And Walker did. While government planes swooped back and forth again and again across the country looking for a wrecked plane, Walker was busy working out his own theories.
“I tell you,” he was calling his New York editor, “there’s a whale of a good story here, one that’s bigger than anyone has guessed. This is no mere plane accident.
“How do I know? Oh, just smart that way. Can’t tell you more now. Want to go through with it? It will cost plenty of dough. Need a plane and a couple of darn good pilots.
“Sky’s the limit, you say? Okey-doke.” With this he slammed the receiver down and was off.
He went to the United States Embassy, called the hacienda again, hired a plane and zoomed off in the direction X52 was headed for when it disappeared.
For hours he and his pilot combed the district and found nothing that satisfied Walker. Then, along about nightfall a lone shack in a deserted district attracted his attention. The plane dropped down.
Nan heard it, from her shack prison she heard it and thought that it was the X52 returning. While she waited, she didn’t know what she wanted the more—to have the plane come or have it stay away. If it stayed away, she thought, that somehow, some way they could get out of the cabin, but to what end she couldn’t imagine. In the meantime, she was concerned over the child and the fear that it would starve.
She waited tensely as the motor died, as she heard footsteps approaching the cabin.
A voice called.
Where had she heard it before? Could it possibly be—Walker! Was she dreaming? She heard it again. This time she answered and a great flood of relief came over her. It was he! She ran to the door and shook it, although she had done it a dozen times before during the day and nothing had happened. Because Walker was here now, because there was someone out there that she knew, she felt that almost anything might come true. She pushed and shouted and beat upon the door.