"Let's see," said Roy thoughtfully, "you're one of the workmen at the Mortlake plant, aren't you?"
"I was once," said the man, with a vindictive inflection, "but I am so no longer. Mortlake discharged me."
"Discharged you, eh? Well, what's that got to do with me?"
Roy looked curiously at the man.
"Just this much. I know the meanness that Mortlake plans to do to you. You have bad and wicked enemies at our place."
"Humph! I guess there may be some truth in that," said Roy with a rather grim inflection. "Well, what do you want me to do about it?"
"Just this: I am an honest man. I do not want to see harm come to you or to your sister." This was touching Roy in a tender spot.
"To my sister!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean to say that Mortlake is scoundrel enough to plot against her, too?"
"In this way," explained the man, "he means to destroy your aeroplane, leaving the field clear for his own type to be selected by the navy."
"The—the—the ruffian!" panted Roy, now thoroughly aroused. "Tell me more about this."