“They seem to be trying to conceal everything. I think no outsiders knew anything about it.”
“And this machine can travel at the rate of one hundred and eighty miles an hour?”
“It did it to-night and kept it up for twenty-five minutes.”
Buck’s questioner leaned back in his chair and gave Mr. Latimer a peculiar look. He seemed about to speak to his assistant but turned toward young Stewart again, took a long, reflective puff on his cigar and continued:
“Have you any reason to believe this machine could cross the Atlantic?”
“I think it could. I believe its makers think so. They call it the ‘Ocean Flyer.’”
What had been a smile on the editor’s face turned into straight, set lips. Again he turned to Mr. Latimer.
“These boys are somewhere in the city you say?”
“Newark says so,” was the night city editor’s prompt response as he slid from the table and took a step toward the desk. “Nathan says they came in from Newark on the midnight express. I’ve got a man out after them now.”
“Haven’t heard from him?”