“You mean the airship line?” asked Hiram.
“That’s it. I recollect how he used to brag of the big flights he made, and the money he got, and the tricks he played.”
“Who was he—what was his name?” inquired Hiram.
“Vernon.”
Hiram Dobbs grabbed the astonished Bruce by the arm with such fervor that the latter was startled.
“Look here, Bruce,” he cried excitedly, “you don’t know how important this is to us. Why, it connects up the whole scheme to put us out of business, and——”
Something else suddenly distracted Hiram’s attention and he stopped short, his companion staring at him in wonderment.
“Hush! This way, and easy!” a breathless voice had spoken, and a face appeared around the end of the hangar.
“Mr. Borden,” whispered Hiram to himself. “Stay here Bruce. It’s a great friend of ours.”
It was indeed the tramp-artist who had so unexpectedly appeared. As Hiram came around to the side of the hangar, shielded from the other camps of the field, he found Borden there, looking anxious, and glancing about him as if fearful of being observed by others.