His hands--slender, nervous hands--were turning the dials withswift, jerky motions. The back of his hatless head was a shiny blackknob, plastered-down hair glistening like patent leather in the light.His slender, crouched body swayed as he worked, graceful except forits slight jerkiness. His flashy top-coat trailed on the boardedfloor.Harsh, raucous static coughed abruptly from a loudspeaker, risingand diminishing as the man turned the dials."What's the matter, Slick? Can'tcha get it?" came the coarse, deepvoice of one of the two, a huge, barrel-chested hulk of a man whoseemed almost to fill the cramped little shack. His fedora hat seemedpygmy-sized over his wide, swart face with its small, glinting eyes,flattened nose, and wide gash of mouth.He took a step forward as he spoke, moving with a loping, almostsimian gait, one arm swinging at his side, the other nestled with snugease around a blue steel Thompson submachine gun."Me," he snarled, "I'm gettin' tired of waitin' around here likethis.""Shut up!"The authoritative command came in a harsh, jerky staccato from theman at the radio. He turned from the set. The light fell on his face--olive skinned, its darkly handsome features marred by a livid, zigzagscar which ran across his left cheek from chin to ear."I'll get it any minute now if you keep quiet."He turned to the third man who was standing immobile as a statue,a faint wisp of smoke from the cigarette in his lips alone giving himsemblance of movement. Tall, lean, he had an angular face with pale,expressionless eyes."Luke!" he snapped. "You sure you tipped off the others?"Without moving the man Luke answered: "They'll be around on thedot, Slick."The patent-leather hair of the man called Slick showed again asonce more he bent to the dials. The static continued, grating in thesilent shack.Then, suddenly, Slick's crouching figure tensed as through thecloud of that static a voice began to materialize."Listen, guys!"Slick turned the dials more. The static diminished, the voice grewin volume and clarity. A crisp, incisive voice speaking rapidly, withclear enunciation."--Plane Number One from Chicago, calling Newark Airport--PatBentley, pilot, speaking--Plane Number One--"Out of the night, out of the dark ether, came that call. And asthe three men in the shack listened with tense interest, there was aswift answering voice."Newark Airport. Go ahead, Bentley.""We're still over the Pennsylvania, nearing Balesville. Visibilitygetting bad up here at fifteen thousand. Been keeping altitude tocross the Alleghenies and to get best speed, but clouds are too thick.Don't worry, though. We're smack on the radio beam. Ought to makeNewark in another hour."Slick rose to his feet. His dark eyes glinted, and there was acrooked, evil smile on his lips as he looked at his two companions."Newark in another hour, eh?" he chortled. "That's what hethinks!"