They drove out of town with Doyle at the wheel. The truck made good speed. For a time neither of them spoke.
“Oh, by the way,” Doyle said at length, “what sort of salary did Clewes give you?”
“Somewhat less than Joe was getting,” Flash answered vaguely. “More than I’ll earn probably.”
“You’ll be getting a double salary while you’re on vacation, won’t you?” Doyle could not hide his envy.
“Yes, but it won’t last long.”
Flash decided to ask a few questions himself. A little later he introduced the subject of the sportsman, Rascomb, asking Doyle the man’s first name.
“Herbert. Herb Rascomb.”
“And where is his lodge located? What town is it near?”
“Couldn’t tell you exactly,” responded Doyle. “I understand it’s not far from where we’re heading—Melveredge Field. But why this sudden interest in Rascomb?”
“Merely curious, that’s all. What sort of reputation does he have?”