"Z--X--B--T--V--O--P..."
and he understood that Tempest was to come at once, make for Mulhausen
aerodrome, then take a bee-line, east-north-east over the Schwarzwald
until he saw a smoke column, where a suitable landing-ground would be
found, and his accomplices would await him.
"Ach!" shrieked the professor, with a fiendish laugh. "The smoke column
will mark his last resting-place. They shall all be buried together,
these mad Englishmen. We will have more live wires stretched across his
landing-ground, and as the wild boar died, so will these men die who
dared to follow me into the Schwarzwald."
"The wild boar! Hoch! Hoch!" exclaimed his companion. "It is a
fitting tribute for the English are swine!"
"And the _Scorpion_ shall witness the inglorious end of these men,"
cried the professor, as a sudden idea came into his mind.
"Der _Scorpion_?" queried Fritz, looking up amazed from his task. "What
do you mean, Professor?"
"Why, the Rittmeister will have finished his work in the Hamadian Desert
this afternoon. His instructions are to resign the Sultanate of those
regions for the present, for the skies will be thick with British scouts
by to-morrow."
"But then he goes to Ireland to work with the revolutionists there, does
he not, mein herr?"
"Ja! ja! but I will ask him to call here for a day or two before he
proceeds. He will have much to tell us, and Spitzer, Carl and Max would
like to see these dangerous opponents safely out of the way, for at
present they are the only enemies to be considered."
"Gut!" ejaculated Strauss, catching something of the professor's
enthusiasm.
Keane would have intervened before this, for he had noted Sharpe's
impatience, but he intimated as well as he could by mute signs and
otherwise, that the fiend was doing their work for them.
"Let him send this message first," he whispered in his companion's ears,
"and then----" But the sentence was completed by further cabalistic
signs.
Again the professor turned to the keys, and sent his last instructions
through the ether waves to his confederate, the brigand of the eastern
skies.
*CHAPTER XX*
*"HANDS UP!"*
"Haende in die hohe!" cried Keane as soon as the last message had been
sent.
"Der Teufel!" gasped the professor as two swift shadows darted out from
behind the curtain, and the two men whom he had just been discussing
with such utter contempt confronted him and his accomplice with gleaming
pistols.
"Hands up!" repeated Keane, anxious to give the professor another
chance.
With a blasphemous oath the man of evil genius, who saw that he had been
outwitted, reached for a small hand grenade which lay beside him on the
table, and shouted:--
"Never!"
"Then take that!" cried the Englishman, and two puffs of greenish smoke,
following a sharp crackle, burst simultaneously from the pistols, for
they had both fired together.
The new Asphixor bullets took immediate effect. Both the Germans
staggered, clutched their throats as though to ward off the effects of
this new powerful gas recently discovered and adapted by that eminent
British scientist, Sir Joseph Verne--then lurched and fell, whilst their
opponents stepped back and quickly fitted on their safety masks.
"They are both sound asleep," observed Keane, when, the fumes having
cleared away, he threw aside his respirator and carefully examined the
unconscious men.
"Let them sleep," said Sharpe, who would have adopted even more drastic
measures if he could have had his own way. "'Tis scant mercy they would
have shown to us if we had been in their power."
"And now let us get to work, for they will awaken in seven or eight
hours, and we have much to do. We must prepare for Colonel Tempest, and
also for this raider," urged Keane.
"But they will not come to-day, Captain."
"Scarcely, but we must be prepared for anything. There are only a
couple of us."
"Shall we secure these men, in case they awake earlier than the
stipulated time?"
"No, let us remove their slumbering forms behind the curtain there; we
will attend to them before they awake. I do not like the idea of
strapping down unconscious men, even though they are criminals. We will
watch them from time to time."
Then for the next half-hour they carried out a careful examination of
the hangar and its contents. They were amazed at the intricate and
wonderful mechanism with which the place was fitted. It seemed
impossible that these things could have been transported hither without
attracting attention. Parts of aeroplane wings, struts, propellers,
engine-fittings, strange, weird-looking cylinders, retorts, analytical
appliances, instruments and vessels for chemical research, powerful but
silent dynamos, and numberless other things, all neatly arranged, and
apparently in working order, half filled the place.
The further they carried their investigation the more were these two
Englishmen bewildered by what they saw.
"Is it possible," gasped Keane, "or am I only dreaming? We have
discovered the home of the super-alchemist. After this, nothing will
surprise me."
"We have discovered the devil's workshop," replied Sharpe, who did not
appear to be half so enraptured as his friend.
"Nay, we shall find the philosopher's stone, or the _elixir vitae_
soon," replied Keane, continuing his investigation.
"We are more likely to find the _elixir mortis_ than anything else,"
said the gloomy one. "This place gives me the shivers. I am sure that
I shall have cold feet for the rest of my life."
"After this, Hermes and Geber will be dull reading," continued the
enthusiast. "Give me the Schwarzwald every time for the real thrill of
the alchemist."
"Their time might have been more profitably employed, at any rate,"
remarked Sharpe.
"Yes, it is a thousand pities that the wonderful brain which designed
and organised all this should have had nothing better in view than
brigandage and world revolution."
"More misdirected energy," moaned Sharpe; "the greatest brains often
make the greatest criminals."
"You're a veritable misanthrope, Sharpe!" said his companion, laughing.
"I have reason to be," returned the other.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean this--we're not out of the wood yet."
"I agree; we're in the very centre of it," replied Keane.
"Yet you did not inflict the _coup de grace_ on the diabolical vipers,
and they will shortly awake. Moreover, the _Scorpion_ may arrive
unexpectedly, and we shall be unprepared for her."
"What would you do?"
"Bring over the machines from Mulhausen, ready to fight this air fiend
when he comes."
"Ho! So you're longing for another real air fight, are you, like the
'scraps' we used to have with the Richthofen 'circus'?"
"At any rate, we'd better prepare. Then I'd bind those two criminals
hand and foot or surround them with live wires, so that, should they
awake unexpectedly, they would not dare to stir."
"There is certainly something in what you suggest about bringing the
aeroplanes over, though we should have a deuce of a job to land them in
this place; they're by no means possessed of the powers of a helicopter.
However, I'll get into touch with Colonel Tempest and ask for immediate
assistance, and also ask him to bring over Professor Verne to
investigate these mysterious engineering and chemical appliances."
So, leaving the workshop, the live wires and the prisoners to the care
of Sharpe, the senior airman devoted all the rest of that morning to
investigating the wireless apparatus, examining the secret codes, and
trying to get into touch with the Commissioner of Aerial Police. In
this, however, he was not very successful, for the air was full of
messages, concerning an overdue air-liner which had been expected for
some time at Cairo. Perhaps his message had been jammed or lost in the
aerial jostle.
Colonel Tempest was almost at his wits' end. He sorely needed the help
of his able assistants. He wanted to send them out east to chase this
daring brigand off the trade routes.
He was unable also to comply with the request for assistance, when at
length it did reach him, for all his best fighting men, with the
exception of these two in the Black Forest, had been sent after the
raider. He promised, however, to come personally at the earliest
possible moment, as soon as matters had been cleared up a little.
Again and again Keane tried to reach him with brief, but urgent coded
messages, for he was now getting extremely anxious lest the raider
should appear before they were ready. Sharpe, however, who was
eminently practical, had taken the professor's own tip, and had laid
wires across the glade, which, when properly connected up, would make it
a dangerous proceeding for a hostile aeroplane to land there, while, in
the event of a friendly one appearing, the current could be immediately
switched off. He had seen to the prisoners as well, for, unknown to
Keane, he had, on the first signs of awakening, given to each of them a
sufficiently strong soporific to extend the period of their quiescence
for a considerably longer period, so that, late that afternoon, his
friend was somewhat alarmed at their quietude.
That night they watched in turns, and relieved each other every two
hours. When morning came they climbed the highest trees and scanned the
horizon in every direction for the promised help, and also for the
_Scorpion_. But although the column of smoke from the fire which had
been lighted, ascended all day in one long grey streak to guide the
British airmen, yet morning wore on to afternoon, and no assistance
came.
Keane sent message after message, but apparently to no purpose. The
very heavens were full of messages, for the whole civilized world had
been roused by the last daring feat of the phantom airman. London,
Paris, Cairo, Delhi and New York were clamouring for his immediate
capture and execution. Strong things, too, were being said about the
incapacity of the much vaunted aerial police, but all the world realised
that the task before these men was almost superhuman.
Twice an urgent message came recalling the two Englishmen, but Keane
replied with the one word, "Impossible!"
And all this time the raider, who was carefully hiding for a few days,
delighted his companions by retailing with much gusto such of these
messages as he had been able to piece together from the aerial jumble.
"Let them send all their available machines and pilots out east," he had
said to Carl and Max, "then we will quietly slip across Europe to
Ireland, where everything is ripe for the promised revolution."
"And the Schwarzwald?" queried Max.
"Oh, we will call there for a few hours en route," replied the pirate,
calmly relighting his pipe, "The professor will understand our silence
and inactivity."
So the third morning came, and Keane, whose anxiety regarding the still
sleeping prisoners had been allayed by Sharpe, who smilingly confessed
what he had done, now became fearfully uneasy as to the condition of
affairs.
"For heaven's sake light that beacon again!" he ordered. "If assistance
does not arrive to-day, all these secrets I have endeavoured to rescue
will be lost."
"What will you do?" asked his companion, who was already applying a
match to the pile of dried tinder and sticks.
"Blow the whole place up," he replied.
"And shoot the prisoners?" ventured his friend, slyly.
"No."
"What then?"
"Rouse them up, somehow, handcuff them together and take them away."
"Some job that," remarked Sharpe, looking up at the long thin trail of
smoke, for there was still an absence of wind currents.
Even as he gazed into the sky, however, he caught sight of a tiny speck
hovering at twelve thousand feet, and he almost shouted, "Aeroplane!"
"Where?" asked his startled comrade, whose nerves had undergone some
strain during the past few days.
"Right up in the blue. There, can you see her?"
"Yes, I have her now, but she's very high. Can it be the _Scorpion_, do
you think?" asked the senior.
"Cannot say yet. I'll fetch the glasses."
"Run for them, quickly! I cannot hear her engines at all. It must be
the brigand."
"Ah, there, I hear the engines now, very faintly, though. Rolls-Royce
engines too, thank God!" exclaimed Keane fervently, as he recognised the
well-known sound, and knew that assistance had arrived at last, in the
shape of at least one Bristol Fighter.
"It's all right, Sharpe. Cut off that beastly current. Tempest will be
here in a minute."
"Are you sure it's Tempest?"
"Yes. Listen to that! Now he's cut his engine out again, and he's
coming down. It's the chief right enough; I should know his flying
amongst a score of aeroplanes."
The wires were cut off, a temporary landing-tee quickly rigged up on the
ground, and frantic signals were made to the pilot, who was now rapidly
coming down in sharp spirals.
A few minutes later the intrepid pilot flattened out above the tree
tops, dipped again, banked steeply, and sideslipped almost to the
ground, in order to get into the confined and narrow space which served
the _Scorpion_ for an aerodrome. Scarcely had he landed when another
machine, which had followed him from England, performed the same
highly-skilled manoeuvre, and taxied up to the little group.
*CHAPTER XXI*
*THE COMING FIGHT*
"Good-morning, Colonel!" cried the two airmen, saluting their chief
smartly, as he still sat in the aeroplane, looking not a little crabbed
and sour, as he secretly swore at the infamous stretch of ground
misnamed an aerodrome; then turned his gaze upon the two airmen who had
appealed for assistance.
"Morning! So this is where you young cubs spend your holidays, while
the whole world is ramping at me for not catching this infernal brigand.
What have you got to say for yourselves?"
Keane was not at all put out by this dour greeting; he knew his chief
too well, and admired him accordingly. Merit is not always accompanied
by a bland and urbane countenance, neither do brains always accompany a
white shirt front.
"I have that to say which will almost make you jump out of your skin,
sir," replied Keane, "but we must somehow get these aeroplanes under
cover, or properly camouflaged, for the _Scorpion_ may arrive any
minute."
"Eh? What's that you say, boy?" exclaimed Tempest, leaping from the
fuselage. "The _Scorpion_?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why, that is the name of your infernal raider, isn't it, Captain
Watson?" and here the colonel turned and addressed his passenger, who
was none other than the skipper of the air-liner which had been so
roughly handled in the Hamadian Desert.
"The same, sir."
"And the professor, Keane? I sent you to track the professor. Have you
found him?"
"He is our prisoner, Colonel," and Keane bowed stiffly, and pointed to
the half-hidden hangar, where the two prisoners, who were now partly
roused, had been safely secured.
An exclamation of pleasure and surprise broke from this dour-looking man
when he heard this news, and his face became wreathed with smiles as he
advanced to both Keane and Sharpe, shook them warmly by the hand, and
said:--
"Thank you, my boys; I knew if it could be done you would do it, though
I could ill spare you for the job. Yesterday my reputation was in
shreds; I am to be charged with inefficiency, and a public enquiry is to
be held. But you two wolf cubs have re-established my character; I can
never thank you enough. Now lead on, show us this evil-minded genius!
Professor Verne here, who has come in the second Bristol, with Captain
Hooper, is anxious to see him. He may redeem him yet from the error of
his ways, and it is vital that this secret of his should be in other and
better hands, else it will always be a danger to the public."
So, whilst the party were conducted indoors, and shown the marvels of
the modern house of alchemy, the two professors were introduced, and
began a series of disputations, very embittered at first, as the German,
though relieved of his bonds, and made as comfortable as the
circumstances would permit, resolutely refused to give any particulars
of his discovery, or even to display the slightest amiability towards
his distinguished visitor, though they were not unknown to each other,
and had even studied at Heidelberg together in their younger days.
Meanwhile, all possible steps were taken to prepare for the possible
arrival of the _Scorpion_. The Bristol machines, after being carefully
stowed away in a gap between the trees, were so camouflaged by branches
of pine and larch that they presented but a very indistinct object from
the air, and, unless their presence were known, might easily remain
unobserved.
After some time had been spent in examining the highly developed and
intricate mechanism of the devil's workshop, as the place was now
called, the Commissioner suddenly turned upon his chief mentor, and
said:--
"By the way, Keane, have you discovered any drawings or designs of this
wonderful aeroplane? I don't see any amongst this pile of papers, and
the professor does not seem inclined to help us at all."
"No, sir. We have searched the place carefully, but we have found
nothing. Part of the machine could certainly be reconstructed from
those spares, but all the important parts are missing. I have an
overwhelming curiosity to see the machine, though, and hope that I may
not have this pleasure much longer delayed."
"Then we have nothing but these photographs," returned the captain.
"Photographs?" echoed Keane.
"Yes. Why, I forgot to tell you in the bewilderment and excitement of
the last hour, that Captain Watson here managed to secure three
snapshots of the raider in mid-air, whilst his airship was being
attacked."
"It was the boy Gadget who secured them, sir," interposed the
air-skipper, anxious to give credit where credit was due.
"Oh, yes, Keane, I ought to say that it was a smart little beggar called
Gadget, a stowaway, who really secured the photographs, and hid them
away from the brigand. We must see that the little chap is properly
rewarded when we return."
"Let me see the pictures, sir," requested Keane, eager to get some idea
of his future opponent.
"Here they are. I have had them developed and enlarged. They should be
extremely useful to us, as we shall shortly have to encounter this
Sultan Selim, Air King of the Hamadian Desert, the world's greatest
bandit, who had the audacity to send me this document by the captain."
And here the colonel, having retailed the whole story of the fight in
the desert, showed the brigand's letter, which had been brought to
London the previous day by the fast aeroplane which had carried the
skipper of the air-liner.
Keane turned in amazement from the clear photographs of the phantom-bird
to the brief, audacious letter of the phantom airman, and read as
follows:--
"To Colonel Tempest, D.S.O., M.C.,
Commissioner of Aerial Police, Scotland Yard, London, W.C.
"Greetings from Sultan Selim, Air King of the Hamadian Desert. I regret
to inform you that of late there has been a serious increase of aerial
crime in these regions. The frequent passing of large airships
containing mails and other commodities, without due payment of tribute
to my customs officials, is a serious infringement of the laws of my
dominion. This action not only imperils the liberties of small
communities, but is also a crafty form of aerial brigandage, inasmuch as
it defrauds my exchequer of its just and equitable revenue. This
practice must cease forthwith, and I have taken steps to-day which, in
my opinion, will render it unwise for this shameful trespass to
continue. The bearer of this letter will give you further details of
the action which I have been compelled to take on behalf of my subjects.
Your five missing scouts will be found between the wells of Nefud and
the Hedjaz coast. I have destroyed their machines as a salutary warning
to future violaters of these my dominions."
Keane could scarcely restrain a smile when he laid down this wily,
half-humorous, half-threatening epistolary from the aerial pirate.
"What do you think of it?" asked the colonel.
"It's a topping letter, sir, but I think he's trying hard to be funny,
this von Spitzer, as you call him. A German with a sense of humour,
sir, that's the best way to regard him," replied the airman.
"Humour indeed!" rasped out the colonel, becoming ruffled. "It's
confounded impudence, and worse, when you remember that, apart from the
damage to the airship, which is considerable, there is a net loss of
specie and other valuables--to wit, the Maharajah's jewels--which is
estimated at a quarter of a million sterling. I only hope and pray that
we may encounter and waylay this bandit before he does any more damage.
The deuce only knows what he'll do next, or where he'll go."
"Ireland is to be the scene of his next adventure, sir," remarked Keane.
"Ireland?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are you sure?"
"I heard the professor say so. They are to work hand in hand with the
revolutionists there, and stir up strife which will make that unhappy
land a still greater thorn in the side of Great Britain."
"Just what I feared!" exclaimed the now irate commissioner. "That
explains partly those mysterious messages and rumours floating about
Dingle Bay, and unfortunately I have had to withdraw nearly all the
aerial police from that quarter to send them out east."
"You might as well recall them, sir."
"Why?"
"The raider has left the Hamadian Desert by this time, and is in hiding
somewhere, but will call here on his way to Ireland."
"H'm! We're being thoroughly fooled, and if you hadn't found this
demon's nest I should have gone mad. At any rate I should have been
compelled to resign my post."
"Still, public opinion had to be satisfied, and you sent the patrols
where the public demanded that they should be sent. Besides, if you
recall them now, this raider will probably pick up your messages and
change his tactics. I can tell you this, Colonel, that while he can get
his necessary supplies of uranis, and a few extra spares from the
workshop here, this von Spitzer intends to carry out his mad policy of
destroying the civilized world by piecemeal. It is all part of a great
plan to save Germany from the evil consequences of the Peace terms.
But, whilst we hold this citadel, and retain these two men captive, his
activities are limited to his present supply of this secret
element--uranis."
The colonel swore under his breath, and went to examine the prisoners,
to make sure that there was no chance of their escaping, for he felt the
truth of Keane's words. He now felt grateful that the airman had not
responded to the message for his recall, although it had amounted to a
serious breach of discipline.
"Ah, well," he said at length, "it only remains to capture this raider,
and the whole system of their clever and daring attempt to convulse the
Allies, break up their international system of mail transit, stop the
intercourse of civilized nations, and cause a world revolution--all
these things will fail."
So their efforts were redoubled to make preparations to capture the
wonder 'plane, should it descend on the aerodrome. A couple of machine
guns were found, and mounted, under the charge of Sharpe and Captain
Hooper, though the skipper of the airliner pointed out that the
_Scorpion_ carried bullet-proof armour.
"You will need to hit her in a vital spot," he said, "so that your first
burst may be your last, or she will be up again like a helicopter."
"Then we must have the two Bristols ready," urged the colonel, "though
it's a deuce of a hole to get out of with this new type of a Bristol
Fighter."
"And the petrol, sir?" asked Keane, who, was rather anxious on this
point, for he hoped that the _Scorpion_ would become his victim in the
coming air fight.
"There may be sufficient for another two hours, certainly not more."
"That means unless the _Scorpion_ chooses to stay and fight, she'll
simply leave us."
"Von Spitzer will fight unless I stop him!" called out the professor
from behind the curtains, where he was confined under the charge of his
colleague of other days, for he had been listening to the conversation.
"So much the better!" replied Keane, tartly.
"And when the fight is over there won't be many of you left alive to
tell the story," came the rejoinder.
*CHAPTER XXII*
*AN AERIAL DUEL*
"Message from the _Scorpion_, sir!" cried Keane, a little before midday,
from the little key-board where he had been patiently waiting for the
last hour.
"Good! What does the brigand say?" asked Tempest.
"Expects to be here within an hour."
"Then we haven't a moment to lose," replied the colonel. "At the same
time, I am glad we have had this message, for to be forewarned is to be
fore-armed."
Then, turning to Keane, whom he knew to be his best and most brilliant
pilot, he said, "Where would you like to be stationed, boy?"
A sudden gleam came into the youth's eyes, for he saw that his chance
had come.
"Let me have all the spare petrol from the other machine, and let me get
up above the clouds in that new No. 7 Bristol Fighter which you brought
over, sir."
"I'm afraid it means certain death for you, my lad," replied the chief,
after a pause, unwilling to permit the youth to take such unknown risks,
and yet still more unwilling to deny him his request. "This _Scorpion_,
according to Captain Watson, must be some stunting machine."
"I am willing to take the risks, sir," replied Keane. "It is not my
first fight with a Hun."
"Don't I know it, boy!" replied the other, gazing with fond admiration
into the frank and pleasing face of the pilot. "The ribbons which you
gained speak for themselves, but they don't tell half the story. Don't
I remember the morning when you went over the line by yourself, and
encountered seven enemy machines, how you fought with them for an hour
and brought five of them down, chased the others till your machine
threatened to break up, then turned and staggered home with your wings
shot to ribbons?" and the colonel fondly patted the youth's shoulder.
"Then let me go, sir. The brigand will be not a little confounded to
find himself attacked both from the ground and the air at the same
time."
"You shall go!" said the colonel after another pause. "Will you take a
gunner with you?"
"No, sir. I would rather go alone."
And while the petrol was drawn off from the other machine, No. 7 was
brought out, filled up, and tested, ready to start at a moment's notice.
The Vickers gun, fixed forward to fire through the propeller, was
carefully examined, and several drums of the new armour-piercing bullets
placed in position. Another moment was given to the alignment of the
gun-sight, a matter of supreme importance in an aerial duel like this
one promised to be, for the slightest error in this respect would be
like courting disaster.
Ten minutes later the signal was given to stand clear, the colonel
himself swung the propeller, and, instantly, the powerful 350 H.P.
Rolls-Royce burst into life with a crackle and a roar, and, when the
chocks were withdrawn, the Bristol dashed across the ground, leapt into
the air at sixty yards, and by a steep climb just cleared the tops of
the trees on the edge of the forest.
"What are his chances, Colonel?" asked Captain Hooper.
The chief shook his head as though doubtful of the result, then, after
watching the machine for a moment, as it climbed in rapid spirals up
into the clouds which half covered the sky at four thousand feet, he
said:--
"There is no pilot aboard the _Scorpion_, or any other machine for that
matter, who can hold a candle to Keane, but--it is the amazing speed and
climbing powers of the other machine that I fear. Still, it will be
some fight, and if we fail to trap the brigand down here, well, it is
just possible, despite his disadvantages, that Keane may bring the
rascal down. He'll have to keep well out of sight, though, and run at
less than half-throttle behind that cloud bank till the moment comes to
strike. And now to stations, all of you, and keep well out of sight.
Professor Verne, I am afraid you will have to take charge of the two
prisoners. Don't let them get away for heaven's sake. You must shoot
them first."
"I'll take care of them, Colonel," replied the eminent man, "though it
is a somewhat unusual occupation for me."
"Needs must when the devil drives, Professor! I told you it would be
some desperate adventure. Have you had any luck with that evil genius,
yet?"
"Not the slightest, so far. He is prejudiced against the English mind,
and is secretly rejoicing over the expected arrival of the _Scorpion_."
"Tell him from me, Professor, that if he attempts to escape, I shall
shoot both him and his accomplice without the slightest compunction,"
said the colonel, as he turned away to re-examine all his defensive
posts, and to alter the position of one of the machine guns, which had
been entrusted to Captain Sharpe.
Fifteen minutes passed away, and the Bristol, hidden away behind the
cloud bank, kept its engine well-throttled down, lest the roar of the
powerful motor should reveal its presence, when, suddenly, from one of
the watchers, the cry arose:--
"Aeroplane approaching from the south-east."
"Is it the _Scorpion_, Captain Watson?" the colonel asked, as soon as
the machine had been located.
"Yes, it is the same brigand, sir."
Then, with amazement bordering on the supernatural, the little garrison
saw the _Scorpion_ moving across the sky at a miraculous speed, and
making directly for the secret aerodrome. Once or twice it circled
around at three thousand feet, then dived a clean two thousand five
hundred upon its objective, silently, like a mysterious phantom bird.
At five hundred feet it flattened out, rode gaily above the tree tops,
then swooping like a falcon, once more touched the ground lightly, and
came to rest within thirty yards of the secret hangar.
"Haende in die hohe!" cried Colonel Tempest, stepping out into the open,
and confronting the visitors with a couple of revolvers, as they
prepared to leap from the armoured conning-tower.
"Ach Himmel! We are betrayed!" cried Spitzer. "The _verdammt_ English
have captured the aerodrome."
Without thought of surrender the brigands tumbled swiftly back into the
armoured cell, just as a shower of bullets from both revolvers swept the
upper surface of the cockpit.
"Fire!" shouted Tempest, stepping back, as the daring bandits,
regardless of the danger, started the propellers once more by means of
the self-starting knob, within the conning-tower.
And the next instant, even as the machine turned and raced for safety, a
terrific hail of bullets from the two machine guns swept the _Scorpion_
from stem to stern. One of her machine guns was swept from its
mountings, and it is believed that one at least of her crew was wounded,
probably by the Colonel's revolver shots, but as for surrender, the
pirates would have none of it, as, apparently unhurt in any vital spot,
the _Scorpion_ recrossed the aerodrome, staggering once or twice under
the fierce welter of bullets, managed to leave the ground, and sail over
the tree tops out of immediate range.
"Confound it! She's absolutely bullet-proof!" shouted the colonel, who
was furious at his failure, for his object had been to capture the
machine and its crew wholesale, because of its valuable secrets.
"We shall see no more of her!" exclaimed Captain Hooper.
"Just wait a moment," said the skipper of the air-liner. "She'll have
something to say presently. You don't know these infernal brigands."
The last speaker was right, for a moment later the infuriated Spitzer,
sweeping round at a frightful speed, swooped down upon the little
hangar, where he presumed the English were in possession, swept the
place with a burst of machine gun fire from his remaining gun, then
dropped a bomb filled with high explosive right into the middle of the
structure; whilst he, himself, was screened by the trees from the
enemy's fire.
The roar of the explosion was deafening, and several trees in the
vicinity of the workshop were blown to fragments, whilst the workshop
was now a tangled mass of wreckage. It was also burning furiously, and a
thick pall of dense smoke already hung over the spot.
"The professor!--we must save him!" cried Tempest, who was already
limping from a bomb splinter which had pierced his leg.
Captain Watson ran to help him, but the two machine gunners, Sharpe and
Hooper, stuck to their posts ready for the next attack, which they knew
would not be long delayed, for Spitzer, during his last circuit, had
marked the position of the two machine gun posts.
As the rescuers hastened to the assistance of the prisoners, they came
upon Professor Verne, bleeding from the hands and face, dragging the
prostrate form of the German from amid the burning wreckage.
"Ah, you are wounded?" cried the colonel.
"It is nothing," replied the other. "See to the mechanic. I fear he is
killed, poor fellow, by his own countrymen."
It was so; his mangled form was found buried under the _debris_ of the
workshop. The German professor and his rescuer were both helped to
safety; then the battle began again.
"Here comes the _Scorpion_!" shouted Captain Watson. "Look out there!"
and instantly the air resounded with the sharp, short crackle of the air
brigand's gun--
"Rep-r-r-r-r-r----!" as the raider swept the machine gun posts.
At this very instant, however, the sound of whistling wires came
suddenly from overhead, as something swooped down from the dizzy heights
upon the attacker. Then the sharp crackle of a Vickers gun rent the
air, as, in a headlong dive of two thousand feet, the Bristol Fighter
hurtled down, spitting fire through the whirling propeller, and driving
its quarry almost to the ground by its unexpected onslaught.
By a miracle almost, the _Scorpion_ escaped a terrible crash, flattening
out within two feet of the ground in the middle of the glade, then
started its upward climb to out-manoeuvre its new opponent, for the rest
of this terrific combat was confined to the air.
The little garrison below came out to see this thrilling spectacle, and
even the wounded German raised himself to watch the _Scorpion_, as he
expected, give its _coup de grace_ to its clumsy opponent. The fight
now was for altitude, dead angles, and the blind side of each opponent,
but more especially for altitude, for this is the equivalent in an
aerial duel of the windward position, in the days of the old frigates.
Once, after climbing on the turn, the two machines approached each other
dead on, and each opened a burst of fire simultaneously on its opponent.
Carl, the scout pilot, was handling the solitary gun, and, if his aim
had been more steady, that would have marked the finish of the fight.
On the other hand Keane's bullets pattered with unerring aim upon the
armoured conning-tower, but with little effect, for so far the
finely-tempered steel resisted even these armour-piercing bullets.
The watchers down below trembled with rage--all save the German--when
they saw this fearful waste of markmanship, but up there, calm and
collected, the British pilot clenched his teeth and muttered:--
"I must find his dead angle! I will attack him from below."
Then followed a series of thrilling manoeuvres, in which the daring
skill of the Englishman alone saved him from his too-powerful opponent.
The _Scorpion_, using its superior speed, made a desperate effort to sit
upon its opponent's tail, a deadly position if it could only be
attained. But, looping, banking, sideslipping and occasionally
spinning, the Bristol out-manoeuvred its enemy every time.
"Shade of Richthofen!" exclaimed the infuriated Spitzer; "but this
_verdammt_ Britisher is some pilot."
Carl had become nervous and agitated at the gun, and his shooting had
begun to annoy his leader, who shouted angrily, "Let Max take the gun,
dachshund!"
But Max was huddled up in the bottom of the cockpit with an English
bullet through his head; he had fired his last shot.
"Blitz! Here he comes again!" shouted the German pilot, as his opponent
in the roaring Bristol, with engine full out, made as though he would
ram his enemy in mid-air, though such was not his intention.
"Himmel, what does he mean?" yelled Spitzer, as he also opened out to
avert the threatened collision, then pulled over the controls, stalled
his machine, and attempted a vertical climb.
"Thanks be!" muttered Keane, for this gave him just the opportunity he
sought. For two brief seconds the nether part of the fuselage, the only
weak spot in the _Scorpion_, was exposed, and with a quick eye and
unerring aim the British pilot poured a short burst into the very vitals
of his enemy, then dived for safety.
It was the end of the fight, for the armour-piercing bullets ripped
through the softer, thinner steel of its victim, passed through the
chamber where the high-pressure cylinders which contained the uranis
were kept, and weakened or cracked one of those deadly things, which
were at once both the strength and the weakness of the _Scorpion_--the
only thing, as her pilot once said, that its crew need fear.
Down, down sped the Bristol, as though conscious of the terrible
catastrophe which would shortly follow. It was well that she did, for,
ten seconds later, it seemed as if the end of the world had suddenly
come.
Even while the _Scorpion_ was poised in mid-air, in the very act of her
last vertical climb, with nose pointed to the skies, the frightful
explosion occurred. The terrified onlookers threw themselves flat upon
the ground, but even the earth rocked, and huge trees of the forest were
uprooted. It was as though the mighty concussion had veritably blown a
hole hi the universe. The _Scorpion_, with all her crew, disappeared as
if by magic, blown into ten thousand fragments, and scattered like
blazing meteors to the very extremities of the Schwarzwald, while the
British aeroplane did not escape but crashed to earth, with its
unconscious pilot still firmly holding the controls.
Thus did the _Scorpion_ meet her end, after all the vaunted pride and
skill of her founders. In that place where she was born, there also did
she come to an inglorious end, in the very presence of the evil-minded
genius who had designed her. Even the dying German professor at last
saw the error of his ways, and wished, in his latest hours, that his
energy and skill had been devoted to a purpose more lofty and humane.
The great shock of that mighty explosion was felt for a hundred miles
and more. In far distant lands the seismographic instruments recorded
its effects. Some said that a great earthquake had occurred in central
Europe, but the Allied Command on the Rhine thought that some mighty
secret ammunition dump in the Schwarzwald had been accidentally
destroyed, and they sent assistance in every shape and form. And the
first to arrive were the aerial patrols, with medicines and supplies,
for the survivors on that blackened, devastated aerodrome.
The unconscious pilot was extricated from the wreckage of the Bristol
Fighter, and after months of careful nursing he was restored to
convalescence, but he will never fly again. For his daring deed, he was
honoured by his country, and decorated by his King. Sharpe, Hooper and
Captain Watson, though severely wounded, recovered from their injuries.
Professor Verne had a miraculous escape from death when the brigands
bombed the hangar, and Colonel Tempest--though for the rest of his days
he will limp with the aid of a stick--was mighty glad to lay down his
high office with a reputation untarnished, and with the added honour of
a knighthood, and a substantial pension.
It now but remains to tell what happened to that brilliant but misguided
German, the renowned Professor Rudolf Weissmann. He lingered for
another day after the terrible event which had befallen his fortune, and
his friend Sir Joseph Verne, constant as ever, waited beside him and
tended him amid his sufferings, for there is a wonderful spirit of
brotherhood and fraternity amongst men of learning. They are the
children of no particular country, for their parish is the world, and,
like our own Shakespeare, the whole earth claims them for its own.
And when he saw that the time of his departure was at hand, this erring
genius no longer tried to withhold from the world the great secret which
he held, but, desiring to make what amends he could for the evil he had
wrought, he freely offered to reveal the secret to his old time friend
and fellow-student.
But, alas, he had left it too long. The candle of life was flickering
within him, and the end was too near. Even while, with true repentance,
he endeavoured to give the hidden formula of the mysterious uranis to
his friend, he fell back exhausted and his spirit fled.
So the wonderful secret was never revealed, for it lies buried deep in a
thousand fragments, amid the dark recesses of the Schwarzwald. But Hans,
the clock maker, and his friend Jacob Stendahl the wood cutter, and many
more beside, who dwell amid the legend and folklore of the Black Forest,
still assert that at certain times, especially when the full round moon
casts its silvery light over the Schwarzwald, the peasant who treads
these lonely paths may see the phantom airman on his ghostly 'plane.
* * * * *
As for Gadget, the little urchin of a stowaway, the sharp-witted,
up-to-date cabin boy who photographed the raider in mid-air, and
rendered such valuable service to the authorities, he was duly rewarded.
The Commissioner of Aerial Police pinned a gold medal on to his little
tunic, soon after the great air-liner returned to London, and even
delivered a speech in his honour, congratulating him upon his
resourcefulness and courage.
He is no longer a street arab, for Captain Watson has adopted him, and
sent him to a preparatory school, where he is pursuing a useful course
of studies. But, when the long summer holidays arrive, you will find
Gadget, dressed in a smart little uniform, with plenty of gold braid
about his cap and tunic, standing beside the captain or the chief
officer, in the navigating gondola of the _Empress of India_. All who
know him speak highly of him. And there are even those who believe that
this little, mischievous, up-to-date cabin boy and erstwhile stowaway
will one day be one of out great air-skippers.