"I'm counting on you two to be with me Sunday," he said before leaving. "There might be a leak if I called in the local police or even some of the state troopers at the barracks here." When the narcotics officer had gone, Ralph wiped his brow and slumped down in the chair at his own desk. "Talk about news," he said. "Things never come singly in a newspaper office. First you bob in with the mysterious Mr. Seven, then we put on an air show and now we find the head of the air circus is wanted by Uncle Sam for peddling dope. What next?" "Learn the identity of 'Mr. Seven,'" grinned Tim. "You can worry over that one," snorted Ralph. "It's almost midnight now. I'm going home and I expect I'll have all kinds of nightmares." "If you suddenly discover the identity of 'Mr. Seven' I'll be glad to answer the phone even if it is three in the morning," said Tim. "Just for that, I won't phone you even if I do suddenly open some hidden recess in my brain and recall who he is." Ralph threw the words over his shoulder as he left the editorial room. Tim picked up the aviation magazine which contained the picture of the High Flyers and looked again at the printed likeness of Ace McDowell. The eyes were cruel, hard, merciless. Even on the inanimate page there was something disturbing about them. Next to McDowell was the picture of Tommy Larkin. He was about the age of Tim or Ralph, stocky and well-built. Tim placed the magazine back in one of the drawers, snapped off the light, and left the office. As Ralph had observed, things never came singly, and Tim felt a weight of apprehension settling on his shoulders. The next morning a board of strategy met in the office of the managing editor. Grouped around the table facing the heads of the _News_ were the narcotics officer, Tim and Ralph. "Of course we'll help in every way possible," the managing editor assured Prentiss. "You can rely upon Tim and Ralph to give you the utmost assistance and you'll not find their courage wanting in the pinches." "That's why I came to them," smiled Prentiss. "I need two men on whom I can count." In the rush of plans and details which had to be worked out for the coming of the High Flyers, Tim was forced to relegate thoughts of "Mr. Seven" in the far depths of his mind. He managed to drop in at the Ransom House once a day to check on the presence of the mysterious stranger and each time learned that the object of his interest was still in Atkinson. The High Flyers arrived late Saturday afternoon, wheeling down out of a cloudless sky. There were eight ships, three mechanics and two stunt men. Six of the planes were trim, modern crafts but two of them were old trainers that should have been on the junk heap long ago. Tim was surprised to see that type of craft. By agreement, Prentiss had stayed away from the field for McDowell knew him by sight.