In spite of the fact that our party had been fearing some such information as this upon reaching Panama, the actual announcement of it made their hearts jump wildly.

"Where is this machine now?" asked Mr. Giddings as calmly as he could.

"In the hangar," was the reply of Masters. "It is the one that is going to fly against you."

"Who is in charge of it?" inquired John Ross.

"Five arrived in it. Four of them are to be in the contest, they say.

The other gentleman is Mr. Wrenn, of the New York _Clarion_."

A few minutes later, when they pushed the Sky-Bird into one of the big double hangars, their suspicions were conclusively clinched. For there at one side stood the very counterpart of their own airplane, differing only in the name painted upon its sides and under its big hollow wings.

These letters spelled "_Clarion_"!

CHAPTER XIV

A FAMILIAR FACE

Our friends exchanged glances. The brow of every one of them contracted into so plain a frown that Mr. Masters, the superintendent of the airdrome, could not help noticing it.

"I hope nothing is wrong, gentlemen," he ventured half-interrogatively.

"So do we," responded Mr. Giddings, "but if there is, it is nothing concerning you, sir, at least. We thank you for your attention to our machine, and wish you to take the best care of it while it is here.

Don't let anybody meddle with it, will you?"

"We'll look after it right, you may depend upon that," said the flying official; and the party turned and left the building.

Outside, where they would be secure from the hearing of others, all came to a pause, for there was a lot on their minds.

"Well, boys," said the publisher, "you see our suspicions back there in Miami were certainly well-founded. It seems that in some manner those stolen blue-prints have fallen into the hands of our rivals, and they have been wise enough to profit by the fact."

"Do you think, dad, that Mr. Wrenn could have been back of this theft?"

propounded Bob who, although the publisher was a business rival of his father's, had always thought him above such operations.

"I really do not know what to think," was Mr. Giddings's answer. "I have always entertained the greatest respect for this gentleman's honesty, if he does differ with me politically. But I must admit that since this thing has happened--"

"Sh-h!" warned Bob suddenly. "Here comes Mr. Wrenn now!"

It was as he said. Turning his head in the direction of the entrance to the landing-field, Mr. Giddings instantly recognized, in the short figure in linen coming toward them, the person of the publisher of the _Clarion_.

"I shall have this matter out with him right now," was the grim declaration of the _Daily Independent's_ director.

"Well, well! how are you, Giddings? How are you, Robert?" cried Mr.

Wrenn, sticking out his pudgy hand when he came up to the little group.

Such was his gusto that he did not seem to notice the lukewarmness of the father's and son's greeting. Mr. Giddings introduced John, Paul, and Tom, and then the publisher of the _Clarion_ continued with good-humored raillery: "I'm mighty glad to see you fellows here, for I began to think you would get scared and flunk us at the last moment.

Was over on the hotel veranda when I saw a plane land here, and I guessed it might be you, and hurried right over. Put your machine up yet?"

"We did," said Mr. Giddings rather sourly. "And do you know, Wrenn, when we ran the Sky-Bird in the hangar we saw yours in there and received quite a disagreeable surprise--I may say shock."

Mr. Giddings and the boys watched the broad face of their rival very narrowly as this statement was put. Would he act guilty?

There was an explosion of laughter, the heartiest of laughter, from the _Clarion_ director. "Oh, say, that's one on you, Giddings! I knew you'd be down in the mouth when you saw our machine and realized that you would have to contend against one as good or better than your own--one of the same type!" And he laughed again, until he had to wipe tears from his little blue eyes.

This was incomprehensible conduct from a guilty conscience! What could it mean? Surely Mr. Wrenn, of the _Clarion_, was either the coldest and deepest-dyed rogue in the world or a man entirely innocent!

"How did you know that we had an airplane like yours?" asked John sharply.

The fat man broke into renewed chuckles at this question, and it was a moment or two before he could find words. Then he said:

"There's a little story connected with this, and now that we're right on the eve of the race and there's nothing to be gained by further secrecy, I'll tell it to you. You see, about a year and a half ago, possibly two years, a young man came to me for a job as sporting reporter; said he had been a flyer in France and that the Government wanted him as an Air Mail pilot, but he would rather take up the newspaper game. I put him to work, and he proved very good in gathering news of sports, especially aviation stuff. A week or so after you challenged me to this race--which I would have liked to back out of, but couldn't and save my honor--this chap showed me some blue-prints of a novel kind of airplane which he claimed to have co-devised with a flyer friend who, he said, was helping to make you a machine of the same type for this contest. He--"

"What is this young man's name?" inquired John Ross excitedly.

"Peter Deveaux."

"Peter Deveaux!" exclaimed John and Paul at once. And John added: "Mr.

Wrenn, that fellow did not refuse to fly in the Air Mail service; he _did_ fly, and was dishonorably discharged for drunkenness.

Furthermore, he stole those plans from our hangar!"

The publisher of the _Clarion_ opened his eyes wide. "Can you prove those a.s.sertions?" he inquired. "That last one is a serious charge, sir."

"Nevertheless we can prove it when we get back to New York," declared John warmly.

"Well," said Mr. Wrenn, "I'll finish my story, and then we can talk over this new development more understandingly. As I said, Deveaux claimed to have a half-right in the plans, and having no reason to doubt it, I told him to proceed, when he proposed to make an airplane for us from the designs and to head a crew for the _Clarion_ in this race around the world. Now you will understand my position in the matter."

"Wrenn," spoke up Mr. Giddings with quick frankness, "I beg your pardon. The young men here and myself fancied you must have had a guilty part in the production of this fac-simile of our airplane. We now see who is really to blame."

"I do not blame you for your suspicions," was the candid reply of the fat man, "if things are as you state; and I will do you the honor, Giddings, to say that, although we are business rivals, your word is as good as gold with me. This is a lamentable situation. What shall we do about it?"

Mr. Giddings studied deeply before making answer. Then he observed: "Wrenn, this contest, as you know, has been too widely advertised to wreck it just as it is about to begin by the arrest of this man, Peter Deveaux. Say nothing to him about it; in fact, we will none of us mention a word of this to anybody; but when the race is over you can quietly dismiss him from your service, if you wish. As I now look at it, no great harm has been done, if any, by his duplicity; with two planes practically alike, the race will really be a fairer one, and a more exciting one for the public who read our newspapers, and supremacy will probably go to the better crew."

"I don't know about my crew, as Deveaux picked them up; but they did good work when they brought me down here the other day in the plane,"

said Mr. Wrenn. "Giddings, I think your plan is all right, and we'll let the race go on as if nothing had happened; but you bet your last dollar I'll fire Pete when it's all over, if he has done what you say!"

With that the publisher of the _Clarion_ accompanied our friends back to the hangar, where he had a good look at the Sky-Bird II, and showed his own airplane, which was in all essentials an exact copy of the other. Following this they left the airdrome and went to their hotels.

All had a good night's rest--probably the last one they would have on earth for more than a week,--and after a hearty breakfast they proceeded to get what supplies they would need to last them until they should reach Georgetown, British Guiana, on the north coast of South America. This would be their first stop. Somehow the townspeople quickly guessed their ident.i.ty, and they were followed from store to store as they shopped by a curious and motley throng of dark-skinned natives, among whom were noticed quite a few white children, presumably belonging to American employees of the Government.

With such eatables as they had bought stored in a basket, and carrying a few other packages, the boys went out to the airdrome. A guard stood at the door to keep out those having no business in the hangar, and as the young flyers pa.s.sed in they noticed that Mr. Wrenn and a group of four fellows in flying-suits were going over the rival airplane.

"Here, boys, come over here a minute!" called the fat man. As they approached, the aviators with him turned from their work. One, a slender fellow with swarthy skin and a scrubby black mustache, scowled when he looked at John Ross, and as Bob Giddings and Tom Meeks got their eyes on him, they gave an involuntary start, for they recognized in the man the fellow they had seen hanging around the fair-grounds in Yonkers when their machine was in process of construction.

"It's time you fellows got acquainted with each other," said Mr. Wrenn, and he forthwith proceeded to introduce his crew as Pete Deveaux, Chuck Crossman, Oliver Torrey, and Sam Lane.

"How are you, Ross?" greeted Pete Deveaux. He uttered a sour sort of laugh, as his companions offered their hands around the group. "I won't do any shaking," said he, "as my hands are kind of greasy."

"Don't worry, Deveaux," advised John quickly. "We won't feel bad over a little thing like that."