Sinclair worked with a will, far past his regular hours. Jaurette
also worked, though one could hardly say with a will. In fact,
most of the work was done by Sinclair and Kennedy, with Jaurette
sullenly grumbling, mostly in French under his breath. I did not
like the fellow and was suspicious of him. I thought I noticed
that Kennedy did not allow him to do much of the work, either,
though that may have been for the reason that Kennedy never asked
anyone to help him who seemed unwilling.
"There," exclaimed Craig about ten o'clock. "If we want to get
back to the city in any kind of time to-night we had better quit.
Sinclair, I think you can finish repairing these skids in the
morning."
We locked up the hangar and hurried across to the station. It was
late when we arrived in New York, but Kennedy insisted on posting
off up to his laboratory, leaving me to run down to the Star
office to make sure that our story was all right for the morning
papers.
I did not see him until morning, when a large touring-car drove
up. Kennedy routed me out of bed. In the tonneau of the car was a
huge package carefully wrapped up.
"Something I worked on for a couple of hours last night,"
explained Craig, patting it. "If this doesn't solve the problem
then I'll give it up.
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