“That’s mighty fair, square, and above board uv yer, lad,” said the captain gratefully.  “Punk me anywhere.  I’m an old sailor, and can aways find the softest plank in the deck.”

“You won’t have to do that,” said Rob, who had slipped downstairs by this time and opened the door; “we’ve got a spare room you can bunk in to-night.  I’ll explain it all to father in the morning.  Perhaps he can help us out.”

“Gee whiz! almost twelve o’clock,” exclaimed Hiram Nelson, looking up at the clock from the dining-room table in Paul Perkins’ house.  The chamber was strewn with text books on model aeroplane construction and littered with figures and plans of the boys’ own devising.  “How time flies when you’re on a subject that interests you.”

“Yes, it’s a good thing it’s vacation time,” agreed Paul.  “We wouldn’t be in much shape to work at our books to-morrow, eh?”

“I should say not!” rejoined Hiram with conviction.  “Well, so long, Paul.  I guess we’ve got it all figured out now, and all that is left to do is to go ahead.”

“That’s the idea,” responded Paul.  “We’ll get the prize for the glory of the Eagle Patrol, or—­ or—­”

“Bust!” Hiram finished for him.

Hiram’s way home lay past the bank, and as he walked down the moonlit street he thought for a minute that he perceived a light in the windows of the armory.

Almost as he fancied he glimpsed it, however, it vanished, and the lad was convinced that he must have been mistaken, or else seen a reflection of the moonlight on the windows.

“Queer, though,” he mused.  “I could almost have sworn it was a light.”

Another curious thing presently attracted his attention.  As he neared the bank a dark figure seemed to vanish into the black shadows round the corner.  Something familiar about it struck Hiram, and the next moment he realized why.

“If that wasn’t Bill Bender, I’m a Dutchman,” he muttered, his heart beating a little faster.  “But what can he be doing round here at this time of night?”

As he put the question to himself, Bill Bender, walking rapidly, as if he had come from some distance, and had not dodged round the corner a moment before, suddenly appeared from round the angle of the bank building.

“Good evening, Bill,” said Hiram, wondering if his eyes were not playing him some queer tricks; “wasn’t that you just went round the corner?”

“Who, me?” blustered Bill.  “You need to visit an oculist, young man.  I’ve just come from a visit to my aunt’s.  It was her birthday, and we had a bully time.  Sat up a little too late, though.  Good night.”

And with a great assumption of easiness, the crony of Jack Curtiss walked rapidly off up the street.

“I guess he’s right,” mused Hiram, as he hurried on home.  “But if that wasn’t Bill Bender who walked round that corner it was his ghost, and all the ghosts I ever read about don’t wear squeaky boots.”