Mr. Burthon was like many other men accustomed to modern business methods: he believed there was always an indirect way to accomplish whatever he desired. Also, like many others who have little or no use for such a contrivance, he owned a motor car. His chauffeur was a little, wizen featured man named Totham Tyler, familiarly called “Tot” by his chums, a chauffeur who knew automobiles backward and forward and might have progressed beyond his present station had he not been recognized as so “tricky” that no one had any confidence in him.

About two weeks after Orissa had left the office Mr. Burthon said to his man one morning:

“Tyler, would you like to do a little detective work?”

“Anything to oblige, sir,” answered Totham, pricking up his ears.

“Have you ever met a fellow around town named Kane?”

“Steve Kane, sir? Oh, yes. He used to be 97foreman of Cunningham’s repair shop. Quit there some time ago, I believe. Clever fellow, sir, this Kane.”

“Yes; he has invented a new sort of aëroplane.”

Tyler whistled, reflectively. All motor car people have a penchant for flying. As Mr. Cumberford would have said: it “interests them.”

“Kane is keeping the matter a secret,” continued Mr. Burthon, “and I’m curious to know what he’s up to. Find out, Tyler, and let me know.”

“Very good, sir. Where is he working?”

“At home. He lives out Beverly way. Take a Beverly car and get off at Sandringham avenue. Walk north up the lane to the first bungalow.”

“Ever been there, sir?”

“No; but Kane’s sister has described the place to me. When you get there, try to hire out as an assistant, but in any case keep your eyes open and observe everything in sight. I’ll pay you extra for this work, according to the value of the information you obtain.”

“I understand, sir,” answered Tyler, wrinkling his leathery face into a shrewd smile; “I know how to work a game of that sort, believe me.”

In pursuance of this mission the little chauffeur came to the Kane residence that very afternoon. As he approached the bungalow he heard the 98sound of pounding upon metal coming from the canvas covered hangar; otherwise the country lay peacefully sunning itself. An automobile stood in the lane. On the front porch a woman sat knitting, but raised her head at the sound of footsteps. Tyler touched his cap, but there was no response. Looking at her closely he saw the woman was blind, so he passed her stealthily and tiptoed up the narrow path toward the hangar. The top canvas had been drawn back on wires to admit the air, but the entrance was closed by curtains. Tyler listened to the hammering a moment, and summoning his native audacity to his aid boldly parted the curtains and entered.

“Hello, Kane!” he called; then paused and took in the scene before him at a glance.

Stephen was at the bench pounding into shape an aluminum propeller-blade; a tall man with a drooping mustache stood near, watching him. A young girl was busily sewing strips of canvas. On its rack lay a huge flying machine—its planes spread, the motors in place, the running gear complete—seemingly almost ready for action.

But Tyler was not the only one with eyes. Kane paused with uplifted hammer and regarded the intruder with a frown of annoyance; Orissa stared in startled surprise; the tall man’s spectacles glittered maliciously.

99“Burthon’s chauffeur!” he muttered; “I remember him.” Swiftly his long arm shot out, seized Tyler’s shoulder and whirled him around. The square toe of a heavy shoe caught the little man unprepared and sent him flying through the entrance, where he sprawled full length upon the ground.

In an instant he was up, snarling with rage. The curtains were closed and before them stood his assailant calmly lighting a cigarette.

“Mr. Cumberford, sir,” gasped Tyler, “you shall smart for this! It’s actionable, sir. It’s—it’s—assault ’n’ battery; that’s what it is!”

“Want any more?” asked the man coolly.

“Not to-day, thank you. This’ll cost you plenty.”

“Then go back to Burthon and tell him we know his game. You’re trespassing, sir. I could wring your neck—perhaps I will—and the law would uphold me. If you want to escape alive, make tracks.”

Totham Tyler took the hint. He walked away with as much dignity as he could muster, considering his anatomy had so recently been jarred; but he did not take the car home. Oh, no. There was much more to discover inside that hangar. He would wait until night, and then take his time to explore the place fully.

100With this end in view the chauffeur secreted himself in the outskirts of the orange grove, creeping underneath a tree with thick branches that nearly touched the ground. He could pick ripe fruit from where he lay, and was well content to rest himself until night came.

An hour later Mr. Cumberford whirled by in his motor car, headed for the city. Tyler shook his fist at his enemy and swore effectively to relieve his feelings. Then he sank into a doze.<............