The Gay Triangle: The Romance of the First Air Adventurers. Le Queux William

at the front door, shouting at the top of his voice. He aimed at making all the confusion he could.

      Instantly the street was in an uproar. People poured half-dressed from the houses, and from General Mestich’s residence came a stream of frightened domestics, screaming in terror and half-choked with smoke.

      Slipping unnoticed into the house, Dick made straight for the salon. As he entered, General Mestich was in the very act of withdrawing the treaty from the secret receptacle. He turned towards Dick and their eyes met.

      Traitor though he was, the Galdavian General was a cool and brave man. His hand dropped to his pocket and a revolver flashed out. But he was just a fraction of a second too late. Dick’s hand was ready on his automatic, and as the General’s revolver came out Dick fired from his pocket and the leader of the Galdavian revolution fell dead with a bullet through his heart.

      A moment later Dick, the precious treaty in his pocket, had joined the shouting throng in the crowded street. As he did so, a burst of flame from the old storehouse announced the success of Fédor’s plan and added to the general confusion.

      Dick worked himself clear of the crowd and dashed off at top speed for the Mohawk. Yvette was already seated at the wheel, with the engine started ready for instant departure. As Dick sprang into his seat Fédor laid beside him a loaded rifle.

      “Ten shots, explosive bullets,” he said coolly. “It may be useful if you are followed.”

      Then hastily they shook hands and the Mohawk leaped forward for the hill road and safety.

      The moon was unfortunately very bright, and it was not until they had gone five or six miles that Dick ventured to draw a breath of relief.

      “We ought to be safe now,” he said. “We must find a place to fly from.”

      The words were hardly out of his mouth when the roar of a big car behind them caught his ears. They had forgotten the bound and blindfolded police agent.

      That very astute individual had been found and released by a passer-by a few minutes after they had left the warehouse! Frantic with rage and determined to catch Dick at all costs, he had acted with wonderful promptness. His first step was to send out cars loaded with armed policemen to block all three roads leading from Langengrad so that Dick’s motor should not get away. Had he been found a few moments earlier Dick and Yvette must have been hopelessly trapped. But the delay of a few minutes had given them a priceless advantage.

      Looking back as the big car came swiftly on, Dick caught the gleam of rifle barrels in the moonlight. His plan was swiftly made.

      At the top of a steep slope, where the road made a sharp curve and dipped into a small depression, Dick bade Yvette halt. Blessing Fédor’s foresight, he took the rifle from the car and in the shadow flung himself down on the grass bordering the road. For five hundred yards below him the road stretched in a smooth unbroken descent.

      As the pursuing car came into sight Dick took careful aim and fired, aiming not at the men, but at the engine of the car. His first shot was low, and he saw a burst of flame as the explosive bullet struck the road a few yards short of the car.

      His second shot got home. The big car lurched, slewed round, and dashing into the side of the road, toppled over. Evidently the explosive bullet had wrecked the steering gear.

      He leapt into the car again, but the danger was not over. Checked by the steep rise the big car was only going slowly, and the men inside had evidently escaped unhurt. And they were clearly well led, for a dozen of them dashed into the road and a volley of shots rattled round Dick as he dashed for the Mohawk.

      For the moment, racing down the hill, they were safe. But Dick saw, with inward trepidation, that a little farther on the road rose again and they would be a clear mark for their pursuers in the bright moonlight.

      His fears were justified. Again a volley of shots rang out and bullets pattered round them. One smashed the wind screen, a second went through Yvette’s hat. But they were untouched, and raced on. A moment more and they would be safe. Then another volley rang out and Dick felt a stinging pain in his left shoulder. He had been hit by one of the last shots fired!

      They were now out of range and Yvette sent the Mohawk along as fast as she dared until, a few miles farther, she left the high road and drove across the smooth upland turf to the shelter of a small wood where they could convert the car into the aeroplane.

      Despite the danger of delay Yvette insisted on binding up Dick’s shoulder. Luckily no bone had been touched, but he had lost a lot of blood. By a tremendous effort of will he managed to help Yvette until the aeroplane was ready, and then climbing into his seat collapsed in a dead faint.

      When he came to his senses again it was daylight and the Mohawk was flying steadily high above a carpet of white mist which hid the ground. Yvette, crouched over the duplicate control lever, nodded and smiled.

      “Better now?” she called.

      “A bit rocky,” laughed Dick. “Where are we?”

      “We ought to be about over Scutari according to speed and compass bearings,” was Yvette’s reply, “but the mist has been baffling me. Still, I don’t think we are far out.”

      “How long have we been flying?” asked Dick.

      “About two hours,” Yvette responded, “and we have been doing about seventy. That should bring us very near the coast.”

      After a stiff dose of brandy and a mouthful of food Dick felt better. A few moments later he pointed downwards.

      “Lake Scutari!” he remarked, as he recognised the long narrow sheet of water at the head of which the ramshackle half-Turkish town stands.

      The mist was already breaking as, at ten thousand feet elevation, they swept out over the Adriatic and headed for the Italian coast. Then Yvette began a rapid call on the wireless set with which the Mohawk was fitted and placed the head-telephones over her ears.

      “Got him! He’s there all right!” she exclaimed triumphantly a few minutes later. “He answers ‘O.K.’”

      It was Jules, who for three days had been cruising off Cape Gallo in a motor-launch, ready to dash to their rescue if anything went wrong as they crossed the Adriatic, and who was now heading in their direction as fast as his engines would drive him.

      Suddenly Yvette uttered an exclamation of alarm.

      “Dick,” she said, “our petrol is giving out. There is none left in the number four tank and five and six will only carry us about seventy miles.”

      Evidently the bullets of their pursuers had pierced the tank which was now empty and the precious spirit had drained away unnoticed.

      The situation was now serious indeed. Could they get to Jules in time? A wireless message bade him hasten.

      “Ten miles more, Dick,” said Yvette at last, “and then I can make three miles and the glide as we come down. It’s lucky we are so high; we ought to do it.”

      Then seven or eight miles away a column of vapour rose from the water ahead. Jules had fired a smoke bomb to guide them! Their petrol was almost gone. But as the engine flickered out and stopped Yvette, with a cry of joy, pointed to a tiny dot on the sea which they knew was Jules rushing to their help. A rocket shot up from the launch.

      “He sees us!” said Dick, as Yvette set the Mohawk on a flat downward slant. Two minutes later they struck the water with a mighty splash just as the motor-launch tore up, flinging a cloud of spray into the air as she rushed to their rescue. They were safe and they had saved a throne! But the gallant Mohawk sank to the bottom of the Adriatic.

      There was no revolution in Galdavia. With the damning evidence of the film and the phonograph record the Allies acted promptly, and with the traitor Mestich dead the plot went to pieces. King Milenko rules to-day over a contented, happy and prosperous people, and his early follies laid aside has become a capable and popular ruler. Fédor they never saw again; he was killed in a motor smash a week after they left, and the secret of his wonderful invention died with him.