protested Jack. “What if nothing comes of it? We’ll have had a good trip, anyhow.”

Bob grinned.

“I’m not grouching, Jack,” he said. “Only I wanted to see what you had in mind. If it’s just a flying trip you’re after, well and good. I’m with you. The plane is limbered up since I worked it over, and yesterday’s little spin gave me a taste for more, too. But if you are really intent on getting at the bottom of this mystery, I have a proposal, too. What’s the matter with our hunting up the Secret Service men? Maybe they would be glad of our tip.”

“Good for you, old ice wagon,” cried Frank, slapping his chum’s broad shoulder.

Jack likewise nodded approval. The previous summer the boys had been instrumental in thwarting 35 the plots of an international gang on the California coast to smuggle Chinese coolies into the country in violation of the Chinese Exclusion Act. As a consequence, they had made the acquaintance of Inspector Burton of the Secret Service and had even been called to Washington to receive the personal thanks of the Chief for their service and to be introduced to the President. Their adventures during that exciting period are related in “The Radio Boys on Secret Service Duty.”

“Very good,” said Jack, bounding to his feet. “Come on, let’s go. It’s ten o’clock now. If we hurry, we can cover the sixty miles to Mineola, put up the plane, and be in the city by noon. That will give us two or three hours there, and we can be home easily in time for dinner.”

“All right,” said Bob. “I’ll tell Della where we are going, in case Mother isn’t up yet. She had a bad headache, and may be staying in bed. You fellows go down to the hangar, and start getting out the plane. I’ll join you right away.”

Jack and Frank hurried away, while Bob went to execute his mission. When he rejoined them at the hangar, the plane already was on the skidways.

“You take the wheel going up, Bob,” said Frank. “I’ll pilot her home.”

The trip to Mineola flying field, where Bob and 36 Frank and Mr. Temple as well had taken their flying lessons, was made without incident. Planning not to arouse the suspicions of anybody who might be on watch, Bob was careful to steer a course over the water a good mile out from Starfish Cove. Watching through the glass, Frank reported the little plane missing and no sign of life on the tiny beach or in the woods beyond where the radio plant was hidden.

Mechanics at the flying field, who knew them, took the plane in charge when they alighted. Although they had planned to hire an automobile to take them into the city, they learned they were in time to catch an express train, and boarded it. After a fast run, they emerged from the train which had borne them through the tunnel under the East River and under Manhattan and ascended to the main waiting room of the Pennsylvania Terminal. The hour still lacked several minutes of noon.

“I’m not particularly hungry,” said Jack. “If you fellows feel the same way about it, suppose we defer luncheon until we have seen Mr. McKay. Probably we can catch him at his office now. But if we lunch first, there is no telling when we can get to see him. These business men take three or four hours for lunch lots of times.”

“Lead on,” said Frank. “Do you know where his office is located?” 37

“At Times Square,” said Bob. “I’ve been there once with Dad. Come on. We’ll take the Subway. It’s only one station up the line.”

The three boys were familiar with the great city, having lived on Long Island all their lives. Although many miles distant from New York, they were frequent visitors. Crossing the big waiting room, they entered the West Side subway, and a few minutes later disembarked from an express train at the Times Square station. Mounting to the surface, Bob led the way to a towering office building. An express elevator shot them to the twentieth story, and there they entered the anteroom of a handsome suite of offices occupied by the J. B. McKay Realty Corporation, and inquired of the information clerk—a young woman—for the head of the firm. Here, however, they met disappointment. Mr. McKay was not in the city.

“Mr. McKay’s secretary is here, however,” said the clerk, taking pity on their evident dismay. “Wait a moment and I’ll call him.”

She spoke into the telephone receiver, and then nodded brightly.

“Mr. Higginbotham will see you,” she said. “He is in that corner office.”

Jack was undecided. He looked to his companions. 38

“Shall we try him?”

“May as well,” said Frank. “Probably he can give us the information we want, just as well as Mr. McKay.”

Following directions, they entered a roomy office, furnished in walnut and with walnut panelling on the walls. Two big windows gave a commanding view up Broadway below and west to the Hudson river and the Jersey shore. A small, sharp-eyed man, with graying hair, immaculately dressed in gray, rose from the desk as they entered and regarded them inquiringly.

Jack wasted no time on preliminaries, but after introducing himself and his companions, stated their mission. They wanted to know who was the man who had bought the old Brownell place, and what was known about him.

His name? Mr. Higginbotham could not recall it. He doubted whether there was a record of it at hand. The old Brownell place? Yes, he remembered the property. Why were the young men interested.

Sharp-eyed Frank detected a slight start at Jack’s query. Moreover, he thought there was an air of guarded watchfulness about Higginbotham, for no apparent reason. That mysterious sixth sense which so often had been of value in the past now came to 39 the fore. Before Jack could reply, he took over the conversation.

“Oh,” said he, lightly, “being neighbors, we were just curious, we wondered who had bought the haunted house. That’s all. My uncle, Mr. Temple, is a friend of Mr. McKay. So, being near, we thought we would stop in and ask him. That’s all. Sorry to have bothered you. Good day.”

And taking the bewildered Jack and Bob by their arms, he gently propelled them to the door.