THE CHASE.
"TWENTY minutes," repeated Gerald blankly. "Why, she's half a dozen
ballonettes useless."
"Quite so," assented the captain. "Fortunately they are all in the
lowermost tier. We can make use of the emergency compartments. Now,
Dacres, will you see about making ready to slip the moorings?"
Quickly the "Repulse's" lieutenant and his men boarded their cutter,
taking with them the Valderian prisoners. Since Whittinghame was not
under the orders of Rear-Admiral Maynebrace he did not have to
request "permission to part company"; but he paid the Admiral the
compliment, sending the message by the lieutenant.
Within a few minutes of that officer's return to the flagship the
"Repulse" signalled, "Wish you success."
The "Meteor" rose slowly to a height of three hundred feet. Even then
the whole of the ultra-hydrogen at Whittinghame's disposal had to be
brought into play. The airship possessed sufficient gas barely to
counteract the attraction of gravity. To increase the altitude she
would have to depend solely upon her elevating planes unless some of
the stores could be ruthlessly sacrificed, for there was no ballast
available.
At quarter speed the "Meteor" passed immediately over the flagship's
masts, dipped her ensign, then circling, bore away northward for the
Peruvian coast.
"It's getting serious," declared Captain Whittinghame to Dacres. "The
supply of ultra-hydrogen is less than I thought. We'll stick to it
and attempt to run Durango's new craft down. After that the best
thing we can do is to make for Jamaica, and wait there until we get a
fresh consignment of ultra-hydrogen from home."
"There's a leakage somewhere," said the sub.
"Yes, unfortunately. Still, it is not to be wondered at, after what
the 'Meteor' has gone through. No doubt our hurried repairs after the
scrap with the 'Libertad' were not carried out so carefully as we
could have wished."
"And the motors, sir?"
"Thank goodness they are good for another twenty thousand miles, if
necessary. One couldn't hope for a more economical fuel than
cordite."
"I suppose we could, if necessary, rest on the surface of the sea and
carry on under power?"
"We could, provided the water were sufficiently calm. All the same,
Dacres, I don't want to have to do it. The air is my sphere, my lad.
Ha! we're approaching Nazca, I can see. Keep a good look out in case
we spot this flying boat arrangement. I'm rather curious to see what
it is like."
"But if Durango hasn't started yet and spots the 'Meteor'
approaching? He'll give us the slip."
"He cannot go far without being noticed in a strange country,"
replied Vaughan Whittinghame cheerfully. "We have an extradition
treaty with Peru, you know."
"He may disguise himself."
"More than likely; but to what end? Had he made for a large city like
Lima or even Callao he might escape notice. But in a little place
like Nazca, why, he's playing into our hands."
Both men remained silent for a few moments, then Dacres blurted
out:--
"It is awfully good of you, sir, to make it all right at the
Admiralty for me."
"Nonsense!" protested Captain Whittinghame. "I knew you'd be pleased.
One can generally take it for granted that when a young fellow cuts
off his nose to spite his face he's genuinely sorry for it, even
though he won't admit it. Now, honestly, weren't you jolly sick about
having to leave the 'Royal Oak'?"
"I'm very glad I joined the 'Meteor,' sir."
"That's no answer to my question, Dacres."
"Well, then, I don't mind having to leave the 'Royal Oak,' but I'm
awfully pleased to find that I am still an officer of the Royal
Navy."
"Then, I wasn't far out in my estimation, Dacres. All's well that
ends well, you know."
"It hasn't ended yet," rejoined the sub, pointing to the land, which
was now only a mile off. "Now for Durango."
Captain Whittinghame telegraphed for the propellers to be stopped.
Slowly the "Meteor" descended, alighting on the south side of the
town of Nazca.
Practically all the inhabitants, preceded by the alcalde, came out to
see the unwonted sight of a huge airship flying the British colours,
the mayor tendering the hospitality of Nazca to the visitors during
their stay.
"We do not remain long, señor alcalde," replied Gerald Whittinghame.
"We are in pursuit of an outlaw, one Reno Durango, who has fled from
Valderia. We heard, on good authority, that he came hither."
"All strangers arriving at Nazca are known to us, señor," said the
portly alcalde. "No one of that name has set foot in our town."
Gerald Whittinghame showed no sign of disappointment at the
information. It was as he had expected.
"I believe, señor," he remarked, "that you have an inventor who has
built a kind of boat that is capable of flying?"
"Ah, yes," replied the alcalde. "Then you, too, are anxious to
purchase the boat? I fear you are too late, for an English milord has
just taken her away."
"I think I know the gentleman," said Gerald. "Would you mind
describing him to me?"
The mayor's description left no doubt as to the identity of the
supposed English "milord." Durango had forestalled them.
"Ask the alcalde if the inventor of the boat is present," suggested
Vaughan, after his brother had explained the conversation.
"Here he is, Señor Jaurez is his name," announced the mayor,
indicating an alert little Peruvian, who was paying more attention to
the visible details of the "Meteor" than to the conversation between
the chief magistrate of Nazca and the officers of the airship.
Señor Jaurez elbowed his way through the crowd. His face was beaming
in anticipation of booking another order.
"What is the radius of action of your flying-boat, señor?" asked
Gerald, prompted by his brother.
"A hundred leagues, señors; that is without replenishing the
petrol-tanks. I could, of course, construct another boat with twice
or even thrice the capacity. Perhaps your worships would like to pay
a visit to my hacienda?"
"We regret, señor," replied Whittinghame, not to be outdone in
courtesy, "that such a course is at present impossible. Might we ask
what is the speed of your flying boat?"
The Peruvian explained that under favourable conditions a rate
equivalent to eighty-five miles per hour was possible.
"We'll overtake his craft in three hours, then," said Vaughan to his
brother. "Now, let us bid farewell to Nazca."
The "Meteor" resumed her quest. Durango's destination was unknown. He
had gone in a northerly direction, and since it was very unlikely
that he would take overland a craft designed to alight upon the sea,
it was reasonable to conclude that he would attempt a landing in
Equador or Columbia, seeing that, now his identity was established,
he dare not seek refuge in Peruvian territory.
Flying at her greatest speed the "Meteor" skirted the coast line.
Every little harbour and creek capable of affording refuge to the
winged boat--which by reason of its two forty-feet planes was very
conspicuous--were carefully swept by the aid of binoculars. At
Truxillo the airship brought up to hail a Peruvian man-of-war lying
in the harbour. The officer of the watch replied that a
hydro-aeroplane had passed overhead less than an hour previously,
bound north. The motors, he added, were apparently giving trouble.
"Good! We're gaining rapidly!" ejaculated Captain Whittinghame. "I
hope to goodness we pick the fellow up before dark, or he may give us
the slip--but only for a time. As long as the 'Meteor' is capable of
keeping the air I will continue the pursuit."
Two hours later the "Meteor" was above the small town of Mancora.
Ahead lay the broad expanse of the deep indentation of the Gulf of
Guayaquil--practically the only large break in the coastline on the
Pacific coast between Corcovado Gulf in Southern Chile and the Bay of
Panama. The question was: had Durango crossed it, or had he skirted
the shore? By adopting either course he would quickly reach
Equadorean territory, where he would be able to land without fear of
arrest.
"We will make inquiries; it will save time," declared Whittinghame,
as he telegraphed for the propellers to be stopped.
Descending to within fifty feet of the plaza the "Meteor" hung
motionless in the air. Gerald Whittinghame promptly hailed the throng
of spectators. A hundred voices shouted in reply, while a hundred
hands pointed in a northerly direction; but not a word was
intelligible to the crew. Whittinghame tried again, only to be
greeted by a chorus that conveyed no information to the anxious
members of the "Meteor's" crew.
"Evidently he's gone straight across the gulf," declared Vaughan.
"We'll carry on. We are only wasting precious time."
"One moment," protested his brother. "Here, take hold of this rope
and let me down. I'll soon find out."
Four of the crew paid out the rope, and Gerald, turning like a joint
on a meat-jack, was lowered to earth. Instantly he was surrounded by
a mob of ever curious townsfolk all pointing, shouting, and pushing
each other with the utmost vehemence. The airship, drifting slowly in
the faint breeze, carried Gerald along the ground, and the crowd
moved too.
"Hurry up!" shouted Vaughan. "You'll be jammed up against the wall of
that building in half a minute."
"Haul away, then," bawled his brother in reply, at the same time
throwing his arms round one of the most loquacious of his attentive
audience.
The man struggled, but unavailingly. His companions, too astounded to
come to his aid, watched him being taken up in the iron grip of the
Englishman. Then, realizing that should he break away there would be
an ever-increasing drop that would end fatally to him, the Peruvian
changed his tactics and clung with desperation to his captor.
"We will not hurt you, señor," said Gerald reassuringly, as the two
men were hauled into safety within the "Meteor." "We merely want
information, and then we will land you in safety. Here is a five
dollar piece for you."
"What information do you want, señor?" asked the Peruvian, after
testing the coin betwixt his teeth. The gold reassured him. Had his
life or liberty been in danger he would not have been treated in this
lavish fashion.
"The boat that flies, señor?" he repeated. "_Madre!_ of course I have
seen her. Did not all of us say so?"
"But we could not understand: you were all shouting together. Now,
where did you see that flying-boat?"
"Señor, she came down just outside the town not an hour ago. There
were three men in her. Two were Valderians. Their master was not. He
bought petrol: four cans of it. He poured the petrol into a metal
flask in the boat and went on his way, over yonder," and the Peruvian
pointed due north.
With the utmost celerity the fellow was lowered to his native soil,
and again the "Meteor" darted ahead. Every man was now keenly on the
alert. All depended upon Durango's craft being sighted before the sun
dipped behind the waters of the Pacific. Only forty minutes' of
daylight remained.
"Land right ahead, sir," reported one of the crew.
"That's St. Helena Point, then," declared Captain Whittinghame.
"We've done a hundred miles in an hour and ten minutes. Nothing much
wrong with the motors as far as we are concerned."
The next instant he devoutedly wished he hadn't spoken in this
strain, for with a terrific crash one of the blades of the foremost
port propeller became detached from the boss. Sheering through the
aluminium cylinder protecting the double propellers, it ripped the
metal to such an extent that a long strip of wreckage caught the
remaining blade, snapping it off close to the base. The motor raced
furiously until Parsons, knowing that something was amiss, promptly
cut off the detonator.
"That's done it!" ejaculated Vaughan Whittinghame disgustedly. "That
is the result of boasting."
"Repairable?" asked Dr. Hambrough.
"Yes, but not now. We can't afford to bring up for repairs. How's the
steering, quartermaster?"
"Rather hard on her helm, sir," replied that worthy. "She wants to
come round to port, sir."
"I thought so," rejoined the Captain. "That's caused by the unequal
drive of the starboard engines. We must carry on and risk the
consequences."
He glanced at the speed indicator. The "Meteor" was still travelling
through the air at one hundred and twenty miles an hour.
"We're gaining thirty at least on that villain," continued Vaughan.
For the time being he appeared to give slight attention to the damage
done to his beloved airship. His whole thoughts were centred upon the
pursuit of Durango.
Only ten more minutes to sunset.
"Get the two bow searchlights connected up," ordered the Captain.
"See that new carbons are used. It will be like chasing a mouse by
candlelight, but we----"
"There she is, sir!" interrupted Callaghan excitedly.
"Where?" asked Whittinghame, rushing to one of the scuttles on the
port bow, and following the direction of the Irishman's outstretched
arm. "You're right, Callaghan. Hurrah! We've overtaken her."
Such indeed was the case. Evidently Durango had gone a couple of
points out of his course in the dash across the mouth of the Gulf of
Guayaquil. Consequently, although the crew of the "Meteor" were
unaware of it until a few moments previously, the airship had drawn
level with her quarry, but on a divergent course; while--another
point in her favour--she was between the flying-boat and the shores
of Equador.
"Starboard your helm, quartermaster," ordered the Captain.
Round swung the "Meteor" till her bows pointed straight for the
object of her pursuit. Durango and his two companions, ignorant of
the fact that they were being followed, were possibly contemplating a
welcome rest on neutral ground, when one of the Valderians caught
sight of their arch-enemy bearing down upon them hand over fist.
The crew of the "Meteor" saw the Mexican literally push the helmsman
aside and grip the steering-wheel. The aerial boat turned almost as
rapidly as a racing yacht, and made, not for the coast, but due west
towards the wide Pacific.
Down plunged the sun--a red orb in a ruddy sky. Night was about to
fall upon the scene of the desperate race between the airship and her
prey.