Joan faced him. "I thought you were going away."
"I've changed my mind." Looking at her, at her blue, unsympathetic eyes, Fallon wondered if he really had. Perhaps the stunning shock of all that had happened had unsettled him.
Joan put both hands on his shoulders and looked straight into his eyes. "What kind of a man are you, Webb Fallon?"
"God knows," he said. "Where do you keep your boat, Bjarnsson?"
"In a private steel-and-concrete building at Wilmington. Some of the improvements are of interest to certain people. I keep them locked safely away. Or so I thought."
Fallon rose stiffly. "Kashimo didn't come in a car, that's certain. He'd have been arrested on sight. Any place for a plane to land near here?"
The explorer shook his head. "Unless it could come straight down."
Fallon snapped his finger. "A helicopter! That's it."
He led the way out. They found the 'copter on a small level space beyond the shoulder of the hill. Fallon nodded.
"Ingenious little chaps. The ship's painted like an Army plane. Any pilot would think it was a special job and let it severely alone." He turned abruptly to Joan.