the balancing device to
which he mainly pinned his hopes of besting the other craft.

From the newspapers they had been made aware that several types,
bi-planes, monoplanes and freak designs were to compete, and Roy was not
the boy to let lack of preparation stand in the way of success. Detectives
and the local police had been set to work on the mysterious plot whose
object had been to entrap the boy. But no result had come of their work.
Incidentally, it had been found, when the auto which Roy had driven to the
deserted house was towed back for repairs, that the tank had been
punctured by some sharp instrument.

As for the clue of the brilliant-studded comb, Peggy on examining it,
declared it to be one of a pair of side-combs, which only complicated the
mystery. Roy had thought of surrendering this clue to the police, but on
thinking it over he decided not to. He had an idea in regard to that comb
himself, and so had Peggy, but it seemed too wild and preposterous a
theory to submit to the intensely practical police of Sandy Beach.

Roy looked up from the paper-littered desk as Peggy flung breathlessly
into his sanctum. He knew that only unusual news would have led her to
interrupt his work in which she was as keenly interested as he was.

"What is it, Sis?" he asked, "you look as excited as if the Statue of
Liberty had paid us a visit and was now doing a song and dance on the
front lawn."

"Oh, Roy, do be serious. Listen--who do you suppose has come back to Sandy
Beach?"

"Not the least idea. Who?"

"Fanning Harding!"

"Fan Harding! The dickens!"

"Isn't it, and more than that, he is down at the Mortlake plant now. He is
going to take up the _Cobweb_. And who do you think is to be his
companion?"

"Give it up."

"Regina Mortlake!"

"Phew!" whistled the boy, "a new conquest for the irresistible Fanning,
eh?"

"Don't be stupid," reproved Peggy, severely, "I've been thinking it over
and I've just hit on the solution. Fanning, or so I heard, took up
aviation when he was in the west. You know he always had a hankering for
it."

"Yes, I recollect his fake aeroplane that scared the life out of you,"
grinned Roy.

"Well," pursued Peggy, not deigning to notice this remark, "I guess they
decided that Mr. Mortlake would be a bit er--er--overweight isn't it
called? so they sent for old Mr. Harding's son to manage the _Cobweb_ at
the tests."

"Jove, that must be it. Makes it rather awkward, though. Somehow I