Evening Star Newspaper, October 11, 1936, Page 86

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And how about Lynn Downey? Was she in equal danger? He thought back on the conversa- tion he had had with the dying girl. She had mentioned a roll of chicken wire in a back yard in Honolulu, and she had mentioned President Coolidge. What had President Coolidge to do with chicken wire? He was suddenly seized with an idea, and crossed to a rack which con- tained travel folders, pulled out one bearing the imprint of a well known steamship line, turned to sailing schedules. The Pressdent Coolidge had sailed from San Francisco, and was due in Hawaii within twenty-four hours. Burke took stock of the situation. The scene of action had shifted to Hawaii. By a neat bit of strategy, the * conspirators had put Wanda Hara and himself out of the running, while they: had carried on. Clegg, Gary, Browning and Lynn Downey were on the President Coolidge, nearing the purple-tinted waters of the Hawaiian island. He could send a radio. But to whom and about what? Waming Lynn Downey would do no good. She knew more about the danger which menaced her than he did. He was in a quandary. His hands were tied. There was nothing he could do save wireless some detective agency, have operatives meet the ship and try to keep the various parties under surveillance until he could arrive in Hawaii. That would be five days at least, and Burke knew that long before that time had elapsed, whatever mischief was in the wind would have been consummated. A newsboy thrust a paper in front of his staring eyes. ‘“‘Paper?’’ he asked. *“China Clipper makes a new record!” ‘The China Clipper! Burke pur- chased a paper, and tumed to sailing dates. He gave an exclamation. The Clipper was leaving within twelve hours — it would reach Honolulu almost as soon as the President Coolidge. If only he could get a last- minute reservation! Thank heaven, he had friends in the airship company who would help him all they could. He sprinted for the runway Iof one of the ferry boats. The slamming of a door in the huge Clipper Ship dissolved that feeling of unreality which had gripped Burke ever since he had succeeded in arrang- ing to fly to Hawaii. The big motors roared into a song of power as the pilots tested one motor after the other. Through the porthole, Burke could see faces, arms moving in farewell, hands waving. A quiver shot through the plane. The motors roared into a crescendo as the huge _ ship slipped smoothly into motion. Gradually the speed increased. Water flew past the portholes. Drops of spray beat against the glass windows, were turned to glistening dew drops by the early morning sunlight. A wave curl- ing up from Burke’s side of the ship rolled into a graceful arch. The bow of the ship raised. The wave flattened. For a moment it seemed that the sur- face of the Bay was clutching at the ship with futile fingers, then abruptly the Bay dropped below, no longer a resisting medium retarding the prog- ress of the Clipper, but a smiling expanse of calm blue, laughing a pleasant bon voyage to the big plane. The horizon dipped suddenly as the Clipper banked into a turn. Looking through his porthole, Burke could see the air-base, the crowd of ant-like watchers. A fleet of pleasure craft were painted in white brillance against the Bay. The network of the Bay bridge looked like a section of man- made spider web. Slowly the plane righted and flat- tened into flight. The buildings of Oakland seemed freshly washed. The rolling green of the hills had never been so beautiful, the ferry boats so queenly. Burke thought he noticed a diminu- tion in the speed of the motors. The Continved from page five plane ceased its first steep climb and settled into steady flight. San Francisco, as whitely beautiful as a circling sea gull seen against an azure sky, was stretched out in a never-to-be-forgotten panorama. The piers of the Bay bridge thrust upward like huge reaching fingers. Workers on the cat-walk paused to stare at the giant airship roaring its way toward the Orient. Their upturned faces were little blobs of white. A moment more and the bridge faded astern. The docks which lined San Fran- cisco’s water front were thrust out into the blue of the Bay like bits of a jig-saw puzzle. Tied up to these docks were ocean-going ships, which hailed from the far corners of the world. Alcatraz Island came into view and slipped beneath and astern. The red steel work of the Golden Gate Bridge seemed to rise almost as high in the air as the plane itself. One of the big N.Y.K. liners from the Orient was just coming in through the Golden Gate. The vast terraced bulk of Sutro Baths hulked below. Seal Rocks showed as white spots in an ocean which had now taken on a dark blue hue; the white lines of surf were as snowy scallops ornament- ing the coast line. Suddenly, the only thing which Burke could see, was the blue black of the ocean, a vast, empty waste of water stretching far ahead of the plane, terminating in the white mantle of a low-flung fog bank which was drifting in on the wings of a westerly wind, The motors droned on in a rhythmic song of steady power. Passengers settled back in their seats. Suddenly it seemed as though the great ship had struck a snag in mid-air. A giant hand dealt it a blow. The Clipper jumped upward, then went into a drop, only to be checked by another impact, and rocked from side to side. Tracy had flown enough to know that this was merely rough air, due probably to some change in tempera- ture far below. His eyes sought the porthole, as he instinctively realized the ship must have reached the edge of the fog bank which had been slowly creeping in toward the Bay district. There was no sign of blue water now, only a white floor of silvery clouds reflecting the sunlight in such dazzling splendor that it made the eyes ache. The shadow of the ship showed on the cloud bank as it slipped silently over the glistening surface. Burke knew that this bank of fog, so white from above, was a drab mass of beaded moisture, where it rested on the surface of the ocean. Ships coming in to San Francisco would be crawling along at half speed, the deep booming notes of their fog horns thundering forth at regular intervals. But high overhead, the Clipper Ship roared on its way to the Orient at a speed far in excess of that ever visioned in the wildest dreams of skippers who had commanded its predecessors, the old Clipper ships of the Pacific. The steady roar of the motors, muffled through the insulation of the hull, were, nevertheless, loud enough to furnish a rhythmic undertone of sound which had a soporific effect. Burke settled back against the seat cushions and yielded to the delicious sense of drowsy warmth which per- meated his consciougness. The feeling of dangerous adventure which had gripped him when he had first heard the motors throb into action had given way to peaceful repose. He was dozing, when he felt a light touch on his arm and looked up to see his friend, Joe Peterson, one of the pilots. “How'd you like to take a look up front?"” ““That'd be fine,”” Burke answered, and was piloted toward the bow of the ship. The forward part of the big ship was a hive of industry. A navigator stood at a table on which had been spread a chart. He held a sextant in bis hand and had apparently just completed making observations. ‘‘How.accurately do you know your position?” Burke asked. Peterson grinned. ‘‘Right down to a gnat's eyebrow. We check our posi- tion by conventional navigation, with sights on the sun during the daytime and on stars at night. Then we get radio bearings every few minutes.” Burke peered through the glass windows and said, ‘‘It seems like a hell of a lot of ocean.” “Itis,” Joe told him, “but as far as you're concerned there might as well be a fenced line running right along it, with the ship following that line. For instance, in just about fifteen minutes we should be sighting the Lurline, enroute for San Francisco. We'll fiy directly over her smokestacks without' changing our course a hair's breadth.” Burke looked at his wrist-watch and said, ‘“‘How can you tell?”’ *‘We know her rate of speed and we know our own.” He turned to the navigator. *'Jimmie, can you give me exact time on the Lurline?”’ The man made a few swift calcula- tions. “‘Figure it at thirteen and a half minutes.” Tracy looked at his wrist-watch, and laughed, *'I'm going to check you fellows on that. Listen, Joe, you run into winds up here that blow from all sorts of directions, don't you?” The flyer nodded. *‘Well, how do you know how much they’re blowing you off your course? How can you tell exactly what your air speed is?" “If you looked astern,’” Joe said, “‘you’d see little metallic patches on the ocean. We drop glass containers filled with an aluminum powder, which spreads over the surface of the water and gives us a spot on which we can take a sight. We have instruments that tumn angles into distances, and we can tell exactly what our speed is and exactly what our drift is. From that we work up a dead reckoning and we check the dead reckoning by our navigation and radio bearings.” “Your navigator must be kept pretty busy.” ‘“We're all kept busy. Take a look up here.” i Peterson escorted Burke into the pilot’s compartment. Two pilots sat at the controls, surrounded by a battery of dials. On a platform above and behind them, an engineer was on duty. Out on the sides, the roaring motors harmonized their pulsations into a cadence ‘of deep-throated power. The noise of the motors was louder here, and Burke placed his lips close to Peterson’s ear as he asked, ‘‘What would happen if one of these motors should quit?”’ “It won't quit,” Peterson said. ‘“Each one of those motors is really a double motor. There’s a set of cylin- ders in front and another complete set behind.” ‘‘But suppose one skould quit?” ‘““The passengers would never know anything about it,”” Peterson said. ‘“We'd be a little bit late getting in, that's all. The engineer would clamp brakes around the motor, which would keep it from tuming. Get this, Tracy: Flying is here to stay, and planes, today, represent the last word.” Burke looked up at the engineer and at the radio operator. ‘“Why an engineer?”’ he asked. ‘“He can simplify matters for the pilots and leave them free to concen- trate on flying,” Peterson explained. ‘““Just as a steamship captain has a chief engineer to look after the me- chanical end of the ship. Take motor (Continved on page 12) Rem g. Cleo URINL: FRYOUEYES | ¢ i | | i “