It was a little past eight o’clock — an hour after Ellery had left Columbus in the chartered airplane, nearly three hours behind Yardley, and seven hours after their quarry had left Columbus by train — when Vaughn and Isham, two sorely fatigued travelers, raced into Columbus. Vaughn’s official position had lent their trip wings. Messages had flashed ahead from Zanesville. An airplane waited for them at the Columbus port. They were in the air, bound for Indianapolis, before District Attorney Isham could groan three times.
The chase would have been humorous had it not had such grim purpose behind it. Ellery relaxed in his plane and thought of many things. His eyes were abstracted. So much that had been unclear and indecisive for seven months was clear now! He went over the entire case in his mind, and when he came to the murder of Andrew Van he regarded the result of his mental labor and found it good.
The plane sailed on, quite as if it hung in the cloud-strewn air, and only the crawling of the town-dotted terrain far below destroyed the illusion of a body at rest. Indianapolis... Would Yardley pounce on the fox there? It was, Ellery knew after a rapid calculation, temporally possible. The man who hid beneath the cloak of Krosac had left Columbus by railroad train; he could not reach Indianapolis before approximately six o’clock, perhaps a few minutes later — a trip of some five hours by rail. Whereas Yardley, leaving Columbus by plane at 5:30, should cover the comparatively short air-distance by seven o’clock. Flying conditions were favorable, as Ellery could see and feel. Should Krosac’s train be the least bit late, or should he be delayed in leaving Indianapolis for the next stop on his itinerary, there was every possibility that the Professor would catch up with him. Ellery sighed and half wished that Krosac would evade the Professor’s unpracticed clutches. Not that Yardley had done badly, for a novice, so far!
They drifted down on the field of the Indianapolis airport like a scudding leaf in the rosy afterglow of dusk. Ellery consulted his watch. It was 8:30.
As three mechanics grabbed the wings of the plane and rammed chock-blocks under the heels, a young man in uniform came running up to the door of the cabin. Ellery stepped out and looked around.
“Mr. Queen?”
He nodded. “A message for me?” he asked eagerly.
“Yes, sir. A gentleman named Yardley left it for you a little less than an hour and a half ago. He said it was important.”
“A mild word,” muttered Ellery, grabbing the note. This affair, he reflected as he opened it, was becoming a saga of wild rides and alternate messages.
Yardley’s scrawl merely said:
Q.:
Looks like the last lap. Thought I might catch up with him, but missed him by the skin of my teeth. Arrived here just as man of K’s description took off in plane for Chicago. That was at 7. Cannot get plane until 7:15. K’s craft due in Chi between 8:45 and 9:00. Suggest if you arrive before 8:45 notify Chi police to nab our flitting gent, on flying field there. I’m off!
Y.
“Mr. Yardley caught a plane at seven-fifteen?” demanded Ellery.
“That’s right, sir.”
“Then he should get to Chicago between 9:00 and 9:15?”
“Yes, sir.”
Ellery slipped a small bill into the young man’s hand. “Lead me to a telephone and you’re my benefactor for life.”
The young man grinned and broke into a run, Ellery loping after.
At the airport terminal building Ellery frantically put in a call to Chicago. “Police Headquarters? Give me the Commissioner... Yes, the Commissioner of Police!... Hurry, you fool, this is a matter of life and death... Commissioner? What?... Look here, this is Ellery Queen of New York City and I have a personal message for the Commissioner. Important!” He stamped his feet in impatience as his cautious tête-à-tête at the other end of the wire asked questions. Five minutes of mingled abuse and pleading elapsed before the voice of the august gentleman who controlled Chicago’s police affairs boomed into his receiver. “Commissioner! You remember me — Inspector Richard Queen’s son... Cleaning up the Long Island murders. Yes!... Tall dark man with a bandaged wrist is arriving between 8:45 and 9:00 at Chicago tonight in an Indianapolis plane... No! Don’t nab him on the field... Matter of personal satisfaction. Will you have him trailed to wherever he goes, and then surround the place?... Yes. Arrest him only if he tries to leave Chicago. It’s possible he’s heading for Canada... or the Pacific coast, yes... He doesn’t know he’s being followed... Incidentally, look out for a tall man with a beard like Abe Lincoln’s on the same field flying from Indianapolis — Professor Yardley. Tell your people to grant him every courtesy... Thanks and good-by.
“And now,” shouted Ellery, to the grinning young man outside the booth, “lead me to a plane!”
“Where are you going?” asked the young man.
“Chicago.”
