Boy Aviators Polar Dash | Page 6

"but there is the ship of Olaf--"
Frank was up like a shot.
"Didn't we give our word to the Captain not to mention a word about
that?" he demanded.
"That's so," assented Harry, abashed, "but I just wanted to show this
young person here that he can't treat our expedition with levity."
"The ship of Olaf, eh?" mused the young reporter, "sounds like a story.
Who was Olaf, if I may ask?"
"You may not ask," was Frank's rejoinder. "As you know, Billy, we
have been frank with you, of course under the pledge of secrecy which
we know you too well to dream of your breaking. You know we are
bound for the South Polar regions. You know also that the object of
Captain Hazzard is to discover the pole, if possible; in any event to
bring back scientific data of inestimable value; but there's one thing
you don't know and of which we ourselves know very little, and that is
the thing that Harry let slip."
"All right, Frank," said the young reporter, readily, "I won't say any
more about it, only it did sound as if it had possibilities. Hullo! ten
o'clock; I've got to be jogging along."
"What are you going to court about?" inquired Frank.
"Oh, a small case. Doesn't look as if it would amount to a row of pins.
A Jap who was arrested last night, more for safe-keeping than anything
else, I guess. He was found near the consulate of his country and
appeared to be under the influence of some drug. Anyhow, he couldn't
look after himself, so a policeman took him to a station-house. Of
course, there might be a story back of it and that's why I'm on the job."
"A Jap, eh?" mused Frank curiously.
"Yes; do you number any among your acquaintance?" inquired Billy.

"Well, we do number one; don't we, Harry?" laughed Frank.
At that moment the telephone bell rang sharply in the booth erected in
the workshop in order to keep out noise when anyone was conversing
over the wire.
"Wait a second, I'll see what that call is," exclaimed Frank, bolting into
the booth. He was in it several seconds and when he came out his face
was flushed and he seemed excited.
"What's the matter--trouble?" inquired Billy, noting his apparent
perturbation.
"Yes, it is trouble in a way," assented Frank, "I guess we'll take a run to
court with you and look over this Jap of yours, Billy."
"Think you know him?"
"That's just what I want to see."
"You seem very anxious about it. Anything wrong?"
"Yes, very wrong. That was Captain Hazzard on the wire, and a
mysterious theft has occurred on the Southern Cross."
CHAPTER III.
OFF FOR THE SOUTH POLE.
The court-room was crowded as the boys entered it, but armed with
Billy's police card they soon made their way through a rail that
separated the main body of the place from the space within which the
magistrate was seated. On the way over Frank had related his
conversation over the wire with Captain Hazzard. It appeared that
Oyama, the Jap, was missing and that several papers bearing on the
objects of the expedition which were,--except in a general way,--a
mystery to the boys themselves, had been stolen.

Putting two and two together, Frank had made up his mind that the Jap
whose case Billy had been assigned to investigate was none other than
Oyama himself, and as they entered the space described above his eyes
eagerly swept the row of prisoners seated in the "Pen."
"I was sure of it," the boy exclaimed as his eyes encountered an abject,
huddled-up figure seated next a ragged, besotted-looking tramp.
"Sure of what?" demanded Harry.
"Why, that Oyama was the man who stole the papers from the Southern
Cross."
"Well?"
"Well, there he is now."
Frank indicated the abject object in the corner who at the same moment
raised a yellow face and bloodshot eyes and gazed blearily at him.
There was no sign of recognition in the face, however. In fact the Jap
appeared to be in a stupor of some sort.
"Is that little Jap known to you?"
Frank turned: a gray moustached man with a red face and keen eyes
was regarding him and had put the question.
"He is--yes," replied the boy, "but----"
"Oh, you need not hesitate to talk to me," replied the stranger, "I am Dr.
McGuire, the prison surgeon, and I take a professional interest in his
case. The man is stupefied with opium or some drug that seems to have
numbed his senses."
"Do you think it was self-administered?" asked the boy.
"Oh, undoubtedly. Those fellows go on regular opium debauches
sometimes. In this case perhaps it is very fortunate for some one that