Archie was nearly as tall as Bell and as rangily built. Bell may have floored him in their long-ago college boxing match, but he was the only one who ever did. Archie’s easygoing style, handsome looks, and patrician manner concealed a toughness that Bell had rarely encountered among men of his class. “You give Frost too much credit,” he said.

“I’ve seen him operate. You haven’t.”

“You saw him operate ten years ago, when you were a kid. You’re not a kid anymore. And Frost is ten years older.”

“Do you want me to replace you?” Bell asked coldly.

“Try firing me, I’ll appeal straight to Mr. Van Dorn.”

They stared hard at each other. Men standing nearby backed away assuming punches would fly. But their friendship ran too deeply for fisticuffs. Bell laughed. “If he catches wind of us bull moose locking horns, he’ll fire both of us.”

Archie said, “I swear to you, Isaac, no one will hurt Josephine while I’m on watch. If anyone dares try, I will defend her to my dying breath.”

Isaac Bell felt reassured, not so much because of Archie’s words but because during their entire exchange he never took his eyes off her.

A HEAVILY LADEN, immaculately lacquered Doubleday, Page delivery van rolled into Belmont Park. The driver and his helper wore uniform caps with polished visors that were the same dark green color as the van. They pulled up at the grandstand service entrance and unloaded bales of World’s Work and Country Life in America magazines. Then, instead of leaving the grounds, they steered onto the stone-dust road that connected the train yard to the infield and followed a flatbed Model T truck that was carrying a Wright motor from a hangar car to the flying machine it was meant to power.

The gate that barred the way across the racetrack into the infield was manned by Van Dorn detectives. They waved the Model T through but stopped the Doubleday, Page van and regarded the duo, attired like trustworthy deliverymen, with puzzled expressions.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The driver grinned. “I bet you wouldn’t believe me if I said we was delivering reading matter to the birdmen.”

“You’re right about that. What’s up?”

“We got a motor in the back for the Liberator. The mechanicians just got done with it and asked us to lend a hand.”

“Where’s their truck?”

“They had to pull the bands.”

“Joe Mudd’s my brother-in-law,” interjected the helper. “Knew we was delivering magazines. Long as the boss don’t find out, we’re O.K.”

“All right, come on through. You know where to find him?”

“We’ll find him.”