CHAPTER TWELVE
Against Time
The fleet, powerful Jupiter soon outdistanced the slower amphibian andwith Ralph at the controls, they sped toward Atkinson at 150 miles anhour. The roar of the motor was too loud for conversation and Timsettled down in the cushioned seat and reviewed the exciting events ofthe last 72 hours.
They ranged all the way from the thrilling chase after Ace McDowell tothe deadly game of hide and seek they had just completed with JackSladek and his companions aboard the amphibian.
The big thing now was the fact that he had been invited to go withGrenville Ford on the quest for the sunken treasure in the SouthernQueen. Tim, worn by the strain of the last few hours, closed his eyesas he contemplated the story possibilities of the treasure hunt.
That there would be plenty of adventure went without saying. From theone encounter with Sladek he knew that the soldier of fortune would goto any length to obtain the treasure.
The thought of making the trip into the Caribbean in a submarineappealed strongly to Tim. What a contrast it would be after hisstirring adventures in the air as the flying reporter for the _News_.
Tim glanced at his companion. Grenville Ford appeared to be enjoyingevery minute of the flight back to Atkinson. There was a pleasantupturn to his lips and the chin, although square cut, was kindly. Butthe cheery light in Ford's eyes was what appealed to Tim most for hefelt that one of the best ways to judge a man's character was by hiseyes. Ford's were piercing but they were steady and a perpetual laughlurked in their depths. Tim sensed that he would make an excellentleader, a man in whom utmost trust could be placed and he knew he wouldhave no hesitancy in following Ford on the trip.
The Jupiter flashed over the outskirts of Atkinson and Ralph cut thethrottle. They dropped down to an easy landing and rolled up on theramp in front of the hangar.
Tim, now a trifle stiff from the strenuous events and the night in thevalley of the Cedar, climbed slowly from the cockpit. Ford followed.
Ralph scrambled out from the rear cockpit and joined them. He wasgrinning broadly.
"Guess I managed to get in for a little of the fun in the valley," hechuckled. "When I dropped down on that amphib the first time I thoughtthose boys were going to have heart failure."
"What kind of a gun did you have?" asked Tim.
Ralph reached into the cockpit and brought out an ancient doublebarreled shotgun.
"Here's the pet. Believe me I've got a sore shoulder. This oldblunderbuss bucks like a Missouri mule."
"Do you make a practice of carrying an arsenal around with you?" askedFord.
"Hardly. When I heard the drone of the amphibian down the river Ifigured something was up for I knew you fellows must be on your wayback. I borrowed this relic from the storekeeper at Auburn and got intothe air as soon as I could."
"You were just in time," said Tim. "The amphibian was down on thesurface of the river and all set to taxi along and give us a nice,cheerful little party."
"What I want to know now," put in Ralph, "is about the story."
Tim glanced toward Ford. He felt it was up to the other to say thefirst word on that subject.
"I think we'd better go uptown and talk with your managing editor,"said Ford. "He'll have to decide just what is to be printed now. Isthat agreeable to everyone?"
There were no objections and they left the Jupiter for a ground crew toroll into the hangar. Signalling a taxi, they were soon speeding intothe heart of the city.
It was ten-thirty. The first mail edition would be on the press then.Another hour and the deadline for the noon mail, which also had a bigstreet sale. They'd have to work fast if they got the story ofGrenville Ford's plans for the treasure hunt into the noon edition. Itwould depend on how long they talked with the managing editor. Tim hadthe facts on his finger tips. Once at a typewriter he knew he couldspin the story in rapid-fire order.
George Carson was in the editorial office when they entered.
"Did you get the story?" he asked Tim anxiously.
"I've got the man," replied Tim, introducing Ford. "It's going to be upto you on how much of a story develops out of our trip to Cedar valley."
"Come into my office. We'll discuss it at once."
In the managing editor's office Ford sat down in a chair across thedesk from Carson. Tim and Ralph, more restless and anxious to get atthe actual writing of the story, stood up.
"I'll be brief," said Ford. "In the first place, let me say that youhave two unusually resourceful reporters in Murphy and Graves."
"There's none better," admitted Carson, smiling.
"I'm going on a hunt for the treasure in the old tramp steamer,Southern Queen," went on Ford. "The vessel disappeared eleven years agoin the Caribbean with an unknown amount of gold in its hold. I actuallydon't know how much but it is sufficient to make an expensiveexpedition in search of the treasure very much worthwhile and I'mleaving New York as soon as possible. I want Tim Murphy to go with me.In return, I'll give you exclusive rights to the stories of thetreasure hunt. What do you think about it?"
"Just this," snapped Carson. "Tim has a leave of absence, startingright now, with full pay to be with you as long as necessary. I wantthe first exclusive story on your adventures in the Cedar river valley."
"I was afraid of that," smiled Ford, "but I guess that can't be helped.You see, Jack Sladek, one of the rebels who looted the gold mines inGuato, is on the same quest I am. He almost got Tim and me thismorning. If it hadn't been for Ralph and a borrowed double-barreledshotgun we might now be among the missing."
"What a story, what a story!" enthused Carson. "We won't need to nameSladek if that will prove too embarrassing for you. We can call it amysterious attack from the air."
"I think that would be better," agreed Ford. "Sladek has voted himselfin this thing to the finish but now that I know he's after the gold,I'll be on guard and able to take care of myself."
"When will you want Tim to leave?" asked the managing editor.
"I'll phone for reservations on the late afternoon plane east," saidFord. "Is that too soon for you, Tim?"
"I can be ready within an hour after I finish my story," replied theflying reporter.
"Then get into the news room and get busy," said the managing editor,glancing at the clock on his desk. "It's just ten-fifty now. I'llinstruct the press room that the noon edition may be down ten minuteslate and to get ready to rush it through. That will give you aboutfifty minutes to write your story. Think you can make it?"
"I'll get the most important part done by then," promised Tim. "Afterthe noon edition I can polish up the story and round out the details."
"Go to it. And Ralph, you write a first person story about your flightthis morning. Put plenty of punch and get the smell of powder into it.We're going to have a smash front page this noon."
Almost forgetting his visitor, Carson hurried after his reporters,stopping at the city desk to inform Ed Campbell of the big stories thatwere coming up, then dashing back to phone the press room to be readyfor a rush edition.
Tim stripped off his coat, flung it over the back of his chair, rolleda sheet of copypaper into his typewriter, and plunged headlong into thestory. Swiftly, graphically he painted the picture of the treasure huntin the Caribbean with an unknown fortune in gold at stake, informingthe readers of the _News_ that they would have the first information onthe progress of the expedition.
At his desk across the aisle Ralph was beating a frantic tattoo on histypewriter, describing in detail how he had routed the "unknown" planein the Cedar river valley.
Page after page of copy spun from their machines and was hurried to thecopy desk where Dan Watkins personally supervised the editing of thestory.
"Much more to come?" Dan asked Tim. It was eleven-thirty.
"One more page," replied Tim, without looking up from his machine.
Ralph finished his story with a bang of typewriter keys andstraightened up. It had been a
terrific strain working against time.
Tim's fingers still raced as the words of the story flowed out. Thedeadline was past, yet they were holding the presses just for hisstory. Everything else was ready. The last of Ralph's copy was comingoff the linotypes out in the composing room. Make-up men, stereotypersand pressmen were all waiting for the final period on his story. Scoresof newsboys were impatiently banging their heels down in the bigcirculation room listening for the roar of the presses which wouldsignal that the noon edition was ready.
Perspiration stood out in beads on Tim's forehead. There was so much towrite and yet so little time in which to do it. He tore off eachparagraph now, speeding it to the waiting linotypes.
Dan Watkins bent over him again.
"Only a minute left," he said softly.
Tim nodded. He could write another column. That would have to comelater when he polished up the story for the city edition. In a last,breathless paragraph he finished his story.
The copyreader almost tore it from his hands and ran toward thecomposing room. The story was done. It was eleven forty on the tick.Tim relaxed in his chair.
Ed Campbell stepped over.
"Great piece of writing," said the city editor. "When do you leave?"
"This afternoon on the plane east," replied Tim.
"We'll miss you a lot," went on Campbell, "but I know you'll be sendingus some swell yarns."
"I'll do my best," promised Tim.
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