“I hope not,” was all Jack said in reply.
“Thunder and lightning!” ejaculated the co-pilot, as if an illuminating idea had suddenly flashed through his brain—“that Ryan bus, Jack!”
“Well, what of it?” demanded the one at the stick.
“What if that sporty guy I told you about should turn out to be the critter who broke into Scotty’s room, and made it a complete wreck?”
“It could happen that way, Perk; seems like you’re working on a warm scent right now. Pity we didn’t get a good look at the gentleman before he hid his face behind that helmet and goggles; then at least we’d know him if ever we happened to run across his trail.”
The other was almost frothing at the mouth through disgust and anger combined; but he managed to say, with a select few hard words interlarded as a vent to his outraged feelings:
“Give me half a chance and I’ll mark him so there’s be no difficulty in locating the sneak when we meet him again—I’d put a bit of lead through his arm that’d keep him out of the scrap for a week of Sundays; or else clip off one of his ears, to stamp him as a low-down crook.”
Jack knew full well that this was no idle threat on the part of his running mate; for Perk had a reputation as a pistol shot second to none in the entire service, being a natural born marksman.
He lapsed into a spell of silence after making that vicious remark; but from the way he glanced back again and again it looked as though Perk meant to keep close tabs on the craft that was dogging their own ship so steadily.
They were roaring on their way, and it would seem as if they must be showing a clean pair of heels to anything in their rear; but just the same, Perk, with the vision of an air-minded individual, could readily understand how the speedy Ryan plane was slowly but insidiously picking up on them continuously.