“That’s just it,” said Andy. “We were only chasing. We didn’t find a thing to give us thrill.”
“No trace of the mysterious flyer?” asked Bert.
“Nary a sign,” replied Andy. “We found where his plane had attempted to bore its way through the side of a hill but he had evidently dropped out some time before in his chute. He’s probably securely hidden waiting for a chance to bring about the destruction of the Goliath.”
“That won’t be an easy thing to accomplish,” said Bert. “The guard lines have been tightened so a bird can hardly fly over them without being stopped. The army planes came in before noon and any flyer who violates the department of commerce regulations by flying over this air reservation will find a handful of slugs singing through his wings.”
Andy nodded grimly as he looked at the group of army machines in front of a hangar further down the field.
“We’re ready for business now,” he said. “I’d like to meet the officer in command.”
“He’s a fine fellow,” enthused Bert. “Not much older than we are. His name is Lieutenant Jim Crummit of Selfridge Field, Mich. He’s one of the ace pursuit flyers of the air force and the rest of the fellows with him are not far behind when it comes to handling a plane with a machine gun on the business end of it. They’re just itching for something to happen.”
“I’m afraid they’ll be disappointed,” said Merritt Timms, who had just emerged from the cockpit, having experienced some trouble in unfastening his safety belt. “They would have had plenty of fun if they had been here yesterday but from now on the game will be played on the ground or aboard the Goliath when it goes on its trial flights.”
“Here comes Lieutenant Crummit now,” said Bert, stepping forward to greet the tall young officer in command of the detachment from Selfridge Field.
Bert introduced the lieutenant to Andy and the secret service agent, who cordially welcomed the army man to Bellevue.