The field manager, who had been supervising the refueling of the amphibian, came into the office and Sladek turned toward him. "What do you know about the Cedar river country?" he asked. "It's bad business for flyers," replied Hunter. "The entire valley is wooded, with many high bluffs, and if your motor goes bad there isn't a safe place to set down. All you can do is aim at some tree top and hope for the best." "That's one reason I flew out here in an amphib. There shouldn't be much trouble landing on the river." "Not unless you smack down and ram a sand bar or have a snag come up and smash in the bottom of your ship." "That's encouraging. Doesn't look like we could go much further tonight. You'd better roll my ship into one of the hangars. We'll want to get an early start in the morning." "If there's some particular place you want to know about in the valley, Tim Murphy may be able to help you," suggested Hunter. "Who's Tim Murphy?" demanded Sladek. "He's the flying reporter for the Atkinson _News_. He's flown all over that country and with the exception of a small field near the village of Auburn there isn't another place to land safely and then a big ship like yours couldn't make it." "You can leave reporters out of this," snapped Sladek. "I guess I'll be able to get along all right." Tim, standing behind him, grinned. He was certain that "Mr. Seven" and Jack Sladek were bound for the valley of the Cedar on the same mission. Neither one wanted publicity. Sladek, his two bodyguards and his pilot, left the airport in a taxicab. After the amphib had been rolled into a hangar and berthed for the night, Hunter turned to Tim. "What do you make of him?" he asked. "He's after something big," said the flying reporter, "or he wouldn't have flown out here. Another thing, he doesn't want any publicity on his arrival. All of which makes me sure that there is a big story over in the valley of the Cedar." "That means you'll be heading that way tomorrow morning." "Maybe before that." "Trying to land there in the dark would be suicide." "I don't think a plane will do a whole lot of good on a story like this. I've a hunch that a car and a good pair of legs may be best." It was eight-thirty when Tim returned to the office to plunge again into the files in quest of the identity of "Mr. Seven." A scrub woman at the other end of the office looked at him curiously, then went about her work. There was no explaining the action of these newspaper men who came and went at all hours of the night. The day by day record of events slipped through Tim's fingers as he went through the file with new enthusiasm. Six months, then nine months and finally a year of action passed. A clock outside boomed eleven but still there was no clue to "Mr. Seven." Tim went to the library for a new supply of files and spread them out on his own desk and Ralph's. His eyes were getting heavy but he kept at the task.