"This place is going up to-night," he explained. "That police agent will know all about it and it will be searched at once. I can't get my camera away and I don't want it found."

As he spoke Fedor was laying a long strip of fuse from the room to the ground floor. Striking a match he lit the end.

"In half an hour the place will be a furnace," he said coolly.

What to do with the police agent was a problem.

"I can't kill the fellow in cold blood," remarked Fedor, "and I can't leave him here to be burnt alive."

Finally they dragged the man outside and left him lying in the darkest corner of the alley they could find.

"Some one will find him when the fire starts," was Fedor's conclusion.

But some one found him much earlier, and their clemency nearly cost them their lives!

Yvette and Fedor started for the Mohawk and d.i.c.k walked swiftly over to the General's house. It was very late and not a soul was stirring in the now deserted streets. Without difficulty d.i.c.k found the leaded window and scarcely troubling about the slight noise he made, forced it partly in, poured in a liberal supply of petrol and flung after it a lighted match. Instantly there was a most satisfactory sheet of flame.

A moment later d.i.c.k was hammering 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, d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k 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. d.i.c.k's hand was ready on his automatic, and as the General's revolver came out d.i.c.k fired from his pocket and the leader of the Galdavian revolution fell dead with a bullet through his heart.

A moment later d.i.c.k, 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 Fedor's plan and added to the general confusion.

d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k sprang into his seat Fedor 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 d.i.c.k 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 pa.s.ser-by a few minutes after they had left the warehouse! Frantic with rage and determined to catch d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k's motor should not get away. Had he been found a few moments earlier d.i.c.k 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, d.i.c.k 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, d.i.c.k bade Yvette halt. Blessing Fedor's foresight, he took the rifle from the car and in the shadow flung himself down on the gra.s.s bordering the road. For five hundred yards below him the road stretched in a smooth unbroken descent.

As the pursuing car came into sight d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k as he dashed for the Mohawk.

For the moment, racing down the hill, they were safe. But d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k'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 d.i.c.k. "Where are we?"

"We ought to be about over Scutari according to speed and compa.s.s 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 d.i.c.k.

"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 d.i.c.k 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.

"d.i.c.k," 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, d.i.c.k," 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.