Gypsy Flight by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER XVIII THE RED DEVIL
Has the little airplane stewardess been quite forgotten? Such vividpersonalities as hers are never long forgotten. These were busy days forher. A trip to Boston and return; a day of rest; a sudden call for aspecial trip to the Arizona desert--she was ever on the wing.
With all this she had not forgotten her promise to Danby Force. Picturesof the dark lady with a torn ear were made and quietly distributed amongher fellow-workers. She was surprised at the results. Ladies resemblingthis suspected one began, it seemed to her, to travel by air in wholeplatoons. She heard from one in Dallas, another in Boston. One was seenboarding a plane in Seattle and another in Portland, Maine. One and allwere investigated and found lacking in one particular or another. So, atthe end of a week the missing lady was still missing.
One day the chief stewardess said to her, "I have a very interestingrequest for your services. You'll want to go, I'm sure. A group of verylearned people are to visit a little city down east called Happy Vale.Ever hear of it?"
"Happy Vale." Rosemary said the words slowly. Then with a sudden startshe exclaimed, "That's the home of Danby Force. That's where theindustrial spies are supposed to be at work. I wonder--"
She broke off to stare out of the window.
"Of course," she said in a changed tone. "Surely, I'll be glad to go."
"Danby Force," she thought as she left the room. "He must have requestedthat I come with the party. I wonder if it has anything to do with thedark lady. Wonder if he's found her, wants me to identify her, or--orsomething.
"Anyway," she concluded, "he's a fine young man. It will be a realadventure to visit his city."
Then, as if Fate had whispered some word of warning in her ear, she madeher way slowly toward a certain hangar.
Arrived at the hangar she sought out a certain airplane, then called:
"Jerry! Oh Jerry! Come here!"
"At your service!" said Jerry, a bright young mechanic, grinning broadlyas he extended a greasy hand.
"Thanks, Jerry." The girl gripped his hand.
"Jerry," she said, "have you time to look over this motor a bit?"
"Sure, Miss Sample. But what--why that plane belongs to Willie VanGeldt,the rich young bum. Why--"
"Jerry," Rosemary smiled, "curiosity once killed a cat. Will you look itover while I go in and make my report?"
"Sure, Miss Sample."
Fifteen minutes later when Rosemary reappeared, Jerry made a wry face.
"Terrible, Miss Sample, just terrible! Carbon in the cylinders, oil inthe spark plugs, everything wrong! Wonder it runs at all.
"It's a shame!" he went on. "It really is! Here we are keepingeverything perfect. Motors dragged out and overhauled every threehundred hours, everything just perfect. And these amateurs!"
"I know, Jerry," Rosemary broke in. "But tell me, have you a couple ofmechanics who'd like to earn some overtime by overhauling this motor?"
"That motor? Willie VanGeldt's? You pay for it? Honest, Miss Sample,he's not worth it! He ain't worth much of anything. That's my guess."
"Everyone is worth something," Rosemary replied soberly. "I don't wantto see him get himself killed. It will be bad for aviation in general.And besides, Jerry, I've a feeling about that airplane--one I can'texplain. So you just get that motor fixed up, and I'll pay the men, paythem tomorrow."
"All right, Miss Sample. But--"
Rosemary had vanished.
So Rosemary Sample, still dreaming of her approaching visit to HappyVale, crossed the airport grounds, and entered the low depot to order asandwich and cup of coffee, and to sit staring absently at the walluntil the coffee was cold.
At the same time, in a far away city coming events were casting theirshadows before them, and in that very city the little French girl PetiteJeanne was preparing for a visit to a great concert hall. This visit wasto have the most astounding results. So, like some famous stage manager,Fate was getting ready to assemble the cast for the final scenes in ourlittle drama.
Even while Rosemary Sample sat staring at the ceiling, Florence wassaying to Danby Force: "I think the Harvest Dance would be a fine thing.Not that we harvest anything but bright prints," she laughed. "But thesegolden days surely call for glorious good times. Only--" she hesitated.
"Only what?" He urged her on.
"I wish we could lay out a plan and stick to it, in--in spite--"
"In spite of our good man Hugo," he laughed. "Well, this time we'll dojust that. We'll arrange an attractive printed program. On the cardevery other offering will be an old-fashioned dance. The last shall be awaltz in your artificial moonlight. And I--" he laughed low. "I speakfor that last dance right now."
"Oh!" Florence flushed in spite of herself. "And I--I accept.
"Do you know," she said a moment later, "I've thought of something thatmight be done. The floor, you know, is very large. Why not send out inthe country and get a dozen corn shocks and set them up about the room?"
"A dance among the corn shocks!" Danby Force exclaimed. "A great idea!We'll do it. We'll have the place lighted with imitationjack-o-lanterns. That will be a grand ball indeed."
And it was, even for Florence, up to a certain point. Then somethinghappened, as things have a way of doing, that for a time at leastspoiled her fun.
The mixed program of modern and old-fashioned dances served to hold thehilarity to a moderate level. More than once a man in a red devilcostume, whom Florence recognized as Hugo, attempted to bribe themusicians into changing the program, but it was no go. They had theirorders. They would follow them.
It was this same red devil who caused all of Florence's trouble, whichin the end turned into quite a joy. She was standing on the side linebetween dances when the red devil peeked round a corn shock, then as heapproached her whispered, "I am told that this beautiful child who livesat your house is here. Do me the favor to tell me how she is dressed."
"I--I really don't know." Florence was both surprised and frightened.She had not known that Verna was to be there. Indeed she was under theimpression that her parents had forbidden her coming.
"Oh yes you know!" the red devil hissed in her ear. "You know wellenough, but you won't tell. It's all right. I'll find out. I take what Iwant!" There was a serpent-like hiss in his voice. Then he was gone.
Florence stared at the corn shock behind which he had vanished. Her mindwas in a whirl. Was Verna truly here? If she was, she must find and warnher. The words of Rosa, tragic words, came to her: "He is a bad, badman!" His own words still rang in her ears: "I take what I want."
"Does he?" she asked herself fiercely. "Perhaps he does." Strangelyenough, she saw in her mind's eye at that moment the picture of Verna.
Florence had developed an unusual gift. She had discovered long ago thatshe could recognize friends, even at some distance, by their habitualmovements. If they were walking, rowing or playing a game, it was allthe same. She had developed this gift until now she could recognizepeople instantly under any circumstances. "I must find Verna," shewhispered, gripping at her heart to still its wild panic.
A dance began. Her partner came to claim her. It chanced to be a waltz.As she floated about among the corn shocks, she was looking, looking,looking.
And then she saw her. "A fairy!" she whispered to herself. "Verna isdressed as a fairy, all in white, with wings. How exquisite!"
She wanted to break away and warn her at once. This might make a scene.She would wait until the dance was over. She lost sight of her entirely.
Never before had a waltz seemed so long. She glided in and out among thecorn shocks, in and out, in and out, until it seemed to her that dawnmust come and a new day begin.
When at last the music stopped she fairly tore herself from her partnerand was away on her quest. But where was that white fairy? Ten minutesof frantic search convinced her that she was too late. Verna was notthere. Neither was the red devil.
Sick at heart, she crept away to the
Fifteen minutes later the red devil and the exquisite fairy might havebeen seen walking along a narrow bridle path, lined on either side bytall bushes. The red devil, if observed by some old, wise person, wouldhave been said to be in the act of practicing his art. He was doing, atthat moment, nothing that might be called reprehensible. He was in theact of beguiling the exquisite fairy. That was all.
Surely no more perfect setting could have been found for a love tryst.The moon, full and golden, hung over great masses of dark foliage. Theair was filled with faint noises, the chirp of a cricket, the rasping ofa katydid, the call of some bird in his sleep, the distant bay of ahound. The air touched the fairy's cheek like a faint caress.
"You are beautiful," the red devil murmured low.
"Oh!" the fairy breathed.
"More lovely than a flower, more delicate than a rose, more gracefulthan--"
The red devil broke off suddenly to listen. "Thought I heard a sound."His voice took on a sudden gruffness.
A moment later he was his own sweet devil of a self again, murmuring:"If I had all the flowers of this beautiful world I would not look atthem, but at you. If I might touch the stars I would touch your handinstead. Your lips--"
They had by this time all but reached the end of the lane. One momentmore, and they would have been in the open woods, when something quiteterrible occurred.
A figure that loomed large in the half darkness leaped at the red devil.Startled, the red devil swung out with both fists. He missed. Somethingvery like a sledge-hammer struck him on the side of the jaw. With onewild scream, the exquisite fairy was away. But not the red devil.