him. The biplane was passing the amphibian, traveling at the higher altitude of six thousand
feet.
As the commander stared upward, the first inkling of danger came. Something cold was
thrust against the back of Dadren's neck. Turning to glance over his shoulder, the
commander looked into the muzzle of a revolver held by Hasker.
WITH his free hand, the mechanic pointed upward. His face assumed a grim scowl. His lips
framed words that Dadren could not hear; but he easily made out Hasker's statement. The
mechanic was stating:
'Follow that ship.'
Stolidly, Dadren turned to look ahead. Again, the gun muzzle pressed against his neck. The
danger had arrived. As Harry Vincent had warned him, there was a traitor in camp. Hasker,
the mechanic, had been delegated to gain the submarine plans.
Dadren delivered a smile that Hasker could not see. Under other circumstances, the
commander might have ignored the traitor's order. By killing Dadren, Hasker would risk his
own life.
For a moment, Dadren was on the point of banking the amphibian. Fancy work at the
controls would put Hasker in a sweat. Dadren doubted that the man would have nerve to
shoot once the straight course ended, for he would be fearful about reaching the controls.
Then Dadren changed his mind. Here was adventure to his liking. He had prepared for such
an emergency as this. The envelope now held by Harry Vincent would nullify the theft of the
portfolio that Dadren held. Nodding to indicate his willingness to obey Hasker's order, the
commander took up the course set by the biplane.
The two ships deviated from the route to Washington. They passed over hilly terrain that
took them on a northwest course. Then the biplane, a mile ahead, began to circle for a
landing. Dadren conformed. He saw the other ship glide downward toward an obscure
landing field, just west of a wooded hill.
Hasker's pressing gun was firm. Again, the commander nodded. Banking, he duplicated the
biplane's maneuver. He brought the amphibian to earth one minute after the other ship had
landed.
As he came to a stop upon the old field, Dadren saw men scramble from the grounded
biplane. He stopped the motor.
'Climb out!' came Hasker's growl. 'No funny business, or you'll get a bullet in your neck!
Leave that package you've got with you.'
Dadren stepped from the plane; all the while, Hasker covered him. Three men approached;
their leader was dressed like an airplane pilot. He also had a gun. He gave a nod to Hasker
and the mechanic alighted, bringing the portfolio.
'Stay here,' growled the pilot of the biplane, turning to his men. 'We'll take care of this mug.'
The pilot and Hasker marched Commander Dadren toward the trees. They came to the
marks of an old dirt road and continued into the woods. There they saw a man waiting. He
was tall, his face sported a heavy black beard.
'Who's that guy?' questioned Hasker, suspiciously. He was speaking to the pilot of the
biplane.
'The chief,' was the reply.
'Don't look like him,' stated Hasker, still suspicious. 'He never had a beard when I met him.'
'It's phony,' chuckled the pilot. 'That's where the chief is smart. He wears one rig when he
meets me—another when he meets you. Different rigs at different times -'
THEY had arrived beside the bearded man. Commander Dadren stopped. He was face to
face with Eric Hildrow; but the master plotter was wearing another of his rough disguises.
Dadren, eyeing the beard, could not trace Hildrow's features.
'Good work, Wenshell,' said Hildrow, to the pilot of the biplane. 'I shall need you no longer.
Take care of Commander Dadren's plane; then return to the Tarksburg field. Be ready to
disband the air circus - or what remains of it— after you have heard from me.'
'All right, chief,' returned Wenshell.
'You also have my commendation, Hasker,' said Hildrow, smugly, while Wenshell was
walking away. 'Inasmuch as you came with Commander Dadren, I shall have you remain
with him. You have the plans?'
'In here, chief,' returned Hasker, showing the portfolio.
'Good,' said Hildrow. Then, to Dadren: 'Come, commander. We are awaiting you.'
'Come where?' questioned Dadren.
'To the machine that I have waiting,' chuckled Hildrow. 'A short motor trip will take you to the
comfortable place that I have provided for your stay with us.'
'Who are you?'
'That is difficult to say.' Hildrow chuckled again as they walked along, with Hasker bringing
up the rear. 'To Hasker, I am known as Philip Pelden. To Wenshell, I am Carl Ostrow.
Korsch—the man we are about to meet—also knows me by that name. But others have met
me in various identities.'
A turn in the dirt road revealed a stocky, hatchet-faced man standing beside a parked
sedan. Commander Dadren knew that this must be Korsch.
Smiling within his false beard, Hildrow introduced the rogue to Dadren; then pointed out
Hasker, whom Korsch had never met before. Hildrow motioned Dadren toward the machine.
'Wait a moment,' objected the commander. 'It is time that these high-handed methods were
ended. You have the portfolio which contains my submarine plans. Why do you intend to
keep me prisoner?'
'For reasons of my own,' snarled Hildrow, half forgetting the smug tone of the part that he
was playing. 'You are coming with us, commander. By force, if necessary.'
'And you intend -'
'To do with you as I see fit. We have your plans; I intend to hold you so long as you may
prove necessary.'
'And after that?'
'I shall hold you longer, if you are not troublesome. But if risk is involved, I shall do away with
you.'
Hasker was close with his revolver. Korsch had also drawn a weapon. Hildrow stepped up
to the commander, found an automatic in his pocket and took the weapon. Dadren knew
that a fight would be hopeless. With a shrug of his shoulders, he entered the machine.
Hasker followed. He and Dadren occupied the rear seat, while Korsch took the wheel.
Hildrow, carrying the portfolio, stepped in front with Korsch. He looked around to make sure
that Hasker still had his revolver trained on Dadren.
AS Korsch started the car, Hildrow opened the portfolio. He found an envelope and tore it
open. He drew out a sheaf of diagrams. They were inscribed in India ink, on sheets of
tracing paper. Sight of the tough cloth sheets brought a snarl from Hildrow. The fact that the
diagrams were on transparent material aroused suspicion in his mind.
'Are these the originals?' he challenged, turning to Dadren.
The commander made no reply as he met the plotter's glare. Again Hildrow glared.
