LECLAIR, ACE OF FRANCE
Swooping, rising, falling like a falcon in swift search of quarry, the
last plane of the Azores squadron swept in toward the on-rushing Eagle
of the Sky.
Undismayed by the swift, inexplicable fall of all its companions, it
still thrust on for the attack. In a few minutes it had come off the
port bows of the giant air-liner, no more than half a mile distant.
Now the watchers saw it, slipping through some tenuous higher
cloud-banks that had begun to gather, a lean, swift, wasplike
speedster: one of the Air Control Board's--the A.C.B.'s--most rapid
aerial police planes. The binoculars of the Master and Bohannan drew
the machine almost to fingers' touch.
"Only one man aboard her, with a machine-gun," commented the Master,
eyes at glass, as he watched the flick of sunlight on the attacker's
fuselage, the dip and glitter of her varnished wings, the blur of her
propellers. Already the roaring of her exhaust gusted down to them.
"Ah, see? She's turning, now. Banking around! We may catch a burst of
machine-gun fire, in a minute. Or, no--she's coming up on our tail,
Major. I think she's going to try and board us!"
"You going to let her?" protestingly demanded Bohannan. His hand
twitched against the butt of the Lewis. "In two seconds I could sight
an aft gun, sir, and blow that machine Hell-for-leather!"
"No, no--let that fellow come aboard, if he wants," the Master
commanded. And with eager curiosity in his dark eyes, with vast wonder
what manner of human this might be who--all alone after having seen
more than a hundred comrades plunge--still ventured closing to grips,
the Master watched.
The air-wasp was already swerving, making a spiral glide, coming up
astern with obvious intentions. As the two men watched--and as a score
of other eyes, from other galleries and ports likewise observed--the
lean wasp carried out her driver's plan. With a sudden, plunging
swoop, she dived at the Eagle of the Sky for all the world like a hawk
stooping at quarry.
A moment she kept pace with the air-liner's whirring rush. She
hovered, dropped with a wondrous precision that proved her rider's
consummate skill, made a perfect landing on the long take-off that
stretched from rudders to wing observation galleries, atop the liner.
Forward on _Nissr_ the wasp ran on her small, cushioned wheels. She
stopped, with jammed-on brakes, and came to rest not forty feet abaft
the Eagle's beak.
Quite at once, without delay, the little door of the pilot-pit in the
wasp's head swung wide, and a heavily-swaddled figure clambered out.
This figure stood a moment, peering about through goggles. Then with a
free, quick stride, he started forward toward the gallery where he had
seen Bohannan and the Master.
The two awaited him. Confidently he came into the wind-shielded
gallery on top of _Nissr's_ port plane. He advanced to within
about six feet, stopped, gave the military salute--which they both
returned--and in a throaty French that marked him as from Paris,
demanded:
"Which of you gentlemen is in command, here?"
"_Moi, monsieur!_" answered the Master, also speaking French. "And
what is your errand?"
"I have come to inform you, in the name of the A.C.B.'s law,
recognized as binding by all air-traffic, that you and your entire
crew are under arrest."
"Indeed? And then--"
"I am to take charge of this machine at once, and proceed with it as
per further instructions from International Aerial headquarters at
Washington."
"Very interesting news, no doubt," replied the Master, unmoved. "But I
cannot examine your credentials, nor can we negotiate matters of such
importance in so off-hand a manner. This gallery will not serve. Pray
accompany me to my cabin?"
"_Parfaitement, monsieur!_ I await your pleasure!"
The stranger's gesture, his bow, proclaimed the Parisian as well as
his speech. The Master nodded. All three proceeded in silence to
the hooded companion-way at the forward end of the take-off, that
sheltered the ladder. This they descended, to the main corridor.
There they paused, a moment.
"Major," said the Master, "pardon me, but I wish to speak to
our--guest, alone. You understand."
The major's glance conveyed a world of indignant protest, but he
obeyed in silence. When he had withdrawn into the smoke-room, where
a brooding pipe would ill divert his mind from various wild
speculations, the Master slid open his own cabin door, and extended a
hand of welcome toward it.
"_Après vous, monsieur!_" said he.
The A.C.B. officer entered, his vigorous, compact figure alive with
energy, intelligence. The Master followed, slid the door shut and
motioned to a chair beside the desk. This chair, of metal, was itself
placed upon a metal plate. The plate was new. At our last sight of the
cabin, it had not been there.
Taking off goggles and gauntlets, and throwing open his sheepskin
jacket, the Frenchman sat down. The Master also plate was new. At our
last sight of the cabin, it had not been there.
Taking off goggles and gauntlets, and throwing open his sheepskin
jacket, the Frenchman sat down. The Master also sat down at the desk.
A brief silence, more pregnant than any speech, followed. Each man
narrowly appraised the other. Then said the newcomer, still in that
admirable French of his:
"You understand, of course, _n'est-ce pas?_ that it is useless to
offer any resistance to the authority of the A.C.B."
"May I take the liberty of inquiring what your credentials may be, and
with whom I have the great pleasure of speaking?" returned the Master.
His eyes, mirroring admiration, peered with some curiosity at the
dark, lean face of the Frenchman.
"I," answered the other, "am Lieutenant André Leclair, formerly of
the French flying forces, now a commander in the International Air
Police."
"Leclair?" demanded the Master quickly, his face lighting with a
glad surprise. "Leclair, of the Mesopotamian campaign? Leclair, the
world-famous ace?"
"Leclair, nothing else. I deprecate the adjectives."
The Master's hand went out. The other took it. For a moment their grip
held, there under the bright white illumination of the cabin--for,
though daylight had begun fingering round the drawn curtains, the
glow-lamps still were burning.
The hand-clasp broke. Leclair began:
"As for you, monsieur, I already know you, of course. You are--"
The Master raised a palm of protest.
"Who I am does not matter," said he. "I am not a man, but an idea. My
personality does not count. All that counts is the program, the plan I
stand for.
"Many here do not even know my name. No man speaks it. I am quite
anonymous; quite so. Therefore I pray you, keep silent on that matter.
What, after all, is the significance of a name? You are an ace, an
officer. So am I."
"True, very true. Therefore I more keenly regret the fact that I must
place you under arrest, and that charges of piracy in the high air
must be lodged against you."
"Thank you for the regret, indeed," answered the Master dryly. Save
for the fact that this strange man never laughed and seldom smiled,
one would have thought the odd twinkle in his eye prefaced merriment.
"Well, what now?"
The Frenchman produced a silver cigarette-case, opened it and extended
it toward the man now technically his prisoner. As yet he had said no
word concerning the tremendous execution done the air police forces.
His offer of the cigarettes was as calm, as courteous as if they two
had met under circumstances of the most casual amity. The Master waved
the cigarettes away.
"Thank you, no," said he. "I never smoke. But you will perhaps pardon
me if I nibble two or three of these khat leaves. You yourself, from
your experience in Oriental countries, know the value of khat."
"I do, indeed," said the other, his eyes lighting up.
"And may I offer you a few leaves?"
"_Merci_! I thank you, but tobacco still satisfies." The Frenchman
lighted his cigarette, blew thin smoke, and cast intelligent, keen
eyes about the cabin. Said he:
"You will not, of course, offer any resistance. I realize that I am
here among a large crew of men. I am all alone, it is true. You could
easily overpower me, throw me into the sea, and _voilà_--I die. But
that would not be of any avail to you.
"Already perhaps a hundred and fifty air police have fallen this
morning. It is strange. I do not understand, but such is the fact.
Nevertheless, I am here, myself. I have survived--survived, to convey
organized society's message of arrest. Individuals do not count.
They are only representatives of the mass-power of society. _N'est-ce
pas?_"
"Quite correct. And then--"
"Sooner or later you must land somewhere for petrol, you know. For
_essence_, eh? Just as sea-pirates were wiped out by the coming of
steam-power, which they had to adopt and which forced them to call
at ports for coal, so air-pirates will perish because they must have
essence. That is entirely obvious. Have I the honor of your signed
surrender, my dear sir, including that of all your men?"
"Just one question, please!"
"A thousand, if you like," smiled the Parisian, inhaling smoke. His
courtesy was perfect, but the glint of his eye made one think of a
tiger that purrs, with claws ready to strike.
"What," demanded the Master, "is your opinion of the peculiar and
sudden fall of all your companions?"
"I have no opinion as to that. Strange air-currents, failure of
ignition due to lack of oxygen--how do I know? A thousand things may
happen in the air."
"Not to more than a hundred planes, all in a half-hour."
The Frenchman shrugged indifferent shoulders and smiled.
"It does not signify, in the least," he murmured. "I am here. That
suffices."
"Do you realize that I, perhaps, have forces at my command which may
negative ordinary conditions and recognized laws?"
"Nothing can negative the forces of organized society. I repeat my
request, _monsieur_, for your unconditional written surrender."
The Master's hand slid over the desk and rested a moment on a button
there. A certain slight tremor passed through the Frenchman's body.
Into his eyes leaped an expression of wonder, of astonishment. His
mouth quivered, as if he would have spoken; but he remained dumb.
The hand that held his cigarette, resting on his knee, relaxed; the
cigarette fell, smoldering, to the metal plate. And on the instant the
fire in it died, extinguished by some invisible force.
"Are you prepared to sign a receipt for this airship, if I deliver her
over to you, sir?" demanded the Master, still speaking in French. He
smiled oddly.
No answer. A certain swelling of the Frenchman's throat became
visible, and his lips twitched slightly, but no sound was audible. A
dull flush mounted over his bronzed cheek.
"Ah, you do not answer?" asked the other, with indulgent patronage.
"I assume, however, that you have the authority to accept my surrender
and that of my crew. I assume, also, that you are willing to sign for
the airship." He opened a drawer, took a paper, and on it wrote a few
words. These he read over carefully, adding a comma, a period.
Leclair watched him with fixed gaze, struggling against some strange
paralysis that bound him with unseen cords of steel. The Frenchman's
eyes widened, but remained unblinking with a sort of glazed fixity.
The Master slid the paper toward him on the desk.
"_Voilà, monsieur!_" said he. "Will you sign this?"
A shivering tremor of the Frenchman's muscles, as the ace sat there so
strangely silent and motionless, betrayed the effort he was making
to rise, to lift even a hand. Beads of sweat began to ooze on his
forehead; veins to knot there Still he remained seated, without power
to speak or move.
"What? You do not accept?" asked the Master, frowning as with
puzzlement and displeasure. "But, _allons donc!_ this is strange
indeed. Almost as strange as the fact that your whole air-squadron,
with the sole exception of your own plane, was dropped through the
clouds.
"I have no wish unnecessarily to trouble your mind. Let me state the
facts. Not one of those machines was precipitated into the sea. No
life was lost. Ah, that astonishes you?"
The expression in the Frenchman's face betrayed intense amazement,
through his eyes alone. The rest of his features remained almost
immobile. The Master smiling, continued:
"The fleet was dropped to exactly one thousand feet above the sea.
There the inhibition on the engines was released and the engines began
functioning again. So no harm was done. But not one of those machines
can rise again higher than one thousand feet until I so choose.
"They are all hopelessly outdistanced, far down there below the
cloud-floor. Midges could catch a hawk as readily as _they_ could
overhaul this Eagle of the Sky.
"Nowhere within a radius of twenty-five miles can any of those planes
rise to our level. This is curious, but true. In the same way, on much
the same principle, though through a very different application of it,
you cannot speak or move until I so desire. All your voluntary muscles
are completely, even though temporarily, paralyzed. The involuntary
ones, which carry on your vital processes, are untouched.
"In one way, _monsieur_, you are as much alive as ever In another you
are almost completely dead. Your fleet has enjoyed the distinction of
having been the very first to serve as the object of a most important
experiment. Likewise, your own person has had the honor of serving
as material for another experiment, equally important--an experiment
whose effect on your body is similar to that of the first one on the
air-fleet.
"You can hear me, perfectly. You can see me. I ask you to watch me
closely. Then consider, if you please, the matter of placing me under
arrest."
His hand touched a small disk near the button he had first pressed;
a disk of some strange metal, iridescent, gleaming with a peculiar
greenish patina that, even as one watched it, seemed to blend into
other shades, as an oil-scum transmutes its hues on water.
Now a faint, almost inaudible hum began to make itself heard. This hum
was not localized. One could not have told exactly whence it came. It
filled the cabin with a kind of soft murmuring that soothed the senses
like the drowsy undertone of bees at swarm.
For a moment nothing happened. Then the pupils of Leclair's eyes began
to dilate with astonishment. Immovable though he still remained, the
most intense wonder made itself apparent in his look. Even something
akin to fear was mirrored in his gaze. Again his lips twitched. Though
he could form no word, a dry, choking gasp came from his throat.
And there was cause for astonishment; yes, even for fear. A thing
was beginning to take place, there in the brightly lighted cabin of
_Nissr_, such as man's eye never yet had beheld.
The Master was disappearing.