Beside its driver, the car had only a single occupant, an old man it
seemed by the tuft of gray hair that was projected from his chin, and
which was all that could be seen of his face. The rest of his features
were covered by a motoring mask with large glass eye-holes that made
him look not unlike a goggle-eyed frog.

"Come here, Malvoise," croaked the newcomer, in a voice strangely like
that of the creature he remotely resembled.

The Frenchman instantly left his engine and hurried to the side of the
automobile. The two conversed in low tones, though it was easy to see
that the old man was in a violent rage.

"I tell you the Buzzard must win," he concluded, after storming at
Malvoise for an accident that had really been no fault of his. "I've
put up a $50,000 plant for the manufacture of aeroplanes of her type
and I've got to have that cup in order to sell them."

"I told you, Mr. Barr," rejoined the Frenchman, "that I had found a
man who would do what we want. I told you that over the 'phone last
night, you recollect."

"Oh, yes, I recollect," croaked the old man impatiently, "but he
doesn't seem to have done much. You are sure we have no other
dangerous rivals?"

"Quite," was the reply. "Old Schmidt's monoplane is the only other one
that comes near us and we can easily outdistance her."

"Good! that only leaves the Golden Eagle to contest for the cup with