“Not on file.”
“That’s good,” said Mr. Latimer with his first smile of the evening. “It’ll make a good ‘follow’ to-morrow. By the way, did you get a story of these youngsters right up to date?”
“No,” answered the reporter, somewhat regretfully, “I couldn’t find anything about them after their record flight in a steel monoplane between New York and Chicago last July. I know they were in New York at their Waldorf offices until August. But I can’t find anything about them since that date. If they’ve got a new idea, they’ve had since last August to work on it unmolested by the newspapers.”
Mr. Latimer was shaking his head as he refilled his pipe.
“Get your supper and hurry back. Stewart’ll be here in fifteen or twenty minutes. Then we’ll see what we can all do to find out what they’ve been doing since August. The story is gettin’ to look good.”
Winton was about to hasten away when his interest got the better of his judgment and he violated one of the unwritten rules of the Herald office: he questioned his superior.
“I know it isn’t my business, Mr. Latimer,” he began, hesitatingly, “but didn’t Stewart say they have made a new machine that can fly two hundred miles an hour?”
The night city editor nodded his head.
“And he has the details of the machine?”
“All of them,” replied the editor. “But he’s missed the main thing—the story. What are they going to do with such a craft? Why should they test it out in secret—under cover of night?”