“How do you think you made out?” he asked Joe.
“Not so good.”
“I’m sure I failed.”
“It was a tough exam. Everybody says so.”
“I know it was tough, but I couldn’t help thinking of the trouble we’ll be in if the post office people decide we’re to blame for that accident.”
“It was in my mind too,” Joe admitted. “Still we know it wasn’t our fault.”
“Of course it wasn’t. But the chances are that they’ll believe Ducroy, seeing he’s one of their own pilots.”
“If they blame us, we’ll fight it. We’ll tell them Ducroy was drunk.”
“Perhaps they won’t even listen to us,” said Frank.
The boys went on down the street toward the downtown section. Joe caught sight of a familiar name in a newspaper headline.
“This looks interesting,” he remarked. When he bought the paper, the two stood on the corner to read it.
“Post Office Department Discharges Giles Ducroy,” read the headline. “Air Mail Pilot Released Following Crash Near Local Airport.”
Joe whistled softly. The boys read further:
“It was announced today at post office headquarters that the resignation of Giles Ducroy, pilot in charge of the mail plane that crashed on the airport road last Saturday, had been requested by the department. Ducroy handed in his resignation early this afternoon and is no longer with the service. It was stated that information had come into possession of the department to the effect that Ducroy had been drinking heavily on the day of the crash and that he had been drinking for several days previous. According to officials, the pilot had been warned several times that his bad habits would get him into trouble, and although he promised to mend his ways he had evidently failed to do so. Other aviators claimed that Ducroy was a menace to the air service and that he should not be permitted to handle a plane. His flying license has been canceled.”
The Hardy boys looked at one another in silence.
“I guess that will clear us,” said Frank finally.
“It doesn’t say so.”
“They can’t very well blame us after that.”
A familiar voice broke in:
“Hi, there! Hear the news?”
The Hardy boys looked up to see Chet Morton, one of their chums, approaching. Chet, too, had a newspaper under his arm.
“We were just reading it,” said Joe.
“It was coming to him,” declared Chet warmly. “I was talking to one of the men at the airport yesterday, and he said Ducroy ought to be fired. He was always drinking. None of them were surprised when he had that crash.”
“I’m sorry he has lost his job,” said Frank, “but I guess he deserved it. If they let him stay on he might get into a serious accident and kill somebody.”
“He mighty nearly killed us,” Joe reminded him. “If I only knew that this meant we were clear of blame I could write the rest of my exams with an easy mind.”
“Don’t worry,” advised Chet. “They won’t blame you chaps. The very fact that Ducroy has been let out means that they didn’t believe his story.”
Suddenly Frank nudged his brother.
“Here he comes now.”
“Who?”
“Ducroy,” whispered Frank.
Joe looked around. Coming down the street he saw the former air pilot. Ducroy’s face wore an angry look and he appeared not to notice the stares and the comments of the people nearby.
“Don’t pay any attention to him,” said Joe. “There’s no use looking for trouble.”
But, if the Hardy boys were not going to pay any attention to Giles Ducroy, it soon became apparent that the pilot intended to pay some attention to them. He changed his course and came over toward the three boys.
“Now what’s the big idea?” muttered Chet.
Ducroy blustered toward them. He faced Frank and Joe angrily, brushing Chet to one side.
“Well,” he sneered, “I suppose you’re satisfied now?”
“What do you mean?” asked Frank.
“I suppose you’re satisfied now that you’ve lost me my job?” demanded Ducroy.
“You lost it yourself,” returned Frank. “We didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“You didn’t, hey? It was your fool driving that caused the crash, and it was because of the crash that I got fired.”
“The paper says something different,” said Joe calmly.
“It says I got fired because I was drunk, and I was as sober as I am now.”
“And you’re not any too sober now, either,” Chet reminded him sweetly.
Ducroy turned to him. “You keep out of this,” he snapped. “This is none of your business. I’ll thank you to keep your mouth shut.”
“Seeing you ask me so nicely, I will.”
Ducroy turned to the Hardy boys again. “I’m not through with you two yet,” he said. “I may have lost my job, but I’m going to get some satisfaction, anyway.”
“How?” asked Frank.
By way of reply, Ducroy drew back his right arm and lashed out suddenly. His fist struck Frank in the face and sent the youth staggering back. The blow had come so abruptly that he had no chance to defend himself.
But Joe, when he saw his brother attacked, lost no time in getting into action. He plunged at Ducroy without hesitation and planted a swinging blow on the pilot’s right eye, completely closing it. Ducroy gave a yell of pain and struck at Joe, but the blow was wild.
Frank recovered himself.
“Let me handle this,” he said to his brother. And with no further ado he advanced on Ducroy.
The pilot swung at him, but Frank ducked, came in, and stung Ducroy’s face with an uppercut. Ducroy was bigger than Frank and considerably heavier, but he was far from being a scientific fighter, relying chiefly on bull-like rushes and ponderous swinging blows that would have done damage had they landed, but seldom did. Ducroy rushed Frank back across the pavement, his heavy fists swinging, but Frank backed away, ducking and dodging, watching for an opening.
It soon came.
Ducroy swung so wildly that he left himself completely unprotected. Frank’s fist shot out. The blow caught Ducroy directly on the
