It was the masked pirate of the torchlight parade!
She hesitated for a second, debating whether or not she should call John Quayle. Then she decided against it. In the time it would take to make a phone call or to run upstairs to his office, the man would be gone. She dashed out into the rain.
The man strode on, not looking back. He passed the open warehouse door and walked on in the direction of a twin-engine Cessna that stood on the apron beyond it. Roy Olsen, ignoring the light rain, was standing beside his plane, fiddling with the door handle. Steve Miller’s Beechcraft stood some distance away.
As the man passed the warehouse, Joey Watson appeared from out of the interior.
“Hi, Van!” he called. “Going somewhere?”
Van! Van Lasher! The warehouse foreman! So he had been the masked pirate!
Vicki ducked into the open door, and dragged the surprised boy with her.
“Look, Joey,” she said breathlessly. “I haven’t time to explain, so just do as I say. Call Mr. Quayle. He’s in his office. Tell him that Van Lasher is the third man. Have you got that, Joey? Tell Mr. Quayle that Van Lasher is the third man!”
“But—but—” the boy stammered.
“Joey!” Vicki snapped. “This is important! Tell Quayle that Van is here and it looks as if he has chartered Roy Olsen’s plane to take him somewhere. I’ll do what I can to stall him. Now hurry, Joey! Hurry! And you’d better use the phone in the office.”