“To the municipal field,” he ordered when the cab pulled up at the curb, “and step on the gas. This is important.”
The gears crashed together and the cab lurched away into the night, gathering speed as it headed down the almost deserted avenues.
When they reached the field they found it ablaze with light. Pilots and mechanics were hurrying in and out of the hangars and planes were being warmed up and pushed on the line.
“Charge it to the News,” said Tim as he disembarked. Hunter, who came running out of the office, greeted him.
“Glad to see you, Tim,” he said. “We’re getting things lined up to start as soon as it gets light. I’ve put a crew to servicing your plane and she’ll be ready in a few minutes. Where’s Ralph? Isn’t he going?”
Hunter’s question was answered by another snorting taxi, and Ralph, only half awake, tumbled from the car.
“What’s all the excitement and the big rush to get away so quick?” demanded Tim. “The air mail has cracked up before and has always come out on top.”
“Plenty of reason for the rush this time,” said Hunter. “The plane last night was carrying something like $500,000 in securities from New York for a Los Angeles bank.”
Tim whistled. “No wonder they’re getting everything out that can flap its wings. We’ll be with the rest of them, Carl, and glad of the chance to go. It will make a dandy story.”
Tim did not voice his real thoughts for there was no need to unduly alarm the field manager, but the minute the $500,000 had been mentioned, the thought of the Sky Hawk flashed through his mind. It was about time for that daring bandit of the skyways to swoop down in some bold manoeuvre. The storm might have been responsible for the failure of the mail to reach its destination and, again, it might not.