The Master's lips tightened with impatience, with longing.
"There's where it is," he muttered.

"Not five miles from here! It's there, and I've got to have it.

There--a thing that can't be bought! There--a thing that must be mine!" Among the stars, cutting down diagonally from the north-west, crept a tiny, red gleam.

The Master looked very grim, as his eyes followed its swift flight.
"The Chicago mail-plane, just getting in," he commented.

"In half an hour, the Paris plane starts from the Cortlandt Street aero-tower.