“Here I am!” she said. “But it isn’t a very nice morning, is it?”
“It will be all right up above,” replied Toby. “Come along—down that next flight of steps.” He was trembling with eagerness. I wondered suddenly whether I was wise in letting her go up with him. The man’s nerves were obviously strung to high pitch. On the other hand, I had the greatest confidence in his skill—and it was only too likely that she would misinterpret any objections from me, would refuse to listen to them.
While I was hesitating, she had already descended to the lower stage, and Toby had helped her along the gangplank into the machine.
“You see I’ve brought my raincoat,” she said. “It’ll be cold up there, wont it?”
“That’s no use,” replied Toby with brutal directness. “Here!” He opened a locker where he kept the flying-coats for his passengers. “Put that on.”
I helped her with it. She looked more charming than ever in the thick leather coat, the close-fitting leather helmet framing her dainty features. Then I made a step toward the gangplank.
“But aren’t you coming too?” she demanded in surprise.
Toby answered for me.
“Esdaile doesn’t care for flying,” he said with a sardonic smile, looking me straight in the eyes. There was a sort of mocking triumph in that unmistakable sneer.