“Couldn’t expect our luck to last forever,” Kimber murmured. “How about it, kid? Do they have anything up yet? Evasive action right now would be tough.”
There was an ominous wink of red light now in the sky.
“Some one’s coming up-wing lights showing.”
“Wing lights, eh? Well, well, well. aren’t we both the forgetful boys though.” Kimber’s hand went out to snap down a small lever.
From the corner of his eye Dard saw their own tell-tale wing-tip gleams disappear. But the pursuer made no move to shut his off-or else he did not care if he betrayed his position.
“I have now only one question,” the pilot continued half to himself. “Who is Lossler and why did our dear friend back there expect trouble from him? A split within the ranks of Pax-it smells like that. Too bad we didn’t know about this Lossler complication sooner.”
“Would such a split make any difference in your plans?”
“No, but we could have had a lot more fun these past few months. And playing one group against the other might have paid off. Like tonight-this Lossler may take the blame for us, and no one will come nosing around the Cleft for the crucial time we have left here. What the-!”
Kimber’s body strained forward, he was suddenly intent upon the dials before him. Then he reached out to rap smartly on the very indicator he had told Dard to check before they had taken the ’copter. The needle behind the cracked glass remained as stationary its if it were painted across the numbers it half obscured. A line drew Kimber’s brows together. Again he struck the glass, trying to jar loose the needle. Then he settled back in the seat.
“Dear me,” he might have been remarking on the brightness of the night, “now we do have a problem. How much fuel? Is the tank full part full, or deuced near empty? I thought this was all a little too smooth. Now we may have to—”