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“It’s rather dark,” said the voice, grumblingly, “but I’ll try.”

“Come, Arbuthnot, you had better look as well,” said Snell, motioning the young man to his side.

The two men applied their eyes to circular orifices in the wall, and waited.

“Do you see anything?” Asked Arbuthnot, presently.

“Nothing,” replied the other, “only the usual crowd of aerocars above and athletes walking in the streets below. It is almost too dark to discern faces. I can see no car that is suspicious. Stay! Ah, no! — Only some air-sailors drinking absinthe.”

“What is to be done?” Exclaimed Arbuthnot, despairingly.

“You there?” Called Snell.

“Yes,” came the voice in reply.

“Give me a line due east of Greenwich straight away to the sea.”

“Apparatus only reaches Swanley; line broken down.” Came the reply.

“What a nuisance! When will they perfect these things?” Said

Arbuthnot, impatiently.

“Give me as far as you can then,” cried Snell.

“Right.”

“Now then, keep your eyes open.” Warned the elder man.

“Look!” Arbuthnot cried suddenly. “There she is!” And then Snell clicked a switch on his left.

“I’ve checked it.” He said, in tones of suppressed excitement. “You are sure it is she?”

“Quite,” said Arbuthnot, agitatedly; “but who is the man with her? I cannot see.”

“Great Heavens! ‘Eagle Malvowley, I might have guessed it, the fiend!” Cried Bowden Snell.

“Malvowley! What, he that owns the secret castle in the Balkans?” Queried Arbuthnot, breathlessly.

“The same.” Answered Bowden Snell; “He is bearing her thither, the villain. But where are they? We must follow at once.”

“I cannot understand.” Said Arbuthnot, straining his eyes at the aperture. “There is open sea beneath, and yet the operator said — ”

“You there?” Came the voice.

“Well?” Said Snell, quickly.

“The instrument is a little out of order. By mistake I started you from the French end; you have checked it in mid-channel.”

“That is all right, thank you,” said Snell. “That explains it.” He said, turning to his companion. “But let us watch. How is this — they seem stationary?”

“They are stationary,” cried Arbuthnot, after a moment. “Come, let us away.”

Bowden Snell turned off the knob and followed the younger man to the window.

“My machine,” he said briefly, “it is the swifter.”

Arbuthnot leaped in, and Bowden Snell followed him.

With a whiz and a flutter they rose through the cool evening air and, after soaring undecidedly over the ancient dome of St. Paul’s, sped away in an easterly direction.

The air was fairly full of business cars, which rose in shoals from the heart of the province and dropped in various suburbs about Essex, Suffolk, and Kent.

Once away from the great centre, however, our travelers were able to put on full speed, and in a few minutes the silvery gleam of the Channel appeared in sight.

They searched the air with strained eyes as they sped along; but, beyond the usual Continental and Far East cars, they saw nothing of consequence.

As they neared the sea they decided to descend, and dropped lightly at the very water’s edge, on a secluded beach between Dover and Folkestone. They stepped out on the yielding sand, and stood by the rippling waves.

A huge full moon was just appearing above the horizon, arid its pale beauty was reflected in touches of silver on the darkening sea. Far above them a few aerocars wafted their way towards their various destinations, and the alert customs officers in their crimson-painted machines flitted restlessly hither and thither.

The two men stood silent for a few moments, awed by the beauty and solitude of the scene.

“We are beaten.” Bitterly exclaimed Arbuthnot at last.

“Wait,” said Bowden Snell as he narrowly scanned an approaching car; “if I am not greatly mistaken that is Jim Travers of the Minute Gun. It looks like his machine; yes, it is. Above there, Travers!” He shouted lustily.

“Hello, Snell!” Came the reply, “what’s amiss?” And the car swooped gracefully to within a few yards of their heads, Travers