Tim appraised the mechanic. He was six feet or better and weighed a good two hundred pounds. To try to argue with him would be foolhardy and Tim turned and started for his car.
Halfway to the car he paused for a moment, a peculiar mark on the soft turf of the field attracting his attention. It was the mark of a tailskid and from its clean-cut appearance, must have been made within the last hour!
CHAPTER FOUR
On the way back to the office, Tim mulled over the events of the last few weeks. First the attack on the transcontinental air mail, then the warning note from the Sky Hawk, his gruff reception at the Ace air circus field and finally his discovery of the tailskid track on a day that was rotten for flying. Only a flyer with an urgent mission would think of flying with the weather conditions what they were and yet someone had evidently landed at the Ace field within the last few minutes.
Tim felt that the gods who hold the threads of fate were weaving a new pattern and that he was being drawn deeper and deeper into it. The flying reporter was seldom blue, but something in the air, the very grayish color of the day depressed him and he was moody when he reached the office.
“What’s the matter, Tim?” asked Dan Watkins, the venerable head of the copy desk. “You look like you’d lost your last friend. Suppose you’re mad because all this rainy weather is keeping you tied down and you have to associate with us earthworms.” Dan chuckled at his own sally.
“I don’t know what’s the matter, Dan,” admitted Tim. “I feel all restless and stirred up inside—unsettled.”
The head copy reader looked intently at the flying reporter and what he saw in the usually clear blue eyes brought forth his next words.
“Get your hat, Tim,” he invited, “and come out and have lunch with me. It will do you good to get out of this stuffy atmosphere.”
Tim welcomed the invitation and Dan guided him down a side street to a cheery little restaurant. There was little conversation until they had given their orders for lunch.