“No, Johnny, you’re wrong.” Drew’s smile was sad. “No, Johnny. The meanest man is the one who turns traitor to the cause he has sworn to serve.
“Who is it that we remember with real hatred when we think of our American Revolution? Is it Cornwallis?
“He is not the man. Benedict Arnold, the traitor, is the man.”
“Yes,” Johnny agreed, “that’s right. But you don’t think—”
“Stop!” Drew Lane held up his hand for silence. “This is no time for thinking out loud. We must wait and see.”
“Waiting is not my long suit!” exclaimed Johnny, springing to his feet. “I am long on action. And why not? I am free. You have been free lances for the city. I am a free lance on my own. I can go where I please.”
“Yes,” agreed Tom Howe. “Until the long arm of the Powers of Evil reaches out and gathers you in.”
“But until then,” Johnny went on, not one whit abashed, “I shall do my utmost to solve these mysteries. Did Greasy Thumb and his gang rob the Air Mail? If so, what were they after? And did they get it?”
“And one thing more,” said Tom Howe with a smile of genuine admiration. “What became of that Air Mail pilot?”
“That’s right,” agreed Johnny. “Looks like that is the first real problem. Find that man and perhaps secure a witness who can explain everything.”