“There’s nearly two more hours,” replied the radio operator hopefully. “I won’t concede defeat until the last minute.”
Timms snorted and turned to another handful of telegrams that had just been forwarded. He was half-way through the pile when an exclamation brought Andy and Bert to his side.
“Read that,” said the secret service agent, tossing a yellow sheet to them.
The message had been sent from Alden, a small town in the mountains of southeast Kentucky.
“Plane crashed near here early tonight. Description appears to tally with that broadcast. From wreckage it must have been a low-winged monoplane, painted gray. No trace found of pilot.” The message was signed by Frank Hacke, editor, the Alden Advocate.
“Who said the radio wouldn’t bring results?” demanded Bert. “This message looks like a real tip.”
“It does,” agreed Timms, reaching for the phone and placing a long distance call for the editor of the Alden paper.
Half an hour elapsed before the operator was able to get the call through and Timms fumed with impatience. When the wire was finally cleared for his conversation, he fairly leaped at the telephone. Question after question was fired over the wire and Andy and Bert, from the very tenseness of Timms’ attitude, knew that the secret service man was getting valuable information. His final words were highly significant.
“I’ll be there as soon as possible. If I can fly in, have auto lights turned on to mark the boundaries of a field that is safe for a landing.”
Timms banged the receiver on the hook and turned to Andy and Bert.