There was some grumbling, but finally David won their promise. The affair of the stolen plans would never get into print. Cram did not appear nor would he eat, sending back untouched the tray the chef sent in. About ten o’clock Mr. Hammond went to Cram’s room. It was two hours before he came out and called David. “Well, David, I guess this unfortunate affair is nearly finished. I wish I could forget it. I made Cram talk to me. He acknowledged that he had it in for you, but his reasons were so vague that I couldn’t make anything out of them. However, it’s done. I am sorry for him, but he’s got to be wiped off our slate. So I’ve bought him out; taken over his shares in the Moonbeam. I gave him a check, and made him sign receipts for everything. He is going to leave us at Los Angeles.” “Thank Heaven for that!” said David devoutly. “I simply can’t bear to see him. I want a chance to forget, too.” The remainder of that night was stormy, and David made it an excuse for remaining at the wheel or around the control room most of the time. With the first glimpse of the California coast line the next morning, as they came down toward San Francisco, the weather changed into a sparkle and dazzle of sunshine and balmy breezes. They were flying low past the city, its hundreds of slips and piers stretching out into the bay like a fringe. The usual civic greeting met them. Flags broke out, whistles tooted, sirens moaned, and bells rang. Numbers of planes buzzed about them like flies, their engines roaring out the general spirit of welcome. David sent for Red. “After we have landed at Los Angeles, I want you to go with me to see if we can’t get the accelerators made up. I know they can be done, but we may have to oversee the job pretty closely.” “Sure, we will do that. It won’t take long. There is nothing that would require a mould or special machinery.” “If we get them made,” said David, “we will adjust them to the engines without telling anyone but the engineers. There can be no harm in trying them. We are only two hours ahead of the time of the G. Z., and a run of bad weather would make us lose every bit of that.” “We won’t lose that, if we have to get out and push,” declared Red. When Los Angeles opened her arms to them at twelve-twenty, noon, many things happened. The first one off the ship was Walter Cram. He swung himself down almost before the steps were adjusted and, like a shadow, slipped into the cheering crowd. Only Dulcie saw him go. From her window she watched the slim figure hurrying away like a fugitive. “Good-bye, Wally,” she whispered. It was his only farewell. As soon as official greetings had been extended to Commander Hammond and the officers, David and Red taxied into the city, the precious plans in David’s pocket. Red unfolded a telegraph blank.