“Why, that’s attended to—all we need to do is to watch that ex-pilot, and Mr. Tredway’s brother has agreed—” Al paused. The den private extension telephone was ringing.
“It’s for you, Bob,” his father said. “Who’d be—oh, Mr. Tredway! How are you? Glad you’re ‘alive and kicking.’ Yes, this is Wright. My son stole a march on me, finding you. Here he is.”
Bob bent over the desk.
“Hello....” he said amid a tense silence. “Oh, did I guess right?... You didn’t go on? ... set down in the cornfield ... fix it in the morning?... Yes. Thank you, sir, for calling. Yes, we just got here.”
He replaced the receiver and turned to the interested, expectant company.
“Another of the puzzles solved, and I guessed rightly,” he said. “Barney, when you suspected the ex-pilot, I thought it might be that he’d do the same as he had done on the airplane I piloted—Mr. Tredway’s own sport craft. You know why I had to set it down?”
“No—because the other man—Arthur—chased you down?”
“No,” said Bob, slowly. “You mentioned the ex-pilot having access to the ‘planes. Well, on the brown ship—the wires were crossed tonight!”
“Oh!” Barney gasped, and recovered from his startled amazement. “You don’t say! That’s bad for—the ex-pilot.”
“But it disposes of one mystery—who! He was probably there at The Windsock and heard you—don’t you suppose?”