“Good!” exclaimed Vance, and Doc nodded. “Get it!” he urged.
Chick ran down the tower stairs. At their lower steps he stopped, stricken by an uneasy realization that he had completely shirked the duties laid on him by Don. He was not guarding that tower, not seeing what Vance did, not heeding Doc.
Thirteen years—piracy—mysterious maps—hidden meanings—possibly buried treasure—the combination had been too much for Chick.
Should he go back, or go on and get the blue-print?
“I’d better go back,” he said. “I can get the blue-print when the rest are here. Maybe Vance made all that up, and took advantage of what I said, just to get me off the scent, to stop me thinking about watching him. I’ll go back.”
He turned to ascend.
From the hangars came the crash of an overturned chair, or some such odd sound. On the office floor it seemed to be to Chick.
Furiously racing along the corridor, he watched for opened doors, in the faint light of the corridor bulb at the landing.
The design room door stood ajar!
There he swung in, catching the jamb with a hand to expedite his turn as he reached the opening.