The Treasure Hunt of the S-18 Read online

  Produced by Roger Frank and Sue Clark

  The Treasure Hunt of the _S-18_

  By

  Graham M. Dean

  THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING COMPANY

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  Copyright, 1934 The Goldsmith Publishing Company

  PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

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  CONTENTS

  1. The Man of Mystery 2. A Secret Service Case 3. The High Flyers 4. The Mad Pursuit 5. Death Rides the Air 6. Another Visitor 7. On the Trail of "Mr. Seven" 8. A Sudden Attack 9. In the Valley 10. "Mr. Seven's" Secret 11. Rescue from the Air 12. Against Time 13. Eastward Bound 14. The _S-18_ 15. An Unknown Intruder 16. The First Test 17. On the Bottom 18. The Missing Cook 19. The Warning Note 20. Isle of the Singing Trees 21. The Battle with the _Iron Mate_ 22. Trapped 23. Desperate Hours

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  The Treasure Hunt of the _S-18_

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Man of Mystery

  The high pitched drone of a wasp engine sounded over the municipalfield at Atkinson and Tim Murphy, famous flying reporter of theAtkinson _News_, poked a grease-smudged face out from behind thecowling of a trim biplane and squinted skyward. Against the brilliantsky of the late summer afternoon was the outline of one of the new highspeed transports of the Red Arrow Transcontinental Air Express Company.

  The _Day Express_, Chicago to the west coast, was swinging around,preparatory to landing on the smooth, crushed-rock runway. Tim watchedwith appreciative eyes. The new transports, capable of winging theirway from coast to coast at better than three miles a minute, alwaysfascinated him. He envied the trim, clear-eyed young chaps who sat atthe controls while they in turn would have been willing to exchangetheir daily routine for the adventurous news assignments which oftencame Tim's way.

  The twin motors, mounted in nacelles projecting from the sturdy wing,idled as the ship drifted downward to touch lightly on the runway androll smoothly toward the main hangar.

  "Star gazing again?" asked a quiet voice at Tim's elbow.

  The flying reporter turned quickly. Carl Hunter, manager of theairport, was beside him.

  "I always get a thrill watching those high speeds come in. There'ssomething in it that gets into my blood and makes it tingle."

  "They're the finest transport planes in the world," nodded Hunter.

  "I'd like to fly one of them," mused Tim.

  Hunter looked at Tim shrewdly. The flying reporter was slender but hismuscles were like tensed steel. His blue eyes were clear andunwavering. There was a pleasant twist to his lips but from experiencethe field manager knew that they could snap into an uncompromising lineof determination.

  "I'll get you a job on the Transcontinental any day you want one," hesaid. "Come over to my office and fill out the application blank."

  "That would mean leaving the _News_," said Tim. Then, as Hunter grinnedbroadly, he added, "I guess the smell of printer's ink is stronger thanthe call of the skyways. I'm a reporter first and a flyer second."

  "I wouldn't rank either of your abilities ahead of the other. You'refirst class at both."

  "Thanks, Carl. That reminds me. Have one of the boys finish up thisjob. Give all of the plugs a good cleaning. I'd almost forgotten I'vegot another column to write for my department in tomorrow's paper."

  "I'll make out a work ticket right away."

  Tim slipped out of his jumper and followed the field manager toward themain hangar. The usual crowd of curious people was lined up inside theropes to watch the passengers as they disembarked. Tim, always on thelookout, scanned them as they came down the steps from the plane.

  Two attractive girls were first. They looked as though they might bemovie actresses. He'd check the passenger list with the stewardess tomake sure. An actress was always worth a paragraph or two.

  The last man to leave the ship drew Tim's attention. There wassomething vaguely familiar in the carriage of the head and the set ofthe jaw.

  The stewardess came by and Tim hailed her. "Who's the tall, well-builtfellow in the gray suit?" he asked.

  The girl scanned the passenger list.

  "Sorry, I can't tell you. He isn't listed."

  "What do you mean by that? Is he traveling on a pass?"

  "Hardly. I collected his fare in Chicago and he's getting off here."

  "Then you must know his name."

  "He didn't give me his name and instructions from the general managerwere to do as he directed so I've listed him on my seat chart as 'Mr.Seven.' That's the chair he occupied on the trip out."

  Tim thanked the stewardess and hurried into Carl Hunter's office.

  "Who's the mysterious man who came in on the _Day Express_?"

  "He's just as mysterious to me as he is to you," replied the fieldchief. "Why don't you ask him what it's all about? I've had a radiofrom the general manager to extend him every courtesy and not to askquestions, but I guess that doesn't cover you."

  "Asking questions is one of the things I do best," grinned Tim as heleft the office.

  "Mr. Seven" was superintending the unloading of his luggage from theplane. Three large traveling bags were pulled out of the baggagecompartment and Tim whistled as he thought of the excess fees whichmust have been paid for the transport of the heavy bags by air.

  When "Mr. Seven" had made sure that his baggage was in proper order,Tim stepped up.

  "I'm Tim Murphy of the Atkinson _News_," he said. "Your face seemsvaguely familiar but I can't place your name. Since you are stoppinghere, I'd like very much to have a story."

  "Sorry, Murphy, but there's nothing I can tell you. I prefer not totalk to reporters."

  Tim was undaunted. "Do you plan on staying long in Atkinson?"

  "That's another question I decline to answer." The muscles around thestranger's jaw were tightening and Tim sensed stormy weather ahead.Normally he would have let the whole matter drop but there wassomething so definitely perplexing in the other man's attitude that hepersisted in his questioning.

  "You must have some special mission here," said Tim.

  "I told you before that I wouldn't talk. You can fire away withquestions all the rest of the afternoon and you'll get the sameresult--zero. Now if you'll be good enough to suggest your best hotel,I'll be on my way up town."

  Tim named the city's leading hotel. "I'll be glad to take you there inone of the _News_' cars," he added.

  "Thanks, but I'd have to parry too many of your questions."

  "It's a draw so far," smiled Tim, "but I'll bet I know your name beforeanother 24 hours, 'Mr. Seven.'"

  "Why call me 'Mr. Seven?'"

  "That's what the stewardess did. You were in chair seven coming outfrom Chicago."

  "It's as good a name as any other."

  "Except your real one," interjected Tim.

  "Mr. Seven" bundled his bags into a taxi and whirled away toward thecity while Tim stood on the ramp and gazed after the car.

&n
bsp; "That fellow's face is familiar," he muttered half aloud, "and I'mgoing to dig into our files at the office until I find his picture.Unless my hunch is way wrong, there must be a big story connected withhim."

  Tim's hunches were notoriously right and just how correct this one was,even Tim would never have dared dream.