down to the business of the hour. She loved herwork, did this slender girl. Hers was an unusual task. She performed itunusually well. She was in charge of the "ship" while it was in the air.She was hostess to the ten passengers entrusted to her care. At once heralert mind took up the problems of this particular journey. She smiledas two of the four traveling men launched forth on a discussion of thecountry's economic problems. "That settles them," she told herself. Thethird traveling man buried himself in the latest newspaper, and thefourth dragged out papers from his brief case to pour over figures. Tworather flashily dressed young men, who had not slept the night before,asked for pillows. They were soon checked off to the land of dreams. Twomiddle-aged women began discussing the feeding and training of children.
All this left to Rosemary's care only the dark-complexioned woman in arear seat and the young man of great haste. "A very quiet trip," shetold herself. In this, as all too often, she was mistaken.
"What can I do for you?" She flashed a smile at the dark-complexionedwoman. She received no smile in reply.
"Nothing."
"Magazine? A pillow?"
"No. Nothing." The woman's black and piercing eyes were fixed upon herfor a full ten seconds. Then they shifted to the world beneath theswiftly gliding plane.
Rosemary was neither dismayed nor disheartened. There were many suchpeople. All they wanted was to be left alone with their thoughts.Perhaps flashing through the air thousands of feet from the groundbrought serious and solemn thoughts to some types of mind. She ratherguessed it did.
But how about the young man of great haste? He intrigued her. Perhaps hewas the kind who liked to talk. If he were, then perhaps he would tellsecrets. Men often told her secrets. She always guarded them well. "Hemay tell me why he was in such great haste," she thought to herself.
Some people like to talk, some to listen. It is the duty of an airplanestewardess to talk or to listen as occasion demands. Rosemary wasprepared in this case, as in all others, to do her duty.
"Strange sort of profession, yours," the young man said, smiling.
"It's wonderful work!" Rosemary knew on the instant that she would domost of the talking.
For half an hour he asked questions and she answered them. Hisquestions, never very personal, were about the life an airplanestewardess leads. She answered them honestly and frankly. "He honestlywants to know," she told herself. "He is the type of person who absorbsknowledge as a sponge does water. Delightful sort. I'd like to know himbetter."
"But look!" he exclaimed suddenly. "The propeller on this side is gone!"
"Oh, no!" She laughed low. "It's not gone. Just going around so fast youcan't see it."
"But I saw it revolving when we started."
"We were going slowly then."
"So it is really still there, producing tremendous power, helping pullus along--tons of people, mail and steel--at a hundred and seventy milesan hour! And yet we cannot see it. Marvelous! Unseen power!
"Do you know," he said, "that's like God's influence on our lives. Youcan't see it, you can't feel it as we feel things with our hands; yet itis there, a tremendous force in our lives."
"Yes," she agreed soberly, "it must be like that."
At that moment she found herself liking this strange young man verymuch. It was, she believed, because of his deeply serious thoughts.
Having discovered that the two traveling salesmen had settled all thenation's problems and were looking for reading material, she excusedherself, gripped the seat ahead to steady her, then moved swiftlyforward.
With all her passengers happy once more, she dropped into the one vacantseat to indulge in a few moments of quiet meditation. Into thismeditation there crept, as she closed her eyes, a slim girlish figure.Blonde-haired and smiling, she stood beside a plane that resembled adragon fly.
"The flying gypsy," she whispered. "But is she a gypsy?" To thisquestion she found no answer.
That this slender girl was an interesting person she did not doubt. Shefound herself hoping that the gypsy woman's fortune telling might provea success--that they might meet many times.
"Mystery and adventure, those were the words she used." Mystery andadventure. Well, this day had not been without its mystery. There wasthe strange man, Danby Force, and his urgent need for going somewhere.Then too there was the dark woman with the bag which she had all butrefused to trust away from her, even in the locked compartment of atrans-continental plane. What could she have in that bag? The girlthought of one instance when it had been believed that high explosivescarried in a bag on an air-liner had brought disaster to a score ofpersons. "But of course it would not be that," she told herself.
Rising from her place, she moved back to where the dark-faced one rode.She seemed fast asleep. But was this only a pose? She could not tell.Someone forward beckoned to her. Routine duties were resumed.
The hours passed quietly. At five o'clock they were over the Rockies.Marvelous moment! The golden sun was sinking over the distant prairies.The mountains, half white with snow, half green with forests, laybeneath them. They were beyond the timber line.
Suddenly the co-pilot's light blinked at the back of the cabin.
"Signaling for me. I wonder why." She moved swiftly forward.
"A storm roaring up the mountains from the west." Mark Morris, the youngco-pilot, spoke in short jerky sentences. "Going down here. Landingfield of a sort. Laid out on the plateau. Hunting lodge below. No realdanger. Get straps hooked up. Usual stuff."
Rosemary understood. She passed swiftly along the aisle. A word, awhisper, a smile, that quiet, care-free air of hers did the work.
"Forced landing. What of that?" This was what the passengers read in herface.
What indeed? They swooped downward, bumped with something of a shock,bumped more lightly, glided forward, then came to a standstill.
The tall dark woman sprang to her feet, threw open the door, then swungherself down. She was wearing low shoes and sheer silk stockings. Shelanded squarely in eighteen inches of snow.
"Wait!" Rosemary cried in dismay. "Give her a hand up, some of you men.I'll fix you all up right away."
There were, of course, neither high boots nor leggings in the airplanecabin, but Rosemary was equal to the occasion. Tearing up a blanket, shewas soon busy fashioning moccasins for the ladies.
"Tie these cords about the bottoms of your trousers," she said to themen. "Yes, we'll go down to the hunting lodge. Be three or four hoursanyway."
"Where's the trail?" She spoke now to the young co-pilot.
"See that big rock?"
"Yes."
"Blazed trail starts there. Easy to follow. About half a mile. Fineplace. Been there three times. Big fireplace. Bacon and other things toeat. You'll enjoy your stay," he chuckled.
"All airways are beaten trails to our pilots," Rosemary murmured.
A cold wind came sweeping up the mountain. Sharp bits of snow cut attheir cheeks. They were impatient to make a start when, as before, thedark-faced lady held them up.
"My bag!" she exclaimed. "I must have it!"
"Safe enough here," said Mark. "All locked up. We're staying, the pilotand I."
"But I insist!" She stamped the ground impatiently.
Five minutes of chilling delay, and she had it. Nor would she relinquishits care to the most courteous traveling man. She plunged through thesnow with it banging at her side.
"Queer about that bag," Rosemary murmured to Danby Force, who marched ather side.
To her surprise he shot her a strange--perhaps, she thought, a startledlook.
"As if I had discovered some secret," she thought to herself. "Well, Ihaven't--not yet."
After floundering through the snow for some distance, they came at lastto a spot where a trail wound down the mountainside. Ten minutes offollowing this trail brought them to a long, low, broad-roofed buildingthat, in the gathering darkness, seemed gloomy and forbidding.
"Fine place for a murder," Danby Force whispered to Rosemary.
"Don't say that!" She shuddered.
Stamping their feet on the broad veranda, they pushed the door open andentered. Danby Force struck a match. Directly before him, at theopposite side of the room, was a fire all laid in a broad fireplace. Theyoung man's second match set a mellow glow of light from the dancingflames searching out every dark corner. For the time at least, the placelost its forbidding aspect. Indeed it might well have been the banquethall of some ancient British hunting lodge, of long ago.
Nor was the banquet lacking. Rosemary Sample was from Kansas. And inKansas mothers teach their daughters to cook. Fragrant coffee, crispbacon, candied sweet potatoes, plum pudding from a can, steamed to adelicious fineness--this was the repast she prepared for the guests ofher trans-continental airplane.
All thoughts of the dark-faced lady's mysterious bag, of Danby Force'surgent need, and of the gypsies' fortune telling were forgotten in themerriment that followed. One of the college youths, who had slept allthe day, discovered an ancient accordion and at once began playingdelirious music. The rough floor was cleared and all joined in a wilddance--all but the dark-faced one
who sat gloomily in a corner.
From time to time as the music died away, Rosemary listened for thesounds that came down the chimney. There was a whistle and a moan, thesighing of evergreen trees and then a rushing roar as if a giant wereblowing across a mammoth bottle.
"Be here all night," she said to Danby Force at last.
"Guess so. Fine place for a murder." He smiled at her in a curious wayas he repeated that weird remark of a few hours before.
"Strange place for a--" Rosemary could not make her lips form thatremaining word as, two hours later, staring into the dark, she whisperedthat line. She was in the bunk room at the back of the lodge. The womenof the company were all sleeping there. The men had cots before the firein the main room.
The dark lady had dragged her traveling bag into the farthest corner andhad crept beneath her blankets after very little undressing. A verystrange person, this dark lady. Rosemary did not exactly like her, butfound in her a certain fascination. Even now, as she turned her facetoward that corner, she fancied that she could see her eyes shining likea cat's eyes in the dark. Pure fancy, she knew, but disturbing for allthat.
Just when she fell asleep she never quite knew. She was always definiteabout the time of waking--it was just at the break of dawn. She wasstartled out of deep sleep by a sudden piercing scream. Instantly DanbyForce's words came to her. "Fine place for a murder." But there had beenno murder.