But when he thought of it more soberly, the thing seemed absurd. “In a city of millions, how could it be?” he asked himself. Then he dismissed the matter from his mind.
There were other matters requiring consideration. And these made him restless, impatient to be up and away. Some of his friends were in trouble. Curlie Carson had opened a registered mail sack; had made himself liable to arrest; might even yet be arrested and thrown into prison by the Federal authorities if the priceless package were not found and returned.
“And how is it to be found?” he asked himself. “Find the man who took it and make him confess, to be sure. How simple!”
Strangely enough, while Johnny was still confined to his bed and might well have been thinking of this very matter, Grace Palmer received a letter which for a time puzzled her greatly.
Addressed to her at her home, it contained the simple statement:
“The man you are looking for will be at the turn of the breakwater on the island at ten o’clock P. M., Wednesday, this week.”
The note, which was unsigned, reached her on Tuesday. She racked her mind for its meaning. She had often gone to this man-made island, but never in search of a man.
“Except—” Her heart beat double time. “Except on that night with the young Air Mail pilot.
“I wonder—”
She went to the phone and got Curlie on the wire. She told him of the note.