“I should think it would be a very difficult job to locate a plane that was really wrecked in these hills. Of course in your case you’re in a clearing and it would be easy.”
Hayden’s voice was smooth and his words almost pleasant, but there was nothing in his eyes now to give the lie to his face. He was the personification of power and ruthlessness.
Graves’ sixth sense, developed by years of contact with the world of crime and intrigue, warned him now. His mind probed behind Hayden’s apparently casual words, and what the government man thought he found made him look at Hayden with new amazement. He thought back over the things he knew of the man before him.
For years he had been a thorn in the side of enforcers of the law all over Europe and America. A dozen times big coups—jewel robberies, bank robberies, huge swindling schemes—had been laid at his door, but never yet had he been caught dead to rights because of his genius for organization and leadership. There was a South American revolution which star chamber gossip of the secret service said that Hayden had conceived, promoted, and finally cleared a hundred thousand dollars on. When supposedly he had left the country, police and secret service alike had drawn long breaths of relief.
There was bigness and sweep about Hayden, and Graves knew that what he suspected of the man’s plans concerning himself and the two flyers was by no means too audacious for Hayden to contemplate. He would order it with no compunction, and it would be a mere trifle for those men lying around the room to execute.
These thoughts raced through his head as he relighted his cigar.
“Traveling by plane is queer business,” he remarked casually as he threw the match out the door. “We often have trouble with people, strange as it may seem. Moonshiners through this state, Tennessee and Kentucky always think we’re after them if we have a forced landing anywhere near by. Miners and hill-billys and their sort always figure army men and an airplane are there for some purpose. Consequently we always go on a trip well prepared with food, and heavily armed.”
He watched the effect of his words on his listeners. He was disappointed. His explanation of the artillery the Martin carried, besides what he had said about the ship being from Langham Field, apparently had no effect in lightening the heavy suspicion that he could feel in the very air about him.
“Well, if you’ll be good enough to give me the pail and show me where the water is I’ll go back to the food,” he said.
The fat man led him outside and around the corner to a small tent which sheltered a stove. A plank table with benches was beside it.