, he owned this place. They--have
him here--alive--and mad! And all the rest...."

Bell fumbled in the pocket of his flying suit. The young man with
Paula was looking carefully at the plane. And there was a revolver in
a holster at his side. An air of grim and desperate doggedness was
upon him.

"This is--my cousin," gasped Paula. "He--and his wife--and--and--"

* * * * *

The young man took out his weapon. He fired. There was a clanging of
metal, the screech of tortured steel. Bell's own revolver went off the
fraction of a second too late.

"You may kill me, Senhor," said the young man through stiff lips. His
revolver had dropped from limp fingers. He pressed the fingers of his
left hand upon the place where blood welled out, just above his right
elbow. "You may kill me. But if you and my cousin Paula escaped.... I
have a wife, Senhor, and my mother, and my children. Kill me if you
please. It is your right. But I have seen my father go mad." Sweat,
the sweat of agony and of shame, came out upon his face. "I fought
him, Senhor, to save the lives of all the rest. And I have spoiled
your engine, and I have already sent word that you and Paula are here.
Not for my own life, but...."

He waited, haggard and ashamed and desperate and hopeless. But Bell
was staring at the motor of the airplane.

"Crankcase punctured," he said dully. "Aluminum. The bullet went right
through. We can't fly five miles. And Ribiera knows we're here--or
will."

CHAPTER IX

There was the sound of weeping in the house, the gusty and hopeless
weeping of women. Bell had been walking around and around the plane,
staring at it with his hands clenched. Paula watched him.

"I am thinking," she said in an attempt at courage, "that you said I
must not despair without your permission. But--"

"Hush!" said Bell impatiently. He stared at the engine. "I'd give a
lot for a car. Bolts.... How many hours have we?"

"Four," said Paula drearily. "Perhaps five. You have smashed the radio
in the house?"

Bell nodded impatiently. He had smashed the radio, a marvelously
compact and foolproof outfit, arbitrarily tuned to a fixed short
wave-length. It was almost as simple to operate as a telephone. There
had been no opposition to the destruction. Paula's cousin had disabled
their plane and reported their presence. He was inside the house now,
sick with shame--and yet he would do the same again. In one of the
rooms of the h