“Someone you know?”
“You remember that fellow, Albert Povy?”
“Povy—I can’t seem to place him.”
“The man we both saw at Brandale. He was trying to buy Bailey Brooks’ parachute after the successful test.”
“Oh, sure,” nodded Doyle. “He wasn’t killed in the wreck?”
“His name is listed.”
Doyle guided the sound truck through traffic at a reckless pace, deliberately stealing the right-of-way from timid motorists.
“If Povy’s dead, then Bailey Brooks is out of luck,” he remarked in a matter of fact tone. “Too bad for him.”
“And for Povy, too,” added Flash dryly. “However, from what I’ve heard of the man, his death may not be such a great loss to humanity.”
“Mixed up in some sort of government scandal, wasn’t he?”