“Another plane—well, if there is, this is the first I’ve heard about it,” Gordon declared emphatically.
“Didn’t you see it while you were flying?”
“Don’t be a fool! Do you suppose if I had I should not have found out about it? I didn’t see it and I didn’t see anyone belonging to it.”
“Maybe it’s one of those police guys that’s been broadcastin’ your pitcher so handsome, Cardow,” a man suggested with a grin.
“If it is, Jo, you’re as good as in a Peruvian prison for being found with me,” Cardow reminded him coldly, and the grin disappeared.
“G’wan, if it was a police guy he’d a been here long ago to know ’bout the fireworks.”
“Sure, Brick’s right,” Jo responded with relief.
All of this Austin heard from his hiding place high above them while his brain was making a furious effort to plan a means of escape for himself and his friends. If he could get them, under cover of the growing darkness, to the machine, they would have a fighting chance of getting into the air before the bandits could start their own planes and give chase. Cautiously he leaned further forward, and then he heard one of the men again arguing against Gordon.
“Listen, Cardow, Gordon here is at the Amy-Ran works. We had those prutty-jays of the Don’s tied handsome, me en Carp here a watchin’ ’em fer Gordon, en he shows up late like a dibbytant stidda bein’ on time—”
“Yeh,” Carp interrupted, “he’s holdin’ up the works, and when—”