The flying reporter walked over to the manager’s office and laid the letter on Hunter’s desk.
“I was afraid of something like that,” said the airport chief when he finished reading the note. “The possibility of the Sky Hawk had occurred to me before but I thought I’d get laughed off the field if I mentioned it. You’ll take good care of yourself, won’t you, Tim?”
“Sure, Carl, and while I’m here I want to find out what you know about this flying circus that blew in a couple of weeks ago. Why didn’t they stop at your field?”
“They landed here first but when they found we charged a percentage on all passengers carried, they pulled out and rented a pasture on the other side of town.”
“Guess I’ll drift over that way,” said Tim. “There may be a story.”
The flying reporter took the office car he had used to come down to the field and fifteen minutes later had skirted the edge of the city and reached a level tract of land where several canvas hangars had been erected. A sign over the gate announced that the “Ace Company” was ready for business. Tim turned his car from the main road and into the field. There was no one on duty at the gate and he started for one of the hangars where he could hear men at work.
He was about to push aside the canvas flap when a burly mechanic fairly jumped out of the tent.
“What you doing here?” he bawled.
“Just looking around,” replied Tim. “I’m Murphy of the News?”
“Oh, so you’re Murphy of the News?” mimicked the mechanic. “Well, we don’t want any flying snoopers sticking their noses in here. Now get out and stay out!”