I watched her as she walked off the field without once looking back. The pilot said, “All aboard.” I climbed in and adjusted the safety belt. We taxied down the field, turned around, and came roaring back. I could feel the steady push of acceleration shoving me against the back of the seat. Then the ground abruptly fell away and tilted as we made a long, banking turn.
I looked down through the window of the plane.
Helen Framley was standing by the automobile, looking up at the lights of the plane. I could just make out the oval of her face, had a last flashing glimpse of the automobile, and then the turning plane swung her out of my vision. A few moments later, we leveled off, and the lights drifted astern. Down below was only the dark stretch of sage-covered plateau. Overhead were the steady stars. Behind us the lights of Reno drew together into a little twinkling cluster. A few minutes later, they had vanished altogether.
Chapter Sixteen
Bertha Cool was evidently giving a party.
I stood in front of the door of her hotel room and listened to the sound of laughter. A babble of voices indicated that the room was well filled with people, and all of them were trying to talk at once.
I rapped on the door.
Bertha Cool called, “Who is it?”
I heard a man say, “Probably the boy with the ice.”
The transom was open an inch or two, far enough to enable me to hear Bertha Cool’s voice say, “Open the door for him.”