“Take our warning and don’t test Burnson’s Gull. It’s curtains for the
pilot who rides her in the sky. She’ll never get altitude for a jump.
MacComas, don’t be a killer!”
Mac paused, tossed the note over to me. I read it carefully. Then I
tossed it down on the desk again.
“Well?” I asked. “What about it?”
“Who sent it?” Mac asked me.
I shook my head. I thought of Joe Curtis. But Joe hadn’t had time to get
to the city, which was about fifty miles distant—not to get there and
have the letter come back in the first morning mail.
“You win!” I stated. “Some crank, I suppose. Or maybe some ship designer
who thinks Burnson might have the goods.”
MacComas grunted. “I don’t like the last line,” he stated slowly. “I’ve
never sent a man up in a ship that _he_ didn’t think was right. This
Gull is the biggest freak we’ve had here in a long time. But somehow, I
figure that Burnson—”
He stopped, and I finished it for him.
“Has the goods?” I asked.
Mac shook his head. “Not exactly that,” he stated. “But he has enough to
rate him a test. We haven’t gone forward very far—in the air. Al, how do
you feel about the Gull?”
I grinned. “I _want_ to skyride her,” I came back steadily. “I’m
curious.”
Mac nodded. “Well, I wanted you to see this note,” he said. “She’s ready
for the air, isn’t she?”
“She is,” I replied. “I’m going to have a talk with Burnson this
morning—and I’ll bounce her around the Field a bit after lunch. May not
get her up until tomorrow, though.”
The test-boss nodded. “Take your time, Al,” he stated. “And if you get
feeling funny about it—just tell me.”
I shook my head. “It’ll be all right,” I stated. “We may have a
world-beater. I’ll chase along and meet Burnson. Forget about the note,
Mac.”
He smiled, and I headed for the hangar at the south end of the Field, in
which we were keeping the Gull. There were quite a few things I wanted
to talk over with the piercing-eyed Burnson.
He was to show up at nine. But at ten there was no sign of the inventor.
At eleven I called the small hotel in which he had been putting up, a
few miles from the Field. They hadn’t seen him since the previous noon.
He wasn’t at the Field, and I knew the man well enough to be sure he’d
be on the job—with tests for his pet plane close at hand! He’d been
working two years on the Gull, and had been dreaming about it for ten.
* * * * *
I got Mac, and we drove over to the hotel. After considerable talk they
let us into his room. The bed hadn’t been slept on. Everything was in
perfect order. Burnson’s bags and extra clothing—both were in the
closet.
“Let’s get back to the Field,” Mac suggested. “If we don’t locate him
within a few hours, there’s only one thing to do.”
We didn’t locate Eric Burnson, and Mac called the police and told the
story—at about three bells. And while he was doing it, I suddenly woke
up to the fact that I hadn’t seen Joe Curtis around the Field. That
_was_ unusual. Joe loved his ships—he was always about. Not once in the
last four months had I failed to see him, unless I knew where he was. I
thought of his final words, the night before: “You _did_! Only you’re
not wise to that fact yet!” Meaning that I’d really turned Burnson down,
as he had, only I didn’t know it. And the “yet” was significant.
I shook my head slowly. “Joe wouldn’t mess up a Government deal like
this,” I muttered to myself. “He isn’t that dumb.”
But I thought of the note. It had been written by some person who knew
planes, and knew Rook. Burnson had disappeared—and Joe Curtis was not
around the Field.
When Mac had finished giving the police the little information he
possessed, I told him about Joe. It’s all right to tell Mac these
things—he understands. He shook his head.
“Looks bad,” he stated. “Joe’s gone and lost his head—that’s all. He’s
been working too hard, and I didn’t notice it. He’s sore at Burnson,
anyway. Never has liked him because he’s been so sure of that Gull
plane. And he thinks a lot of you, Al. He’s done something—”
Mac broke off abruptly, staring beyond me, toward the door of the
Field-office. I faced around—and into the room walked Joe Curtis. He was
smiling. But he didn’t say a thing. He half-turned toward the door—Eric
Burnson was following him in!
Burnson’s face was white. His eyes held an expression I couldn’t quite
fathom.
“Where in hell have you been?” Mac muttered, being the first to recover.
“We’ve got the police looking—”
“I’m all right,” Burnson interrupted in a low, steady tone. “There was
an”—he hesitated, and his eyes flickered to those of Joe Curtis, and
then went back to Mac’s again—“an accident!”
“An accident?” I stared at the inventor. “What kind?”
“It happened to a friend of mine,” Burnson stated, and managed a faint
smile. But it wasn’t a go. All three of us knew he was lying. His eyes
showed it.
Mac shrugged his shoulders. He turned toward the telephone.
“I’ll tell the police you’re here,” he stated. “Thought we’d better play
safe. There’s been some publicity about the Gull, and I figured some
crank might have had it in for you.”
Then Joe Curtis laughed. And I saw rage flash in Burnson’s deep-set
eyes. He was controlling himself with an effort, that was certain.
* * * * *
Mac made his report to the police. Joe grinned as he heard the test-boss
state that there had been an “accident.” Nothing serious, Mac explained.
Everything was all right now. He hung up, and then faced us.
“Well,” he stated, addressing the inventor, “you gave us a scare! But I
suppose the affair is your own business. Al was waiting for you to— We
want to get your ship in the air within a few days.”
“I’ve changed my mind about the Gull,” Burnson said, slowly and rather
unsteadily. “Something has come up—and I’ve changed my mind.”
That was all. There was absolute silence in the office. Mac was staring
at Burnson, but my own eyes went from the inventor’s to those of Joe
Curtis. And Joe just sat there with a grin on his lean, browned face.
Mac spoke first.
“Changed your mind?” he muttered. “What about?”
Burnson spoke more rapidly this time. Color was returning to his face,
his thin features.
“_I’ll_ fly the ship on the first hop-off,” he said quickly. “And then,
if she seems to handle well enough—I’d like to have—” He hesitated, his
eyes meeting mine momentarily—“to have Curtis carry on the remaining
test work.”