Drake looked around curiously. "Have you a passenger named George Lardner?" he asked. The clerk took down a small file and thumbed through it. He shook his head. "No. Had you planned to meet him here?" Drake smiled. "We had a date," he admitted. "George Lardner is headed for the same destination. He'll no doubt catch a later plane and meet us in Winnipeg." The clerk was penning figures rapidly across the ticket. "You won't lack for entertainment," he laughed in a low voice. "That gang at the door call themselves Harry's Rhythm Rascals. Headed for a dance job up there." "I'd rather have a quiet berth," Drake admitted. "Need sleep more than I need rhythm." The clerk collected the two fares and said sleepily, "Your plane will take off in twenty minutes, sir. May as well get aboard. The berths are made up." "Thanks." Drake pocketed the tickets and motioned for Adams to follow. As they passed Harry's Rhythm Rascals, Drake watched one of the men turn slowly and follow him. "That guy must be the tuba player," Puffy said quickly. "He sure looks as though he'd been pushed around." The luggage was disposed of and in ten minutes Drake was lying quietly under the dome of the plane. A sudden throb of motors came from up ahead. With half closed eyes he wondered, if at the end of this mad journey, Sylvia Fanton might be waiting for him. George Lardner wouldn't be far away. Although the plane trip had started like a wild goose chase, at least he was headed in the general direction of trouble, and the grandest girl he had ever met. Turning restlessly on one side, he was aware that the bumpy ground was no longer under the plane and the three great motors were purring smoothly as they drifted ahead through the starlit night. * * * * * "Jim!--Jim!" Drake opened one eye with effort, remembered that he was in a plane bound for Winnipeg, and sat up. Through the parted curtain he could see the dark earth underneath sprinkled occasionally with a handful of twinkling lights. Puffy Adams was leaning over the berth, his body clad in oversized pajamas, eyes wide with excitement. "The orchestra!" Puffy was muttering. "They ain't! They're Lardner's gunmen! Lardner's on board!" He babbled on. "Wait a minute!" Drake was wide awake now. He helped Adams into the berth, holding a warning finger over his lips. "Now," he said firmly, "one thing at a time." "Those punks that called themselves Harry's Rhythm Rascals. They got a plane full of tommy guns. They can't play but _one_ tune on those." Drake's eyes narrowed. "How did you find out?" "I couldn't sleep," Puffy said. "Went up front to get a glass of water and find that pretty hostess to keep me company." "So?" Puffy gulped. "So she isn't aboard the plane. We landed somewhere last night right after we took off. I didn't think nothin' of it. Ain't used to these airplanes. Well, when I was up front I heard two of these punks talkin' in their berths."