“We’ve found the wreckage of the gray plane,” he said. “It smacked into the side of a mountain about three miles from Alden. The editor of the paper was one of the first ones to reach the scene but they were unable to find any trace of the pilot. We’ve got to get to Alden at once for we mustn’t let that flyer get away. He’s the man who is slated to bring about the actual destruction of the Goliath.”
The words rang through Andy’s head. The pilot had somehow escaped in the crash. It was possible to crack up a ship without injury but it was more likely that the man they sought had jumped while the plane was in flight, drifting down in his chute and leaving the plane to crash to its own destruction.
Andy heard Timms asking if he could fly him to Alden that night. He replied almost mechanically and then hastened out of the office and down the field to rout out several mechanics, who rolled his red sportster out on the concrete apron and checked it thoroughly. The motor sent echoes blasting through the stillness of the night as Andy himself tested it.
He was joined several minutes later by Bert and the secret service agent.
Timms climbed into the forward cockpit and Bert started to crowd in with him.
“Sorry, Bert,” called Andy. “You’ll have to stay on the ground this trip. The Ace is only a two-place job and I can’t afford to overtax its capacity tonight. I’ll need all my speed and climbing ability in dodging over the mountains.”
Bert was keenly disappointed but he knew the truth of Andy’s words and he dropped back to the ground.
“I’ll warn Alden that you’re coming by air,” he said, “and they’ll be sure to have a field marked in some way.”
“Fine,” yelled Andy. “See you tomorrow.”
Flame licked around the exhaust vent of the motor as Andy opened the throttle. The Ace came to life with a quick flirt of its tail. The riding lights gleamed sharply in the night; then were swallowed in the haze of dirt swept up from the field by the wash of the propeller.