Mason said, “Get your plane out and warm it up. Hold it in readiness.”
It wasn’t until the motors had been turning for several minutes that a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness to touch Mason lightly on the arm. “Everything okay, Chief?” she asked in a low voice.
“Lord, you gave me a fright!” he said. “I thought they’d nabbed you.”
“No,” she told him, “but I figured it would be a good move for me to keep out of sight in case they came out here prowling around. What did you do?”
“Covered myself with whitewash,” he told her, “by telephoning for the police. Thanks to your tip, I had an opportunity to get the thing all planted before Holcomb pounded on the door. Holcomb’s suspicious, but he can’t prove anything.”
The aviator said, “I’m ready. How about it?”
Mason nodded. “Let’s go,” he said.
Chapter eight
Morning sun was streaming through the windows of Mason’s private office, as he opened the door from the corridor and stood regarding Della Street with a whimsical smile.
She was standing by his desk, putting the finishing touches to an arrangement of maps and circulars which completely covered the top.