“Understood,” Dillon said.

They went into the office where a number of charts were spread across the desk. Dillon started to examine them.

“When would you leave?” Wegner asked.

“Just before dawn,” Dillon told him. “Best time of all and least active. I hope the rain keeps up.”

Schmidt, genuinely curious, said, “Why would you do this? I don’t understand. A man like you.” He seemed suddenly awkward. “I mean, we know something of your background.”

“Do you now?” Dillon said. “Well, as the good doctor said, I find it hard to resist a challenge.”

“And for this you would risk your life?”

“Ah, sure and I was forgetting.” Dillon looked up and smiled and an astonishing change came to his face, nothing but warmth and great charm there. “I should also mention that I’m the last of the world’s great adventurers. Now leave me be like a good lad and let me see where I’m going.”

He leaned over the charts and started to examine them intently.

Just before five the rain was as relentless as ever, the darkness as impenetrable, as Dillon stood in the entrance of the hangar and peered out. Wegner and Schmidt approached him.

The older man said, “Can you really take off in weather like this?”

“The problem is landing, not taking off.” Dillon called to Tomic, “How are things?”

Tomic emerged from the cabin, jumped to the ground and came toward them wiping his hands on a rag. “Everything in perfect working order.”

Dillon offered him a cigarette and glanced out. “And this?”

Tomic peered up into the darkness. “It’ll get worse before it gets better, and you’ll find ground mist over there, especially over the forest, mark my words.”

“Ah, well, better get on with it as the thief said to the hangman.” Dillon crossed to the Conquest.