“Yes. Take the car home.”
Stanley drove away, muttering to himself. He knew that his employer frequently traveled by airplane. In fact, Lamont Cranston had his own ship, and frequently hired an aviator to take him on trips.
The millionaire had a pilot’s license, but only operated a plane in the best of weather. Stanley hoped that he would have a good man on the job to-night.
The millionaire stopped at the hangar. He spoke to the man in charge.
“It’s a bad night,” was the comment he received.
Lamont Cranston nodded. Then he intimated that he was in a hurry.
His plane was ready. He climbed into it alone.
The motor roared, and the ship left the ground. It headed toward the northeast, and was swallowed in the black sky.
The visibility was very bad. The men on the ground shook their heads at the foolhardiness of the flight. They knew very little of Lamont Cranston’s ability as a pilot, and they were doubtful.
“Hope he can use his compass,” said one. “I wouldn’t like to be in his place.”