“You gentlemen are here, upon General O’Malley’s recommendation, in order to let me give you an opportunity to volunteer for a special mission upon the success of which depends to a considerable extent the lives of many hundred people. Even more important, it has considerable bearing on the future welfare of this country. Least important—in itself, without considering the ramifications resulting from it—it means the capture of a very important and dangerous criminal.”
Graves’ remarkable eyes flitted from one flyer to the other as he studied the effect of his words. Broughton was a thickset, tanned young man possessed of a certain reserve which involuntarily commanded the respect of Graves. He was blond-haired and blue-eyed, and his gaze was as steady as it was noncommittal. Tall, lath-like, Hinkley had an air of careless recklessness about him, helped along by the pronouncedly sardonic cast of his face. Like Broughton, he preserved silence.
“With General O’Malley’s permission, I will go over some of the ground I have already covered with him for the benefit of you gentlemen,” Graves went on after a moment.
He proceeded to tell the airmen of Hayden, his importance and the difficulty of capturing him without great publicity and loss of life.
“The only dope we have on the exact layout of his headquarters was obtained through field-glasses by operatives who climbed adjoining mountains and studied the place from all sides. He lives on the very peak of a mountain, without another cabin within miles. But one rough road, winding around the mountain side on a very steep grade, leads to it. For several miles before it reaches the summit of the mountain the cliff drops away sheer from one side of the road, and on the other rises with almost equal steepness. There are so many sheer ravines, and so forth, that it would be almost impossible to get even two hundred men up by any other way than the road; that is, providing they carried machine-guns and other supplies which would be necessary if they stood any chance of capturing Hayden. He has several guards, sufficiently armed, who have every strategic point guarded. Hayden is absolutely without hope, if his presence in this country is known. Capture means ⸺ for him, and he is almost as sure of it as I am. Being a man of force and brilliancy, although he is crazy, and possessed of a weird magnetism which induces real fanaticism among his followers, the few men up there will undoubtedly fight for him to the death. My job—in which I would like to have you gentlemen help me—is to capture him without publicity or loss of life.”
“If there’s a chance we may be working for you on this picnic, it might not be discourteous for us to ask who you are?”
It was Hinkley speaking. He was lounging lazily in his chair, one long leg drooping over the other. Graves smiled.
“Here, perhaps, is enough to satisfy you,” he returned, handing Hinkley the document which had been laying on the desk since O’Malley had laid it down.
“I don’t know just who he is myself,” confided O’Malley as Hinkley glanced over the signed note. “But I have a feeling that I’d give a month’s pay to be in on what he is going to do.”
Broughton smiled at his irrepressible chief.