“No.”
“And you figure Povy was the man?”
“I do. Without question it was Povy. To avoid arrest, he made it appear he had been killed.”
“But see here, Flash, Brooks’ parachute barely had been successfully tested at the time of the wreck. Your reasoning is as full of holes as a sieve.”
“I’m not saying what Povy was after. That’s my guess.”
“Well, it may have been Povy who attacked the Major the first time,” Doyle conceded. “But to connect him with Rascomb! I’ve seen both men. They don’t look alike, they don’t act alike—”
“Okay,” Flash cut in, “let’s skip it. Now where is the car?”
“In front of the hotel.”
They passed through the revolving doors and moved to the curb. Doyle looked up and down the street, finally signaling a driver in a new black touring car.
“We’re riding to Clinton in style,” he grinned.