Hour after hour, into a North wind that cut down their forward mileage somewhat, Larry held the airplane.

He flew low, in order to hold the coastline of the ocean, because he did not dare try to navigate, inexperienced as he was, with no practice at “blind flying” above the clouds.

Thunderstorms menaced, but always they were to the inland side, and Larry did not have to pass through them, or climb above them and lose his way.

Boston, easily recognized for its expanse and illumination, as well as by the name-markers on certain roofs, painted there by air-minded owners, finally came into view.

They circled until Larry located the large airport there.

Noting its white boundary lights, its red warnings, its windsock to give him the direction of the air currents, he circled the field several times, to be sure he would not foul any other ship, and to see if any signal would be sent him.
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Presently, after a commercial freight carrier had taken off, he got two red lights, a signal to land, and as the field was wonderfully well lighted, and he had learned to judge distance from the ground well, Larry was repaid for his self-control and confidence and care by making a perfect three-point landing.

Mr. Whiteside’s explanations seemed to clear away need for formality.

While they were gassing up the airplane, he went to the administration building and chatted with the field manager.

“The others are still ahead of us,” he reported to Larry and Dick as they munched a hurried meal and drank hot coffee, also securing additional flying togs to supplement what they had.

“I wonder how much we’ve caught up on them,” Larry said.

“Well, the amphibian stayed only a few minutes, and it wasn’t gone five minutes before the other one came in——”

“A two-place biplane?” asked Larry.

Mr. Whiteside nodded.

It remained only to get information, he stated, and then went up.
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“Oh, dear,” he finished. “I gave Tommy orders to ride down Jeff if he had to, in order to stop him, and to get him arrested. I wish I could stop him!”

“Who was in the first ’plane?” Dick asked.

“Sandy was there—they saw a boy, and Jeff got him some gloves; and they seemed surprisingly friendly.”

“That means that Jeff is innocent and has made friends with Sandy; but where is the woman?”

Answering Dick, Mr. Whiteside explained.

“She was in the second airplane.”

“With Tommy!” exclaimed Larry. “Then he’s the one we want to catch, as well as to save Jeff and Sandy from being driven down.”

They wasted no time.

Friendly pilots, considering Larry such a boy aviator as Bobby Buck had proved to be, gave him some instructions that were most valuable, concerning night flying. The wind would be dead ahead, for most of his trip toward Maine, and he could check his direction by that until he had to veer to the West of North, when the wind, quartering, would drift him off the course—but they gave him rough corrections, and advised him to get above the clouds that were bearing down on Boston—local thunder storms.
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Once more the low-wing craft took the air, climbed to a good height, Larry used his instructions, got the nose into the wind and drove ahead.

Slowly, as the distance behind them increased, their distance behind the other two ships grew less. Minute by minute they cut their handicap. Dick strained his eyes ahead, and to either side, watchful, eager.

He said almost nothing into the Gossport tube he had at his lips.

Larry knew his business: Dick wore the instructor’s part of the outfit only because it was the only helmet they could get at the start.

Under them black clouds, torn by vivid streaks of ............