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Bohannan, seated cross-legged between Captain Alden and the Master, swore an oath. "What are these infernal murderers here for?" growled he. "Ask the Sheik, will you? I thought you and he had eaten salt together! If this isn't a trap, it looks too damned much like it to be much of a picnic! Faith, this is a Hell of a party!"
The windows had been slid wide open, and the two men, leaning back in easy wicker chairs, were enjoying the desert panorama each in his own way Bohannan with a cigar, the Master with a few leaves of the "flower of paradise." Now once more clean and a little rested, they had again assumed something of their former aspect.
Swiftly the clutching figure scrabbled in over the rail, dropped to the metal plates of the take-off now slanting steeply down and forward and broke into a staggering run directly toward the gallery where stood Bohannan and the Master. At the little ladder-housing sounded a warning shout. The head and shoulders of Captain Alden became visible there.
For a long moment the eyes of the Master met those of Captain Alden, that strangely peered out at him through the eyeholes of the pink, celluloid mask. Bohannan and the doctor stood by, curiously observing this conflict of two wills.
For the Lord's sake!" "No; for conventionality's sake. Not legally, you understand. Not even an adventure as exciting as that has happened to me. But constructively in jail. De facto, as it were. It's all the same thing." "Up there in that observatory thing of yours, are you?" asked Bohannan. "Yes; and I want to see you." "When?" "At once!
The Celt's exuberance jarred on his soul. Since the affair with "Captain Alden," the Master's nerves had gone a little raw. Bohannan rallied bravely. "Of course," he went on, "it was unfortunate about that New Zealand chap going West. He looked like a right good fellow. But, well c'est la guerre!
This line of crags faded, in remote distance, into the brown vapors that ringed the mystic horizon. "The city?" asked Bohannan. "That can't be the city, can it, now? Faith, if it is, we're too late. Damn me, sir, but the whole infernal place is on fire! Just our rotten luck, eh?" The Master made no reply.
She awoke from slumber. Steadily, smoothly on her air-cushions she began to move forward down the long, sloping trackway to the brink of the cliff. "Lord above!" breathed Bohannan, chewing at his nails. "We're off!" Neither the Master nor Captain Alden moved, spoke, manifested any excitement whatever. Both might have been graven images of coolness.
So you recognize, do you not, the uselessness of machine-guns? The groundlessness of any fears about the Air Patrol's forces?" "Lord, but this is wonderful!" Bohannan ejaculated. "If we'd only had this in the Great War, the Hun would have been wiped out in a month!" "Yes, but we didn't have it," the Master smiled. "I've just finished perfecting it.
I need only two. I shall not call for volunteers, because you would all offer yourselves. You must stay here." "In case my plan succeeds, you are to come at my call three long hails. If my plan fails, Major Bohannan will command you; and I know you will all fight to the last breath and to the final drop of blood!" "Don't do this thing, sir!" the major protested. "What chance of success has it?
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