In the rush of plans and details which had to be worked out for the coming of the High Flyers, Tim was forced to relegate thoughts of “Mr. Seven” in the far depths of his mind. He managed to drop in at the Ransom House once a day to check on the presence of the mysterious stranger and each time learned that the object of his interest was still in Atkinson.
The High Flyers arrived late Saturday afternoon, wheeling down out of a cloudless sky. There were eight ships, three mechanics and two stunt men. Six of the planes were trim, modern crafts but two of them were old trainers that should have been on the junk heap long ago. Tim was surprised to see that type of craft.
By agreement, Prentiss had stayed away from the field for McDowell knew him by sight.
As soon as the ships had rolled up oh the ramp, Tim stepped out to greet McDowell. The head of the High Flyers was even shorter and swarthier than Tim had expected. His hand was cold and limp and Tim felt a chill run along his spine as the close-set eyes seemed to bore into him.
“Nice field,” commented McDowell. “Hope we have a good crowd.”
“We’ve been giving the show plenty of publicity,” said Tim.
“That’s good. I’m pulling a new stunt tomorrow afternoon. It’s a head-on collision at 2,000 feet between two planes. That’s why I’m wheeling those ancient trainers along. They’ll go up in smoke tomorrow.”
“Pretty risky sort of a stunt, isn’t it?” asked Ralph.
“Not as much so as it sounds. The pilots will chase each other for a while and then come on head first. Just before they crash both men will dive over the side in their chutes.”
“Who’s going to handle the ships?” asked Tim.