Dorothy dixon and the mystery plane song
About the author. Dorothy Wayne 13 books. Not true, apparently. According to Noel Sainsbury's granddaughter, Sainsbury himself actually wrote the books of the Dorothy Dixon series. The use of the Dorothy Wayne pseudonym "Dorothy" was the name of his wife, "Wayne" the name of his daughter must have been due to the commonly-held publishing premise that books intended for an audience of girls will sell better if written by a female author.
Write a Review. Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book! Search the Wayback Machine Search icon An illustration of a magnifying glass. Sign up for free Log in. EMBED for wordpress. Want more? Advanced embedding details, examples, and help! Item Size 3. Not fifty yards separated the two boats. Bows to the gale, the Mary Jane bore down on the motor sailor.
If those aboard her realized their danger, they had no time to dodge, to shoot ahead, or avoid the ram by going hard astern. They swerved and the Mary Jane struck full amidships with a fearful grinding crash. Bill caught a glimpse of two figures and saw the flame streak out from their barking guns. He felt a violent tug at his life preserver.
Then a yell rang out and the two boats ground together in the heave of the angry sea. Steadying himself with a hand on the wheel, he reversed and his boat hauled away. As she backed off he heard the choking cough of the other craft which had now been blotted out by the darkness and driving sleet. Bill turned about with a triumphant cry on his lips, then checked it suddenly as he saw that Dorothy had fallen across the coaming and was lying halfway out of the boat.
The engine gave a grunt and stopped. But Bill scarcely noticed it. Hauling desperately to get Dorothy inboard, he thought his heart would burst. Suddenly he heard her cry:. Bill gave a heave and just then the boat, caught by a huge wave, rolled far over and landed Bill on his back with Dorothy sprawled across him.
As they struggled to their feet he saw that she was laughing. Glancing down, he saw that she was holding one of the white boxes toward him. He made no motion to take it, but stared to windward, listening. Dorothy dropped down on a thwart with the box in her hand. After a short rest, she renewed her endeavors to get the remainder of her haul overside.
When Bill clambered out of the cabin she was tugging at the strong line to which the boxes were tied.
Dorothy dixon and the mystery plane
Let me see what I can do. He picked up another box bobbing alongside and started to haul in the line. One end of this he found was jammed under the stern, while on the other length a box appeared every thirty or forty feet. That lateral wrench started it. Three cheers and a tiger! Also, hooray! I apologize for being cross.
That water in the cabin kind of got me for the moment. Dorothy fetched the bucket and began to bail. She saw that Bill was trying to start the engine. Switching on the current, he managed to get a revolution or two. Then the motor stopped firing. He ripped off his life preserver and slipping out of his rubber coat, pulled forth a jack-knife and opened it.
Wielding her bucket in feverish haste, she watched Bill lower himself over the stern. The water pounded by this unseasonable sleet must be freezingly cold. She wished it were possible to help him. Fortunately, the Mary Jane was light of draft. He would not have to get his head under, but that tough line must be twisted and plaited and hard as wire.
What if his knife broke, or slipped from his numbed fingers? Dorothy shuddered. Meanwhile, the storm was getting worse and the heavy boat drifted before it. She dropped the bucket and sprang to his assistance. Then, as his head came in sight, she leaned over and gripping him under the arms, swung him over the stern. Another six inches and it will reach the carburetor.
While Bill talked he was priming the cylinder.
Dorothy dixon and the mystery plane of death
A heave of the crank and the motor started with a roar. Then he flashed his light on the compass and after noting the bearing of the wind, laid the Mary Jane abeam it. Dorothy grabbed the spokes and Bill hastily slipped into his rubber coat and adjusted the life belt over it. Steers like a truck in a swamp! From somewhere ahead came the unmistakable booming roar of breakers.
As they topped the next wave Dorothy saw a white band on the sea. She steadied the wheel with her knee and tightened her life preserver. She knew they could not hope to reach the beach in the Mary Jane. Low and open as she was, the first line of breakers would fill her. The motor was still pounding away when she leaned forward and raised her voice to a shout.
Bill dropped the bucket and dove for the cabin. A second later he was back in the cockpit with a three fathom length which he had cut from the anchor line. Then, catching up a bight of the line which secured the boxes he made it fast to his belt with a slip hitch. The Mary Jane was forging strongly ahead, her actual weight of water being about that of her customary load of passengers.
The swells began to mount, to topple. Searching the shore, Dorothy could see no sign of any light or habitation. You were busy bailing. Gosh, what weather! Who ever heard of sleet in August! Then as a brimming swell lifted them sluggishly, its combing crest washed into the boat. The next wave flung them forward and crumpled over the gunwale. The boat yawed off and came broadside on her stern upon a line with the beach.
Then as the next big comber mounted and curled, they dove into the driving water and the wave crashed down upon the sinking boat. Dorothy felt her body being whirled over and over, sucked back a little and driven ahead again. The water was paralyzingly cold, but she struck out strongly and with bursting lungs reached the surface.
Blowing the water from her nose, she saw they were being washed shoreward. Her life preserver, new and buoyant, floated her well—almost too well. She found it difficult to dive beneath the curling wavecrests to prevent another rolling. Bill was swimming beside her now and as a great wave caught them up and carried them forward he grasped her under the arm.
There came a last crumbling surge and the mighty swirl of water swept them up the beach and their feet struck bottom. Fortunately, the beach was not steep. The tide was nearly at the last of the ebb and there was but little undertow. Together they waded out and staggered up the shingle to sink down on the sand breathing heavily. He gathered up the boxes and looped them from his shoulders, rose to his feet and held out a hand.
Dorothy took it, scrambled up and stood for a moment swaying unsteadily. But if we keep going we ought to strike a lifesaving station or something—come on. Bill, who knew that physical exertion was absolutely necessary now, got his arm about her and they started unsteadily down the beach assisted by the gale at their backs. They had walked about half a mile when he felt her weight begin to increase and her steps to lag.
He stopped and peered into her face. As he did so, she sank to the sand at his feet. Bending over her, he was surprised to see that she was asleep—utterly exhausted. The outlook was anything but pleasant. They had apparently struck upon a wild and desolate strip of sand—an island, he thought, cut off by inlets at either end and flanked by the maze of marshes in the lower reaches of Great South Bay.
Without doubt they were marooned and to make matters worse, Bill knew he had just about reached the limit of his own strength. Bill stared down at Dorothy sleeping the sleep of exhaustion on the cold, wet sand. Her clothes, like his, were soaked with sea water and with rain. He realized that something must be done at once, or they would both be in for pneumonia.
So stripping off his rubber coat and covering the unconscious girl, he started for the dunes. Day was breaking as he left the shingle and commenced to plow through the loose sand. The storm was abating somewhat. Although the wind still blew half a gale, the sleet had turned to a fine, cold rain which bade fair to stop altogether once the sun was fully up.
By the time Bill Bolton worked his painfully slow way to the top of the dunes it was light enough to see for a considerable distance. At first glance the prospect was anything but alluring. His point of vantage was in the approximate center of an island of sand and shingle, a mile long, perhaps, by half a mile wide. Inlets from the white-capped Atlantic effectually cut off escape at either end of the outer beach on which a fearsome surf was pounding.
Along the inner shore of this desolate, wind-swept islet a complicated network of channels intertwined about still other islands as far as the eye would reach. Nor could Bill make out any sign of human habitation. He pulled a broad blade and chewed it meditatively. Then spat it out in disgust. The grass was as salty as the sea. It made him thirstier than ever.
Turning seaward he swept the pale horizon with a despondent gaze. Not a sign of a craft of any description could be seen. Wait a minute, though. Bill caught his breath. What was that—bobbing in the chop of the waves, just outside the bar of the eastern inlet? Could it be a boat? In this gray light a proper focus was difficult.
It was a boat, open; a lifeboat, by the look of it. Waiting no longer for speculation, he hurried down the low hill toward the sea. Once he struck hard sand, Bill raced into the teeth of the wind, with the boom of the surf on his right, and dire necessity lending wings to his tired feet. Forgotten were his thirst, the clammy cold of his wet clothes and his weariness.
Every ounce of strength, the entire power of his will centered in the effort to come close enough to the boat to signal her assistance. With his heart pumping like a steam engine, he passed Dorothy, who was lying exactly as he had left her. Then he got his second wind and running became less of a painful struggle. He could see the boat more plainly now.
Surely it was an open motor sailor. Could it be the one belonging to Donovan and Charlie, he wondered. What irony! Coming to a halt at the inlet, he watched the tide pull the boat through the breakers on the bar to the smooth water.
Off came his jacket and flinging it behind him on to the sand he waded into the water and swam for the boat. He reached her at last and with difficulty pulled himself aboard. For a moment or two he rested on a thwart in a state of semi-collapse. But there was no sign of Donovan or Charlie. However, except for six inches or so of water that sloshed about his feet, the motor sailor seemed to be in good condition.
When he felt better, he started the engine and ran her ashore on the island. She was still sleeping, tousled head pillowed on her right arm, and it was some time before he could bring her back to consciousness. Bill raised her to a sitting position. I know now, Bill. What did you wake me for? At least, I was comfortable! Do you think you can walk?
There are even dry towels, think of that! Those guys had her provisioned and equipped for a long trip. The boat has shipped some water, but nothing to be worried about. They may have got into the surf, thought she was going to founder, perhaps, and swam ashore like we did. I think the best plan is for you to go up in the dunes and change there.
Then you can rustle a meal while I put on dry things. Dorothy found herself possessed of a bundle knotted in a large bath towel. Upon inspection it proved to contain dungaree trousers, a jumper, a dark blue sweater, woolen socks and a pair of rubber-soled shoes. Quarter of an hour later he was completing his labors with the aid of a large sponge when he heard footsteps on the shingle and looked up to see a young fellow in blue dungarees and sweater coming toward the boat, carrying a bundle of clothes.
You go ahead and change your own clothes. Bill stepped overside and on to the sand, carrying his dry rig and a towel. Dorothy was spreading her sodden clothing on the sand. I could eat a raw whale. With a wave of his hand he disappeared over the brow of the sand hills, and Dorothy clambered aboard the beached motor sailor.
Much to her delight she found a small two-burner oil stove, already lighted, standing on a thwart. Nearby had been placed a coffee-pot and a large frying pan. The lid of the food locker lay open, as did the one containing the water keg. Say, Dorothy, those guys certainly lived high. Some meal, this! How in the world did you manage it?
Now dig in before things get cold. Donovan and Charlie this trip, not to mention your friend Peters. Got their diamonds and their boat and their clothes. Bill laid down his knife and fork. For a moment he looked startled, then burst into a great roar of laughter. You were all in. I left them beside you on the sand and forgot all about the darn things when I spotted the motor sailor.
Never thought of them again until this minute! Dorothy nodded sagely. Another cup of coffee, please. Though I think it is your appetite rather than the cook you should thank. Bill shook his head. How about it—shall we wash the dishes now? We should worry. This will be our last meal on this boat. I wonder what Yancy will soak Dad for her?
Unless somebody has landed on this island while we were busy with the eats. The two were hurrying along the beach toward the spot where Dorothy had dropped to the sand and fallen asleep. And I reckon he cares more about knowing how the smuggling was done than the contraband itself, anyway. The gang has got to be rounded up.
But that bearded aviator has got to be checked up. No easy matter, either, after what happened last night. Dorothy caught his arm. Me for bed as soon as I can find one. Any idea what time it is? My watch has stopped. Bill glanced at his wrist. Seems like noon to me. This nice warm sun is a wonderful help—I was chilled to the bone. Nothing to keep us longer on this island.
I vote we shove off. Hop aboard and go aft. Your weight in the stern will help to raise her bow so I can push her out without breaking my back. Do you mind seeing what you can find, Dorothy? Make yourself comfortable somewhere and go to sleep. Pipe down, sailor! He went forward and lay flat on the flooring, his head pillowed on his arms.
He was asleep almost immediately. For the next couple of hours Dorothy steered a winding course among low sandy islands and mudbanks. It was impossible to make any speed in these shallow, tortuous waters and she was taking no chances on running aground. It was monotonous work at best. She was deadly tired. At ten she roused Bill, and as soon as he was sufficiently alert to take over she went to sleep on the flooring in the shadow of a thwart.
Dorothy jumped to her feet and ran her fingers through her rumpled hair. Snap into it, kid, and fend her off with the boathook. Presently they were tied up to the dock and Dorothy was making a sketchy toilet with the aid of her compact. Thank goodness Wispy is still at her mooring over there. Walters and phone Lizzy we will be home for a late lunch.
For the next hour Dorothy worked manfully, overhauling the motor sailor. Fierce rays of the noonday sun beat down on the open boat. Except for an old coat and those odds and ends which accumulate aboard any boat as large as the motor sailor, she found absolutely nothing. Dorothy straightened her back and wiped the perspiration from her forehead with a sodden handkerchief.
He looked on the verge of collapse, but his voice still held its hearty ring. Finish your business? Tell you more about it later. Yancy will be recompensed for the Mary Jane and will look after this motor sailor until the government men take her over. I got Lizzie on the wire. She expects your father home tonight. I put the diamonds in a safe deposit box at a bank uptown.
For the next few minutes Bill continued his search while Dorothy after placing the notebook on the decking of the dock watched it carefully, lest the light breeze blow it into the water. Dorothy and Mr. Dixon were finishing breakfast next morning when the Boltons, father and son, dropped in. Since you people moved here two lonely widowers have acquired another child apiece.
Bolton assented heartily. This diamond smuggling business, for instance. Dixon pushed his chair back from the breakfast table. I suppose Bill has been hitting the hay, like me? Bolton answered as they found chairs for themselves on the shaded porch, where the air was sweet with the scent of honeysuckle. Dixon passed his case to Mr. Bolton and when their after-breakfast cigars were well alight, Bill produced the notebook.
That—er—stogie happens to be a fifty-cent Corona! Dixon who was touchy about his smokes. As you see, only a few pages have been used, and they show a simple set of flag signals. Bill nodded. The government men will watch the ships and the coast.
Dorothy dixon and the mystery plane movie
Both Bill and I talked to Washington over the phone just before we came over here. Dorothy snorted derisively. Bill burst out laughing. Dixon chuckled. But where are we going to patrol? You told me, I think, that those lads planned to take you from the warehouse to their headquarters in Connecticut.
Dorothy dixon and the mystery plane tour: Book 2 of the Dorothy Dixon Series - In the spirit of early adventure and mystery/young adult sleuthing stories of the early 's, sixteen-year old Dorothy is once again swept into drama and danger as she works to locate her missing friend, Terry.
The deep drone of an airplane increased to a giant roar as a smart two-seater swept down toward the house. On came the amphibian with throttle wide open, just topping the trees at the edge of the lawn. Then the four on the steps saw the pilot drop something overside and zoom upward missing the roof of the house by inches. Dixon pointed out on to the lawn.
This business is getting more interesting by the minute! Dixon came out of the house carrying a pail of water, which he brought down to the lawn, where they were waiting. She snatched up the package and ripped off the outside paper, disclosing a white cork box, similar to those used for carrying the contraband.
Bill took a knife from his pocket and opened a blade that proved to be a small screwdriver. He took the box from Dorothy and removed the screws from the lid.
Dorothy dixon and the mystery plane full
Around it, fastened by a rubber band, there was a small sheet of note paper. The others gathered close as he smoothed out the paper. EPUB older E-readers. EPUB no images, older E-readers. Plain Text UTF Download HTML zip. There may be more files related to this item. Wayne, Dorothy,