id between heavy breaths, "--the ship! Take me to it!
You will tell anyone we meet it is all right. One word of alarm, one
wrong look, and I'll blow you to hell and make a break for it!"

The pistol under Harkness' silken jacket was pressed firmly into
Schwartzmann's side; it brought them safely past excited guards and
out into the storm; it held steady until the men had fought their way
through blasts of rain to the side of the anchored ship. Not till then
did Schwartzmann speak.

"Wait," he said. "Are you crazy, Harkness? You can never take off; the
trees are close; a straight ascent is needed. And the wind--!"

He struggled in the other's grasp as Harkness swung open the cabin
door, his fear of what seemed a certain death overmastering his fear
of the weapon. He was shouting for help as Harkness threw him roughly
aside and leaped into the ship.

Outside Harkness saw running figures as he threw on the motors. A
pistol's flash came sharply through the storm and dark. A window in
the chateau flashed into brilliance to frame the figure of a girl.
Tall and slender, she leaned forward with outstretched arms. She
seemed calling to him.

* * * * *

Harkness seized the controls, and knew as he did so that Schwartzmann
was right: he could never lift the ship in straight ascent. Before her
whirling fans could raise her they would be crashed among the trees.

But there were two helicopters--dual lift, one forward and one aft.
And Walt Harkness, pilot of the second class, earned immediate
disbarment or a much higher rating as he coolly fingered the controls.
He cut the motor on the big fan at the stern, threw the forward one on
full and set the blades for maximum lift, then released the hold-down
grips that moored her.

The grips let go with a crashing of metal arms. The bow shot upward
while a blast of wind tore at the stubby wings. The slim ship tried to
stand erect. Another furious, beating wind lifted her bodily, as
Harkness, clinging desperately within the narrow room, threw his full
weight upon the lever that he held.

The full blast of a detonite motor, on even a small ship, is terrific,
and the speedster of Herr Schwartzmann did not lack for power. Small
wonder that the rules of the Board of Control prohibit the use of the
stern blast under one thousand feet.

The roaring inferno from the stern must have torn the ground as if by
a mammoth plow; the figures of men must have scatte