"Score two for us!" thought Peggy to herself.
From a far corner of the pasture, Mortlake watched his young rivals
climbing the sky. He shook his fist at them and his heavy face darkened.
CHAPTER XI.
THE MARKED BILL.
Some two days after the events narrated in our last chapter, Lieut.
Bradbury, sitting in the library of the New York Aero Club, on West
Fifty-fourth Street, received a telegram from Eugene Mortlake. He was
considerably astonished, when on tearing it open, he read as follows:
"Must see you at once. Have positive proof that young Prescott is about to
sell out his secrets to foreign government."
"Phew!" whistled the young officer. "This is a serious charge. If it is
proved, it will bar Prescott from bidding for the United States government
contract. But I can hardly believe it. There must be some mistake.
However, it is my duty to investigate. Let's see--three o'clock. I can
get a train to Sandy Beach at four. Too bad! Too bad!"
The young officer shook his head. He had come to have a sincere regard for
Roy and his pretty sister, as well as admiration for their resourcefulness
and pluck.
When it is explained that during the time elapsing between his lucky lift
in the Prescott machine and the reception of the note, that Lieut.
Bradbury had notified Roy that he would be expected to report at the
Brooklyn Navy Yard, his feelings on learning that there was suspicion
directed against his young protege, may be imagined.
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