“I’m afraid so. There’s just an apple left. Darling, let me have your penknife and I’ll slice it. What brought you to America, Sir Roland?”
“Oh, a couple of chaps and I decided to pop over just for fun. Gives a chap something to do, don’t you know?”
“You flew across the Atlantic?”
“Nothing to it these days,” said Dipper mournfully. “People doing it all the time since Alcock and Brown showed the way in ’19. We fitted an extra petrol tank in the rear, where you’ve been sitting. Took it out when we got here, to lighten the load—that’s why our range is only six hundred miles or so—but it’s easily reinstalled when we need it. Let’s have your tale now. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, eh, what?”
As the lamps burned lower, Daisy told Sir Roland the story, from the quarrel she had overheard in the next roomthe day before the murder to recognizing Wilbur Pitt in the lobby.
“That was just this morning!” she said in astonishment. “It feels like a month ago.”
“So the chap we’re chasing bumped off his cousin as well as pirating a plane?” said Sir Roland. “Ripping!”
“Ye-es.”
Alec pounced on Daisy’s hesitation. “You’re not sure, are you?” he demanded.
“I’m sure I saw him in the Flatiron Building,” Daisy temporized, persuading herself as much as Alec. She really was pretty certain. She remembered telling Rosenblatt and Gilligan the man had seemed familiar, which could only be because of his resemblance to Carmody. “It’s just that I can’t help wondering whether he ran because he was afraid he might be shot, too. By someone else, of course.”
“Poppycock,” Sir Roland snorted. “If your chappie was so easily scared, he wouldn’t have been running around waving a gun at the aerodrome.”
“I think he’s right, love,” Alec agreed, to Daisy’s enormous relief. “I rather doubt that shrinking violets are bred in those farms and mines and logging camps, however civilized the Wild West may have become in these degenerate days.”
“In any case,” said Sir Roland, “we can’t let air piracy flourish unpunished. We’ve got to go on, by George, on the off chance that we might catch him when everyone else fails. Time for beddy-byes, now. We’ll take off about two ack emma. Don’t want to waste any time.”
With that, he stretched out along a wall and apparently fell asleep straight away. Daisy, with Alec to warm her andpillow her head on his shoulder, managed to doze fitfully. She was not so comfortable, however, as to mind much being woken in the middle of the night.
They took off under a waning moon and a million brilliant stars. Daisy slept on and off as they droned westward. Again the changing note of the engine roused her.
In the light of dawn, the aeroplane was circling above a large city. And as it turned, Daisy saw that the way to the west was barred by a wall of mountains, their towering, snowy peaks tinted pink by the approaching sunrise.
21
Two wind sleeves in the northeast corner of the city announced the presence of rival aerodromes. Dipper chose the one which displayed the most activity. As they landed, three small biplanes were being prepared for take-off.
Pilots and mechanics stopped to watch as they taxied across the grass towards the tarmac. Dipper stopped near a petrol pump, not far from the group, who all strolled over to the new arrival. Daisy was interested to note that one of the people in flying dress was a woman, a black woman.
Someone folded back the hood over Daisy’s cabin. She stood up stiffly, and hands reached out to help her down.
“Denver!” Alec was saying. “I’ve lost my touch, Dipper. Too far north last night and too far south this morning. We were aiming for Cheyenne.”
“Lowry Aviation Field, Denver, Colorado,” said a short wiry man in airman’s leathers. “You’re heading west? The Cheyenne route’s generally easier flying.”
“That’s the way the air mail planes go, isn’t it?” said Dipper.
“It’s not quite as high, and more of a plateau, withoutthe big peaks. But the radio weather man said it’s gonna be snowing that far north today. You better go the southern route.”
“We haven’t got a map from here on.”
“Ah guess we can find you a spare, cain’t we, Hiram?” the woman put in. “Where’re y’all going to?”
Alec and Dipper looked at Daisy.
She stared at the short, wiry pilot. “Hiram,” she said. “That’s it. Not quite, but that’s nearly it. Now hush a moment while I think. It’s one of those names which sound as if they ought to be English, but one just doesn’t come across them at home. Hiram, Caleb, Elmer, Chester, Floyd—and Miss Genevieve? Of course, her pen name was Eugene Cannon! Eugene City, Oregon, that’s where we’re going.”
“At last!” said Alec.
“Well done, Mrs. Fletcher,” said Dipper.
