back." He climbed awkwardly into the sidecar, and the soldier, after a
hesitant acceptance, kicked the starter. The Old Man gripped the sides
firmly as they bounced away in the baking breeze, and Stein looked
absently at his watch. It was close to noon.

At twelve-thirty the gas truck rolled ponderously back to its den. At
one, our two pilots struck out across the strip for the post
buildings, shimmering in the heat. At one-thirty, I turned to Stein,
who had been biting his nails for an hour.

"Enough is enough," I said. "Who finds out what--you or I?"

He hesitated, and strained his eyes. The Old Man, nor anyone, was not
in sight. The post might have been alone in the Sahara. He chewed his
lip.

"Me, I guess." He knew better than to argue with me, in my mood. "I'll
be back. Ten minutes," and he started for the post. He got no further
than half the distance when an olive sedan, a big one, raced toward
us. It stopped for Stein, sucked him into the front seat, whirled back
past me to our plane standing patiently, and dumped out our two
pilots. A final abrupt bounding spin brought it to the hangar. The Old
Man leaned out of the back door.

"In, quick," he snapped.

I got in, and the soldier driver still had the sedan in second gear
when we got to our ship. One motor was already coughing, and as we
clambered into the cabin the starter caught the second. Both
propellers vanished into a silvered arc, and without a preparatory
warmup we slewed around and slammed back in the bucket seats in a
pounding takeoff. Stein went forward to the pilot's cabin, and I
turned, half-angrily, to the Smith. His face was etched with
bitterness. Something was wrong, something seriously wrong.

"What's up?" I asked. "What's the big hurry?"

He flicked a sidelong glance at me, and his brows almost met. He
looked mad, raving mad.

"Well?" I said. "Cat got your tongue?" I noticed then that he was
fraying and twisting a newspaper. I hadn't seen a newspaper for what
seemed years. Stein came back and sat on the edge of the seat. What in
blazes was the matter?

Smith said something unprintable. That didn't sound right, coming from
that refined face. I raised my eyebrows.

"Leak," he ended succinctly. "There's been a leak. The word's out!"

That was a surprise. A big one.

"And it's thanks to you!"

"Me?"

He flipped the newspaper at me. I caught it in midair, and there it
was, smeared all over the face of the Kansas City _Sentinel_.