Once inside, Drake locked the door quickly. He washed the sleepiness from his eyes. So the laugh was on him after all. Lardner was in control of the ship, and headed for the lost Flaming Diamond. Where, Drake wondered, did he and Puffy Adams fit into the picture?
Suddenly there was a difference in the tune the motors were humming. The plane slanted down at an abrupt angle and Drake pitched forward against the wall. Struggling up, he heard a sharp knock at the door.
"Better strap yourself into a seat," a strange voice carried through the wall, muffled and far away.
He turned the lock quickly, lurched out, and felt an automatic in the small of his back.
"Hey!" Drake feigned surprise. "What the hell?"
"Never mind, buddy," the man gave him a sharp push toward the cabin, "get yourself strapped in. We ain't got time to tell stories."
A sharp prod of the gun settled the argument. Silently Drake went forward. Puffy was already in his seat, his face an expressionless mask.
"Remember," he whispered, "keep your chin stiff and wait for a break. The fun has really started."
