“This is all there is left of the bar of new process steel they made away with. They tried to work it by heating it in the usual way, and failed. They found out some way that we were trying out some parts made of the steel, and were all for running us down and taking it away from us.”
Johnny examined the bits of metal carefully. “I believe you’re right,” he answered.
“And these gloves,” said Pant, holding the pair up for inspection, “establish the identity of the driver of the blue racer. No one but your friend, the contortionist, the frog-man, could wear such long-fingered affairs as these. I suppose,” he said thoughtfully, “that we could have the sheriff out in that country hunt those fellows up.”
“What kind of a case would we have on them, though?” smiled Johnny. “The sky’s all free property up to date, isn’t it? You can’t have a fellow arrested for following you, can you?”
“I suppose not,” Pant reluctantly admitted. “Well, anyway, we got their machine.”
“Pant,” said Johnny suddenly, “you set that airplane on fire.”
“What?” Pant started and stared. “Well,” he said after a few seconds, “what if I did? Didn’t do it until they had shown they were planning to run us down, and then, not until I knew they had parachutes. That was all right, wasn’t it?”
“Sure it was all right,” smiled Johnny. “It was more than all right—it was good.”
For a time the two were silent.
“You set their auto on fire back in the desert, too,” Johnny resumed.