Silver Wings

Timaru Herald, Volume CXLVIII, Issue 21575, 10 February 1940, Page 6

Silver Wings

Specially '.vritten foi “Peter Par’s Page”

By

TOM THUMB

Chapter 3 Spies “That tyre won’t take much fixing,” said Robert, eyeing the damaged ’plane critically. I can do it myself. I exxpect he has a spare somewhere! I wonder what was wrong with the machine? Carburetter trouble. I suppose.” Then with a mechanic’s expert knowledge, he overhauled the engine. An hour later he grinned with satisfaction. “There it is—a hole in the petrol pipe. I’ll fix it later on—but I won't let the old boy know that I’ve located the trouble.” He spoke aloud, though quietly. Then seeing Dr Gummel walking towards him, he busied himself looking over the engine. “I can’t find the trouble,” said Robert, as the Doctor came up. “I don't know what's wrong with the beastly machine!” “It is nothing compared with what will be wrong with the pilot later on,” chuckled Gummel. Robert stared at him in horror. “You mean—” “Yes, my friend,” gloated the Doctor. “I mean that after all. his presence here, is something of a godsend. I can experiment now, and can tell if my bacilli are strong enough to

take effect.” “But —but—you can’t give the man typhoid up here,” stammered Robert.

“Ho! so the little Robert is squeamish,” chuckled the Doctor, as his eyes grew bright with fanatical hate. “I can, and will, give him typhoid germs up here. No one will suspect anything. It will be thought that he was killed when his ’plane crashed in the mountains. Oh, yes! the authorities are right! These mountains are dangerous, more dangerous than they realised.” Robert shuddered. “You shudder, my little Robert, but war is war. It is well that you did not shudder earlier. Then perhaps you would not have accepted the German money, and it would not have been so easy for me to strike at th? enemy’s camp. Here I can develop my bacilli, unmolested.” “Oh, shut up,’ ’cried Robert. “You have all the plans you want now. How soon will you be ready. This job is getting on my nerves!” “Calm yourself, my boy, calm yourself,” replied Dr Gummel soothingly. “To-morrow evening I shall inject the typhoid germ. Our friend, the pilot, is strong and will be a good subject for experiments. When I have studied the effects and know the strength of my bacilli, I shall be ready to take my little journey with you!” “Well—l’m not going to hang about here all night,” growled Robert. “I’ll be back to-morrow.” So saying he hopped into the moth, rose quickly, and was soon out of sight. In the cockpit of the Kapiti crouched a small boy. stiff and weary, and half dazed by what he had heard. Jake was to be injected with typhoid

germs, and after that the germs were to be let loose in the military camp. It would be an easy matter to put them in the drinking water, and typhoid was a deadly disease, and—oh—Cyril was in camp; Cyril, big and brave and handsome! Cyril must not be stricken with typhoid! The sinister little man was a German spy! He had plans of some sort, and he was going to strike a blow for Germany, and ruin the military camp in New Zealand. A bright plan, for no one would suspect, on an outbreak of typhoid that the germs had been purposely liberated.

The Doctor had disappeared now. He had gone into the little hut, and the other man had gone off in his ’plane.” Carefully Douglas stretched Iris limbs, and his eyes fell on a package of sandwiches and chocolate, and a thermos flask. Quickly he drank some hot tea and ate sparingly of the food. Thank goodness Big Jake had brought a plentiful supply. "So the petrol pipe is leaking." he muttered. "Thank you for the information Robert. I expect it is the place Big Jake mended some days ago.”

He raised his head cautiously. The shelter in which Jake lay was some 50 yards away. When it grew dark he would crawl out and cut those ropes that bound him. But here was the Doctor again! He was making for Big Jake's shelter. He had something in his hands! Douglas's heart stood still! Was it food, or was it that dreaded hypodermic syringe! He could not tell. It was quite dark when he clambered carefully out of the Kapiti and craw’led across the ground to Jake’s shelter.

“S-sh,” he whispered as the big pilot gave a sudden start. “It's only Douglas!”

“Douglas!” answered Jake in amazement. “Good gracious, laddie, how did you get here?”

“I came on board the Kapiti.” grinned Douglas. "I was a stowaway. He didn’t give you an injection, did he?” "Who?”

"The beastly little doctor.’ “No, he gave me some food, but he spoke about an injection to-morrow.” Douglas nodded miserably then quickly told Jake the news he had heard.

A footstep was heard approaching and like an eel Douglas crawled through the back of the shelter and lay motionless in the long grass. “Voices—voices—” muttered DT Gummel. "I heard voices—fool that I was not to search the ’plane.” Big Jake lay apparently asleep—tossing restlessly and muttering to himself.

“Huh!” said the Doctor. “So that was it! Talking in his sleep! Well, my big friend, I think I’ll change my mind and give you the injection while you are asleep. Perhaps it would be easier!" —and from his pocket he drew forth a small syringe. (To be continued next week)