Lowell sat leaning one elbow lightly on the table, his slim, manicured fingers tapping silently the rhythm of some tune which he was subconsciously following.  It was the only sign of nervousness he displayed, save a frequent swift scanning of faces in the room.  Any diner there who observed him would have said that Cliff was retailing some current scandal which concerned an acquaintance.  Any diner would have said that the good-looking boy in flyer’s togs was listening with mental reservations, ready to argue a point, but nevertheless eager to hear the whole story.

“I mean, what about the mechanic?  Have you any contract with him, or are you tied up with him in any way?  Can you get rid of him, in other words?”

Johnny studied his little cup of coffee, his subconscious mind registering the incongruity of such a skimpy amount of coffee after such an amazingly ample meal.  Consciously he was having a hurried, whispered conversation with his native honesty.

“Well—­I ain’t married to Bland,” he stated judicially, meeting candidly the other’s intent stare.  “I never made any contract with him.  He agreed to do certain things for me if I’d bring him here—­and I brought him.  On top of that, he talked about our doing certain things when we got here—­it was exhibition flying and taking up joyriders—­and I kinda fell in with the idea.  I never said, right out in so many words, that I’d do it.  I just kinda let it ride along the way he said.  He sure expects me to go ahead, but—­”

Lowell exhaled a mouthful of smoke and sipped his coffee as though he was relieved of some doubt.  “That’s all right, then.  You are free to change your mind.  And you’re lucky that you have something to change to, if I may say what I think.  There’s nothing in that sort of thing any more.  It would scarcely pay for the wear and tear on your machine, I imagine.  You certainly could not pull down any real money doing that little stuff.  Now let’s see—­”

He smoked and studied some mental question until Johnny grew restive and finished the demitasse at a gulp.  “Let’s see.  Suppose we say a thousand dollars a week for you and your machine.  It will be worth that to me if you make good and take me across where I want to go, whenever I want to go, and fetch me back without bringing all the border patrols buzzing around, asking why and how.  That, frankly, is one point that must be taken care of.  It is no crime to cross the border without a passport—­if you can get across.  Technically it is unlawful at the present time, but in reality it is all right, if you can get away with it.  We could not walk up boldly and say, ’Listen, we want permission to fly across the line on business of our own.’  They’d have to say no.  That’s their orders, issued to stop a lot of smuggling and that sort of thing.  But we are not smugglers—­at least,” he qualified with a faint smile, “I am not.  What I shall bring back will be legitimate news of international importance, gleaned in a legitimate way.  In fact it will be of some use to the government, though the government could scarcely authorize me to gather it.