Simpson warned. "The man who thinks up
such a scientific way of murdering people isn't going to be an easy man
to catch."

Memories of big whole-hearted Jim came to my mind and I swore I would
get Woods if I had to hang for it. Woods--murderer of Jim, after
stealing his wife away, and now making love to Mary Pendleton, putting
his bloody hands on her! The thought almost drove me mad.

We stopped our machine at the entrance to the field and walked toward
the hangars. Three aeroplanes were out, being tuned up. They looked
like birds, ready to take wing at the slightest disturbance. The
coroner walked over to one of the helpers.

"Can you direct me to the hangar Mr. Frank Woods uses?"

"Woods?" the man repeated with a puzzled frown. "I don't remember any
such machine here. I know most of 'em, but I don't think any Woods has
a machine here. Wait! I'll ask Bill. He'd know if any one did."

He walked over to a group of mechanicians and returned in a moment.

"It's the last one down. He ain't had a machine here only two weeks.
That's the reason I didn't know the name."

We thanked him and started for the other end of the field. A pilot
climbed into one of the machines. Two mechanicians spun the propeller
and the engine sputtered and roared. The plane wabbled and swayed
drunkenly out on to the field, then as the roar increased, it gathered
speed and was off.

At the door of the Woods hangar, a red-haired mechanic of powerful
build was cleaning and oiling some delicate-looking piece of mechanism.
He looked up with a questioning frown as we approached, then became
engrossed again in his work.

"Is this where Mr. Woods keeps his aeroplane?" the coroner asked.

"Un-hu," grunted the mechanician, continuing with his work.

"Mr. Woods isn't here, is he?"

"No," was the laconic reply.

"Are you Mr. Woods' mechanician?"

"One of 'em," the red one responded.

"How many has he?"

"Three."

"Are the others about?" continued the coroner.

"One of 'em is," said the mechanic, "and he just loves to answer fool
questions."

The coroner laughed. "Excuse me, my friend, but I am in need of some
important information. Will you tell me which one of the mechanicians
was with Mr. Woods when he visited the country-club two weeks ago last
Thursday night?"

The mechanic scrambled to his feet and advanced toward the coroner, his
face twisted with passion. For a moment I thought he was going to
attack us, but h