above a flat table, and an officer was half-concealed
beneath it, apparently studying the table busily.

"Come, American, you shall see your navy on its way to destruction,"
said Von Kettler, beckoning Dick within the hood.

The officer stepped from the table, whose top was a sheet of silvered
glass, leaving Von Kettler and Dick in front of it. Dick looked. At
first he could see nothing but the vast stretch of sea; then he began
to make out tiny dots at the table's end, terminating in minute blurs
that were evidently smoke from the funnels.

"Your ships," said Von Kettler, smiling. "This is the dirigible." He
pointed to another dot that came into sight and disappeared almost
instantly. "They are a hundred and fifty miles away. Explain to your
friends in Washington that our super-telescopic sights are based upon
a refraction of light that overcomes the earth's curvature. It is
simple, but it happens not to have been worked out until my Master
commanded it."

Dick watched those tiny dots in fascination, mentally computing. At an
average speed of fifty knots an hour, the squadron's steaming rate,
they should be off the coast within three hours. The dirigible would
take two, if it went ahead to scout, as was almost certain.

* * * * *

Dick stepped back from beneath the hood and glanced about him. If only
his arms were not bound, he might do enough damage within a few
seconds to put the deadlier machinery out of commission, if only the
silvered mirror. He glanced about him. Von Kettler, interpreting his
thought, smiled coolly.

"You are helpless, my dear Yankee pig," he said. "But there is more
to see. Oblige me by accompanying me up to the top story."

He pointed to a ladder running up beside the iron pillar through an
opening in the roof, and Dick, with a shrug of the shoulders,
complied. He emerged upon a small platform, apparently protruding into
vacancy. Far underneath he saw the clearing, and two airplanes on the
tarmac, the aviators looking like beetles from that height. He looked
out to sea and saw no signs of the fleet.

"You have heard of St. Simeon Stylites, Yankee?" purred Von Kettler.
"The gentleman who spent forty years of his life upon a tall pillar,
in atonement for his sins? It is His Majesty's desire that you spend,
not forty years, but two or three hours up here, meditating upon his
grandeur, before returning to earth. It is also possible that you will
witness som