“Mr. Higginbotham,” exclaimed Frank, under his breath. “Well, what do you know about that?”
It was, indeed, the man they had interviewed earlier that day in the McKay realty offices, back in New York.
“How in the world did he get here?” asked Jack, who also had recognized the other.
Frank had brought their plane to a halt. It bobbed up and down slowly on the long ground swell, not far from the smaller machine.
Bob was still astride the fuselage.
“Hello,” he called. “We saw you fall and came over to see if we could help. Engine gone wrong, or what was it?”
Higginbotham was rapidly recovering his senses. He stared at his interlocutor keenly, then at the others. Recognition dawned, then dismay, in his eyes. But he cloaked the latter quickly.
“Why, aren’t you the lads who were in my office to-day?” he asked, ignoring Bob’s proffer of help. 55
“You’re Mr. Higginbotham, aren’t you?” answered Bob. “Yes, we are the fellows you spoke to.”
“What in the world are you doing out here?” Higginbotham demanded, sharply.