“I’m going to miss you terribly,” Norma said to Betty, as they all gathered at the fisherman’s wharf next day.
“Wish you were going along to Black Knob,” said Betty. “I know it’s going to be loads of fun, and there might be a thrill or two. Who knows?”
“Thrills,” Norma shuddered. She had not fully recovered from the shock of being sat upon by a white-robed figure in the dark. Every muscle in her body ached and there were three long scratches on her cheek.
“Tell me all about it, when you get to work,” she whispered, drawing Betty to one side.
“Tell you!” Betty exclaimed. “Why, my voice doesn’t carry that far!”
“No, but your hands will.” There was a note of secrecy in Norma’s voice. “They have a wonderful way of talking to the folks on shore, from over there—”
“Ah! A mystery!” Betty exclaimed in a whisper.
“Just that!” Norma agreed. “Sorry I can’t tell you more, but they’ll tell you more, when they learn to trust you and that will be very soon, I’m sure.
“Goodbye and good luck.” She gripped Betty’s hand hard. “Watch out for the bad Gremlins and give my love to Patsy.”
“Okay, I will.” Betty sprung into the motorboat and they were away.
Norma returned to Harbor Bells to sit by the fire for a long time thinking and dreaming, then to eat her dinner and retire for a few hours of sleep. Her shift at the Sea Tower for the present was to be the wee, small hours of the morning. “The most important of all,” had been Lieutenant Warren’s words for it. “It is during these hours that thieves, housebreakers, and safe-crackers prowl a city’s streets, that ghosts walk, and spies fly the skies or creep beneath the sea.”
“And that the bad Gremlins get in their dirty work,” Norma laughed.
In spite of their fun Norma knew that the task she was undertaking was a serious one. Rosa and a girl named Marie were to work with her but she was to be in charge.
When at last Norma took her place at the chart table with Rosa at the switchboard and Marie ready for any task that might come her way, there was a sober look on her face such as had seldom been there before.
Two hours passed. Norma’s eyelids were growing heavy; the first night was going to be hard. Then the switchboard rattled and Norma repeated after some voice:
“Two heavy twin-motors going south, fast!”
“That’s from Kittywake,” said Rosa. Norma searched her chart, then marked a spot while Marie was droning through a phone:
“Two heavy twin-motors going south, fast. That’s from Kittywake.”
“Okay, stand by!” came back in a man’s voice.
A moment later the switchboard again rattled and once more Rosa repeated:
“Two heavy twin-motors going south.
“That’s from Brink’s Point,” she said this time.
Norma marked the spot and marveled at the distance that had been covered. “If they’re enemy planes!” She chilled and thrilled at the thought of a sky battle.
Before Marie got in her second report, there came a buzz and the man’s voice from below reported:
“Those are Army planes of the Ferry Command. A little off their course, but they’ll take care of that. As you were.”
They all settled back to await the night’s next little adventure.
At 3:16 a small plane was reported off Crow Point. It turned out to be a Navy patrol plane that had lost its way in an early morning mist.
A few moments later a wavering light was reported off Preston Beach. The watcher said it was six miles off shore. It was really only one mile and was a lantern atop the mast of a fishing schooner.
And that was the total bag of missing, misled, and enemy planes.
“Not so exciting,” was Marie’s sleepy comment as they went off duty.
“No,” Norma agreed, “but standing guard at the edge of no man’s land when nothing happens for months on end over there on the other side isn’t exciting either. But let the patrol relax—”
“And then comes trouble.” Rosa finished.
“Yes, and if we relax it will come here,” said Norma. “Look at last night!”
“Okay,” Marie agreed good-naturedly. “When it comes you’ll find me right here with you, and I’ll hope to do my bit.”
“I know you will,” said Norma with a friendly grip on the arm.
That first night might have served for the whole week’s pattern, and for another half week after that. A plane lost and found, three planes off their course, a fast speed boat taken for a plane, these were the simple little stories recorded in Norma’s book. But, for all that, they were learning their tasks, going through their work with greater skill every day, preparing themselves for any world-rocking and nerve-wracking events that lay ahead.
That is not to say that in this week and a half nothing exciting happened. Many things did happen, but these came during off-duty hours.
One day, with Tom McCarthy as her escort, Norma peddled back to Carl Langer’s studio. Her excuse for coming was to leave an unimportant film to be developed, her real reason to talk to Carl Langer about his estate up in the hills.
“Mr. Langer,” she said, after the film had been listed and stored away, “that’s a fine farm you have back in the hills.”
The photographer started and stared.
“So you have seen it.” He regained his composure instantly.
“He didn’t see me on my bike,” she thought.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I rode up that far on my bike.”
“That farm,” he said, swelling a little with pride, “occupies all my spare time. I am particularly fond of it because it belonged to my father before me.
“You see,” his voice took on a conversational tone, “I was born in Portland. My father was a man of business. This farm was for him, you might say, a sideline. He kept a man to farm it. He spent week-ends there. I, too, enjoyed it when I was a boy. So now, you see—” he smiled, “it brings me great pleasure.”
“That’s quite wonderful,” said Norma. “And did your father also raise black pigeons?”
“Black pigeons?” It seemed to Norma that Carl Langer started again, but once more he made a quick recovery. “Pigeons? Oh! No—this is something I have done. These pigeons, they are quite rare.”
“I thought they were,” said Norma.
“Oh, yes—very rare indeed. I only wish you had come in, when you were by my house. Gladly would I have shown you the choicest ones of the lot. And besides, I have something I should wish to show you. It is in the house, a picture. It is a masterpiece, I think.”
“A—a picture,” Norma’s voice cracked. “There it is,” she thought, “but I must not betray myself.”
“Oh! A picture,” she exclaimed. “A masterpiece—how fine! I’d love to see it. And I have a friend who is very much interested in pictures. But then, she’s a very important and busy person.”
“Surely she must not be too busy to look at a masterpiece. I truly think it is by Millet, the man who painted the Angelus.”
“Oh! Then I’m sure she would come,” said Norma. “She’s a lover of Millet’s work. His characters are so simple, so human and real.”
“Ah! I see you also know pictures.”
“A little,” Norma admitted.
“Bring your friend out any time, just any time.” The photographer’s face fairly beamed.
“I’ll bring her some time,” Norma agreed.
“What’s all this about a masterpiece?” Tom asked on the way home. “I don’t get it.”
“Oh, that!” Norma laughed low. “That’s a sort of military secret between my big, high chief and myself. When it—well, when the story breaks, you might say, I’ll try to let you in on it. But for the present mum’s the word.”
“Have it your own way,” Tom grinned, “but, see here, sister, if you go out to that old geezer’s house, don’t go alone. Take that from me. I don’t like his looks!”
“I won’t,” Norma agreed.
That night, on lonely Black Knob Island, Betty had a rather weird experience.
To make life safer for the plane spotters on the island, six enlisted men had been sent there. These had taken up their quarters in a small summer hotel that had been closed for the winter. Betty, Millie, and Mary were given rooms at the Norton cabin, but took their meals at the hotel which was presided over by Mrs. Pearl Tratt, a busy, friendly fisherman’s wife.
In no time at all, Betty had won her way into the hearts of Patsy and her grandfather.
On this particular night. Betty was sharing the first spotter watch with Grandfather Norton and Patsy, who had not yet retired for the night.
Since the moon was not up, it was quite dark on the spotter stand. Grandfather Norton, who had already begun teaching Betty the deaf and dumb alphabet so she could talk to Norma “by hand,” was now introducing her to a device which he had been working on for a long time.
“It’s not yet perfect,” he explained, “but I think it has great possibilities. With the unaided ear, one seldom spots a plane, by sound, more than six miles away. Even with my imperfect hearing, aided by my listening device, I have been able, more than once, to spot a plane coming from the sea ... American planes, of course ... at a distance of ten miles. Want to try it?” he asked.
“Of course,” was Betty’s instant reply. “Anything that helps us do our job well is just swell!”
“Well, now,” said Grandfather Norton, “this listening device of mine appears to work best on sounds rather close at hand, so we’ll just try it out on Joe Tratt. Just you put on these earphones, then I’ll turn on the electricity. Got a small electric plant in the furnace room, you know.”
“Joe Tratt—” Betty repeated. “What’s he going to do, stand off somewhere and shout?”
“No—No!” The old inventor’s voice cracked. “Joe always comes in from setting his nets out on the reef about this time. He’s coming in now, probably, only his boat’s motor doesn’t make a great deal of noise, so you don’t hear him with the unaided ear.
“Now—you ready?”
“Ready.”
He touched a button. A faint light appeared. He put his hand on a large metal horn and began turning it slowly.
“When you pick up the sound of a motor say, ‘Now’,” he shouted.
For ten seconds she listened intently. Then suddenly she said:
“Now!”
“I’ll test it.” He swung it back and forth. As the sound of the boat’s motor rose and fell with the turning, Betty told him, by lifting and lowering a hand, how the sound rose and fell. When at last the spot was found where the sound was strongest, she held both hands straight out.
“It’s like tuning in on a radio program,” she laughed as she continued to listen. “This should be great. I only wish there were an airplane coming in.”
“Oh! They’ll come!” the old man crackled. “Perhaps sooner than you want them.”
As she listened the sound of the motor grew steadily louder. “Coming in,” she thought. Then she wondered what it would be like, setting nets off the shores of the British Isles where many subs lurked and planes, like birds of prey, haunted the skies, ready to pounce down upon you.
“Brave people,” she thought. “They deserve all that we can do for them.”
Tiring of the constant pounding on her eardrums, she nodded to Patsy, at the same time executing a circle with her hand.
Understanding instantly, Patsy began turning the big horn slowly. Gradually the sound of the motor faded into nothing. For a time, Betty caught only the slow wash, wash of waves on the shore. Then, little by little, she began to make out a different sound.
At first only a low snap-snap, like clothes cracking on a distant clothesline, the sound at last became a steady flap-flap that increased in volume with each second.
“I hear wings.” She made a motion to Patsy, and the girl stopped turning.
“It’s a bad flying Gremlin.” Patsy danced up and down in her excitement.
“A seagull,” said the more practical grandfather.
The speaker picked up their voices. Betty heard them.
“It’s not like a gull’s flight,” she said. “I’ve heard them too often. This is something else.”
“See!” Patsy danced again. “I told you. It’s a Gremlin! A bad, bad Gremlin.” Then, “Oh!” She covered her eyes. “I don’t want to see him. He may come real close.”
“We’ll put the spotlight on him,” said Grandfather, taking up a portable spotlight and adjusting a switch.
“He’s coming right this way,” said Betty. “He should pass over us.”
“I’ll be ready with the light,” said Grandfather. “You tell me when.”
In the dim light Patsy’s face was a strange study, alternating curiosity and fear. Curiosity at last won the day. When at last the searchlight cut across the sky, she was watching, big-eyed and eager.
For ten seconds the light played across an empty sky and then:
“It is a Gremlin!” Patsy cried. “A big, black Gremlin!”
“No!” said Betty. “I’m sorry. It’s a black pigeon. I didn’t know you kept pigeons.”
“We don’t,” said Grandfather. “What’s more, he doesn’t belong on this island. He’s going straight on. Turn the horn about, Patsy—”
Patsy obeyed and once again Betty heard that steady flap flap of wings.
When the horn had been properly adjusted, she listened until the sound of the pigeon’s flight faded into nothing.
For a moment Grandfather Norton studied the pointing horn, then he said:
“That’s a homing carrier pigeon. The rookery he is seeking is somewhere near Granite Head. You may have made a very important discovery.”
“I—I don’t understand,” said Betty.
“That pigeon never came all this way from shore by himself. That’s not the way of pigeons.”
“Then you think he came from a boat?” Betty was beginning to understand.
“Yes, or from an airplane.”
“Or a sub.” Patsy put in.
“Any of these or even an airplane carrier. Which means,” Grandfather went on, “that somewhere on the mainland we have a nest of spies.”
“Spies-spies! Oh, yes, spies,” Betty murmured. She was thinking of her talks with Norma about many strange doings. There might be something to it after all, she concluded.
“They’re up to something,” said Grandfather. “Sending messages back and forth like that. Perhaps it’s something really big. Just now they’re just feeling us out, trying to see how well prepared we are.”
“They got a sample the other night,” said Betty.
“A very fine sample,” the aged inventor agreed. “A very fine sample, indeed. What I fear most is that they may make this island a stepping stone.”
“We have some soldiers now,” Betty suggested.
“Yes, a few men. We’ll have more men later.”
The next day, on the mainland, Norma visited a place of many wonders, perfected some plans, was treated to a great surprise and made an interesting discovery, all in one afternoon.
Norma and Rosa retired as soon as their late night vigil was ended. By mid-afternoon they were up and ready for a prowl.
They struck off on foot over the road leading to the fort on the ridge that overlooked their village, Harbor Bells, and the Sea Tower.
They had gone but a little way when Tom McCarthy overtook them in a jeep. “Hop in,” he invited after stopping his car. “I’ll give you a lift. Where you bound for?”
“Nowhere in particular,” was Norma’s reply as they all crowded into the front seat. “We’re out for fresh air.”
“I’m going up to the fort,” Tom said. “There’s going to be a little target practice by the big guns. I want to see how good they are.”
“Think we’ll need their help some of these days?” Norma asked half jokingly.
“Well, now, you never can tell.” Tom did not laugh. “There seems to be a difference of opinion. Some think America may be invaded, at least by the air.”
“And others think it won’t,” said Norma.
“That’s right,” Tom agreed. “Me? I’m keeping my fingers crossed.”
“Oh, Tom!” Rosa broke in. “Take us to the fort. I’d just love to see it.”
“You’re on your way right now,” Tom assured her. “At least you’ll see the target practice at a distance. And that’s really something! But the fort, that’s different. Too many secrets in there. It takes a terrific pull to get in.”
“I’ll bet it’s a spooky place!” Rosa exclaimed.
“Oh, absolutely,” was the quick reply. “Built right out of solid rock. It would take some bomb to smash into it.”
A half hour later they found themselves standing on a sloping hillside, gazing out to sea. And at Norma’s side was a handsome young Artillery Major. For the first time in her life, Norma found herself wishing she had remained behind at Fort Des Moines for officer’s training. An officer may not date a private in the WACs, no matter how bright and attractive she may be.
For all that even a major can show just any attractive young lady who happens to visit his camp the proper degree of interest and respect due her. And Major Fairchild was not one to neglect this duty.
He explained that the large square far out on the water was not a sail but a target, that it was being towed on a long cable by a small motorboat some distance from it.
He also assured her that those huge guns poking their black barrels from the hillside would soon speak and that, when they did speak, she would do well to plug up her ears.
Some ten minutes later he said, “Now the target is in position.”
“Such a long way off,” Norma murmured.
“It’s as far as Black Knob Island,” Rosa exclaimed.
“Just about the same,” Tom McCarthy agreed.
“We can blow the top off Black Knob any time we care to,” said Major Fairchild.
“Please don’t try it,” Norma begged, half laughing. “I’ve got a good pal over there, a very good-looking WAC.”
“Are all WACs good-looking?” the Major teased.
“My pal, Betty, is,” was the prompt reply. “That’s not all, her folks are rich. Her father owns a war plant. They have a Florida estate, a yacht, and all that!”
“And she’s a WAC!” The Major whistled.
Even a Major Can Show Interest in an Attractive Lady
“Why not?” Norma’s voice rose. “It’s our war. We’re all in it. One woman gave up a $20,000 a year job to join the WACs. We have several girls who won the Croix de Guerre driving ambulances before France fell. Yes, and some of the girls joined us because their young husbands died at Pearl Harbor, or North Africa. Don’t you think that’s really wonderful?”
“I salute the WACs.” Major Fairchild saluted the girl and she returned it in proper form. And he was not joking either. She could read that in his eyes.
And then Tom McCarthy said, “Get ready. There’s the signal. They are about to fire.”
“Here.” The Major pressed balls of cotton into Norma’s hand. “Put these in your ears. Then take these—” He held out a pair of powerful field glasses. “Watch the target. See if they miss. Your eyes are as good as mine.”
The terrific flash and the roar of the big gun, together, made the rocks shudder! Norma felt her knees tremble but she held her glasses on the target and was rewarded by a black spot that appeared almost as if by magic on the white square.
“Good! Almost perfect!” she exclaimed. “A little to the right, that’s all!”
“And how far from the surface of the sea?” the Major asked.
“Almost on the sea,” was the quick response.
“This is important,” said the young Major.
“It meant that this shot would have destroyed a submarine if it had been in the place of the target,” Norma suggested.
“Good girl! Go to the head of the class,” he exclaimed.
“Give the credit to my father,” she replied modestly. “He was a major in the last war. He knows a great deal and since I was his only son, he taught me about them.”
“Oh! Then we belong to the same tribe,” exclaimed the Major. “My father was an officer, too. Very often officers are born and not made. You too will be an officer in time.”
“When I’m made an officer,” she said with a proud smile, “I’ll bring my bars to you and you shall pin them on my shoulders.”
“That,” he said, “will be a privilege and an honor.”
“They invited me to stay in Des Moines and train in the officer’s school,” she stated in a matter-of-fact tone.
“And why not?” he asked.
“I wanted some actual service first.”
“Well, you’re getting it.” He smiled. “And unless I read the signs wrong, you are going to get your experience in overdoses from now on.”
“Oh! Do you think so?”
“I’m sure of it. There are things I can’t tell you. Keep your eyes and ears wide open and don’t miss any bets. You’ll get your bars sooner than you think.
“And now,” he handed her the glasses again, “plug up your ears. Here they go.”
This time she took things more calmly. But the hit was hard to spot.
“Right at the water’s edge,” she exclaimed at last.
“Getting better. That’s real sub shooting.”
“But if the sub comes in the night?” she suggested.
“Then you’ll have to get out there in a plane and spot the sub for us with a spotlight.”
“That,” said Tom, with a good-natured grin, “is my job.”
“And I’ll fly the plane for you,” Rosa volunteered.
“You fly my plane?” Tom gave vent to a roaring laugh.
Rosa’s face crimsoned. For a time she did not speak. Then in a slow, even tone, she said: “Try me!”
“All right, I will.” This time Tom did not laugh.
“All right, Rosa,” Tom said, when their jeep drew up to the fisherman’s dock, off which the Seagull lay at anchor, “the plane is yours, if you can fly her.”
“You don’t mean that!” Norma said in a low tone, as Tom bent over to untie his skiff.
“Sure I do!” he replied promptly. “Give everyone a chance to show what he can do, that’s my motto. Climb in. The back seat is wide enough for you and me. We’ll have Rosa for our sky pilot.”
Norma hung back. “Come on,” he urged. “I’ll guarantee that no harm will come of it.”
Ten minutes later Norma found herself beside Tom in the rear seat. Lines had been cast off and Rosa was warming up the motor. Norma, uneasy, heaved a sigh of relief when she noticed that Tom too could work the controls from where he sat.
As they taxied out from behind the dock, Norma noted that the water was a bit rough but she clenched her hands and said never a word.
The motor began to roar in earnest. Behind them raced the white foam. The plane appeared to skip from wave to wave. Then Tom said:
“Up!”
And up they rose.
Climbing steadily, they rose a thousand feet, two, three, four, five, six thousand. There above the bumpy clouds the plane leveled off and they headed straight for Black Knob.
Tom looked first at Rosa, then at Norma. Then he grinned as he formed the words with his lips, “Great stuff!”
Before they knew it they were over Black Knob and soaring down for a landing.
Near the tiny dock and harbor the water was calm. With real skill Rosa taxied the ship right to the dock where they were greeted with joyous shouts by Betty, Millie, Mary, Grandfather, Patsy, and all the rest.
“Norma,” Betty exclaimed when the two were alone, “Rosa wasn’t really flying the plane, was she?”
“She certainly was!” Norma’s tone was impressive. “She took off, climbed high, spiraled down, and all the rest!”
“Then that explains—”
“What?” Norma asked.
“Oh! A lot of things.”
Norma’s mind was too busy to carry this thought through for, as they wandered over the island, she felt like a general looking over a battlefield where the enemy might attack on the morrow. She noted low spots among the rocks where men might land from a plane or a rubber boat, tried to find the marks of high tide and studied with great care the narrow beach beside the harbor.
Why was she doing all this? Perhaps she could not have told herself. She just did, that was all.
After a delicious lunch served at the small hotel that had been made a barracks, they prepared for the return trip.
Again Rosa took the controls and once more she made a perfect take-off.
It was growing dusk now and, as they circled above the island, Norma turned on the spotlight allowing it to play upon the dark clusters of pines, the gray rocks and the cottage roofs. She was astonished to see how clearly everything stood out.
“An enemy plane could bomb it to bits,” she said.
“Sure, but why?” Tom asked.
“It’s an outpost and so dangerous to approaching enemy ships or planes.”
“You mean it could be,” Tom corrected. “Just now the few who are here could perhaps protect the island itself. That’s about all. But, I say!” he exclaimed. “You’re really good with that light!”
“Oh! Sure!” she laughed. “Rosa and I, we’re a great team!”
Oddly enough, at that moment she had the feeling of one who acts a part in a drama, a part she is sure to act again. It was strange.
“Rosa,” Norma said when at last they were back at Indian Point, headed for Harbor Bells and a good dinner, “I never dreamed you could fly a plane.”
“Fly a plane,” Rosa threw back her plump shoulders and laughed. “My father is a flier; he is also a guide. In summer he takes hunting and fishing parties deep into the wilds of Canada. Ah! That is the life, to come dropping from the skies like a wild duck and to light on a perfect spot of blue water where almost no one has ever been.
“And,” she paused to look into her companion’s eyes, “will you believe me? I have done that, too, since I was seventeen years old. Fly!” she exclaimed. “I know you thought I was crazy in Des Moines. And, yes, I was crazy. Crazy to feel the stick in my hands, to hear the motor and feel a plane move.
“Yes, I was crazy. But those boys who made fun of me, those young fliers—I could have flown circles around every one of them. But you, you were very kind to get me out of it so very well. I have you to thank for that. And we’ll fly again some time maybe, huh? What do you think?”
“Rosa,” said Norma, “you are a dear. And if we do fly again, I shall not be afraid.”
After dinner Norma made a call. In her own village she had discovered a bearded veteran of the photographic world, who still did a little work in his own home. He was a picturesque character who, only two years before, had moved from Portland to Indian Harbor.
To this man she had entrusted the pictures she had taken of the poor fisherman’s wife.
“How did they come out?” she asked as she entered his small, crowded room.
“Excellently, my dear.”
He held up some fairly large prints he had made.
“Oh! You’ve done them so well!” she exclaimed. “Won’t she be pleased!”
“She will,” he agreed. “I have a son who works on a Portland paper. With your consent I should like to send him some prints of these studies. They should show up well in the roto.”
“So little Norma makes the roto,” she laughed. “That would be something. Wouldn’t Carl Langer open his eyes!”
“What’s that pig got to do with it?” the old man demanded.
“He refused to take her picture. Said he couldn’t waste his time.”
“My dear,” said the old man, “time spent in bringing happiness to those who have very little of this world’s goods is never wasted.”
“That’s right,” Norma agreed, “but have you seen Carl Langer’s estate? It is truly beautiful.”
“Yes, I have seen it. It is attractive. However, Carl Langer did nothing to it. He only bought it.”
“Bought it? He told me he inherited it from his father who lived in Portland.”
“Neither Carl Langer nor his father lived in Portland. I was there for fifty years. I know. He purchased his estate from the heirs of old Judge Clark. Where he got the money I don’t know. But I could make a good guess.”
“Ah!” Norma thought as she walked slowly back to Harbor Bells. “So someone else is suspicious! I wonder why Carl Langer lied to me about his estate.”
She found herself hoping that Lieutenant Warren would go with her to visit that estate and to look at the picture, the masterpiece, very soon. Yet she found herself dreading it and shuddering a little.
Once again the following night the trio, Norma, Rosa, and Marie, were on duty in the upper room of the Sea Tower, Rosa at the switchboard, Norma before her charts, and Marie at attention for any emergency.
For more than an hour, save for the clock on the wall that ticked loudly, there was silence in the room.
Then came a buzz at the switchboard.
“That’s Beth calling from the Granite Head spotter tower.” Norma knew the number. “What does she want?”
“She’s relaying a report from Betty at Black Knob,” Rosa explained. “They have discovered a light against the sky well out to sea.”
“Tell her to ask Betty if it’s an airplane light,” Norma suggested.
Rosa relayed the message. For a time after that there was silence, and then came a second buzz. Rosa pressed the headphone to her ear and listened intently.
“She says that Betty does not think it is a plane light. It does not move across the sky and doesn’t grow brighter as it would if it was coming in. It just sort of sways.”
“Light on the mast of some ship,” Norma suggested.
“Beth says she suggested that,” Rosa explained. “Betty told her it seemed too high.”
“Oh! Sublime sweet evening star,” Norma sang softly. “How I wonder what you are.”
Then came a third buzz. “She says Bess has heard a large plane, a long way off the shore, heading south.”
“Might be an enemy bomber,” Norma said, and sat straight up.
Marie got the men below on the phone.
Before they could report, the WAC watcher on the water tower roof popped her head through a hole to report the same plane.
Ten seconds later Beth relayed one more message for Black Knob. They, too, had heard the powerful motors of a large plane. It was some distance north of the mysterious light and apparently flying straight toward it. Here surely was a mix-up.
Then the report from the men below came up. No large plane was due anywhere in this region except some new transport planes being flown overland.
“But what would one of these planes be doing fifteen miles out to sea?” was the question that came from the puzzled representatives of the Army.
In the meantime, out on the Black Knob spotter tower, Betty and Grandfather Norton were wracking their brains for answers to all these problems.
“That big plane certainly is going straight for that strange light,” Betty insisted.
“There’s no denying that,” Grandfather Norton agreed, moving his listening horn first this way, then that, to get its exact location.
It was strange, standing there, watching that light and at the same time hearing but not seeing the big plane.
Just then someone stepped out on the platform. It was Lena. Having a day off, she had, strangely enough, chosen to spend it on the island. A fisherman would take her ashore next morning.
“Lena!” Betty exclaimed. “I thought you were fast asleep!”
“I was.” Lena shuddered from the chill of the night. “But something woke me up—so I came out here.”
“It doesn’t take much to waken you,” said Betty. “The motor of a distant plane.”
“What’s up? Why are you so excited?” Lena studied their faces.
“See that light over there against the sky?”
“Yes, I see it.”
“What is it?”
“Why that—” Lena broke off suddenly. She seemed greatly disturbed. “I—hear a plane!” she exclaimed suddenly.
“Yes, we’ve been hearing it for some time,” said Grandfather Norton.
“What’s it doing out there?” Lena asked. There was a strange quality in her voice. “As if she herself knew the answer,” Betty told herself.
“Well,” Grandfather Norton spoke slowly, “if I wasn’t dead sure that there was nothing but water out there, miles and miles of water, I should say that the light was a beacon to a landing field and that the plane was heading toward it for a landing.”
“Oh! But that’s impossible!” Betty exclaimed.
“Certainly it is,” Norton agreed.
Like a caged animal Lena began pacing the narrow platform. Once Betty thought she heard her murmur tensely, “It’s terrible. Just terrible.”
What was terrible and how did this big girl know it was terrible?
In the meantime the big plane was coming closer, ever closer to the swaying light. Those on shore, Beth, Bess, Norma, Rosa, and the rest, could hear the plane but could find no answer to the question, “Why is it there?”
Lena continued to pace the platform. Watching her, Betty realized that within the big girl’s mind a terrific battle was raging. “What battle?” she asked herself. “And why?”
For a time she found no answer. Then suddenly the answer came. Or was it the answer?
“See here!” Lena exclaimed, suddenly gripping Betty’s arm until it hurt. “I can’t stand it! That plane is going to come down, close to that light. It will crash. The pilot will be drowned and—and all on the plane—unless—”
“Unless what?” Betty’s throat was dry.
“Unless we go to the rescue!” Lena pulled at her arm. “There’s not a moment to lose.”
“But we have no plane.” Betty stared first at Lena, then at Norton. It was a tense moment of indecision.
“There’s a motorboat, a pretty fast one. I can run it, you know that!” Lena’s voice was tense with emotion.
“Yes, I know. Norma told me how you saved them.”
“Then come on. Come on, now! We—” Lena’s voice broke; she did not finish.
Betty looked at Grandfather. He did not speak, merely nodded his head.
“All—” Betty gulped, “all right, I’ll go!”
Instantly the two girls were down from the tower and racing like mad for the dock.
Once at the dock Lena unscrewed the gas tank cap, flashed a light down into the tank, then, after a few twists at the cap said, with astonishing calmness:
“Get in. We are off.”