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“Have you seen ‘Eagle Malvowley in your travels?” Asked Snell.

“Just passed him about half way across,” was the welcome answer. “He had a breakdown — jammed lever, I fancy — and is fluttering about like a wounded gull.”

“Anyone with him?” Shouted Arbuthnot, as with Snell he stepped hastily aboard their machine.

“Couldn’t see; too dark,” replied Travers, as he resumed his progress Londonwards. “Anything special on?” He called back. “If so, telepath us at the office, there’s a good fellow.”

But, with a shout of thanks, Bowden Snell and Arbuthnot were already soaring over the sea.

“He’s just back from Baden Races — lucky I saw him,” muttered the former, as he pulled out all the speed-bars.

Arbuthnot was in a state of fierce excitement; he peered anxiously forward, and at length his bloodshot eyes detected a fluttering object between himself and the full-orbed moon.

Mutely he grasped Snell’s arm and pointed.

“I see,” said the other, laconically; and with a skillfully executed upward swoop he guided the machine to within a dozen yards of the apparently uncontrollable fugitive car, in which a tall, slight man with a dark, saturnine countenance was uttering vicious oaths, and spitefully hammering at some part of the machinery. Arbuthnot jumped recklessly on to the high platform of their car, and with a gasp of mingled fear and relief beheld the beloved object of his search lying on the bottom of the other machine — to all appearance lifeless.

Malvowley was so engrossed in his task that he had not noticed the approach of his pursuers, but a fierce hail from Arbuthnot caused him to leap up.

With an execration he picked up some ball-shaped object and hurled it at his interrupters, but in his sudden surprise he missed his aim.

Bowden Snell hastily seized a lever and drew it back with a jerk. The car rose vertically some fifty feet above Malvowley’s.

“Rippite bomb,” said Snell, with a white face, as the missile struck the water below and burst with the soft seductive whir of that deadly explosive.

“You are helpless, Malvowley.” Cried Arbuthnot. “Hand over Miss Seine at once.”

“Come and take her,” yelled Malvowley, defiantly; “I won’t miss you a second time,” and he seemed to apply himself again to the task of repairing his gear.

“We must board him,” said Snell; “it is our only chance. If he once gets his machine in hand again he will be the other side of Europe in five minutes. She’s a racer, built for the America Cup Race of last year. I will swoop close to him, and you must leap for it.”

“I’ll try it,” said Arbuthnot, desperately. “If I miss, you must descend on the chance of picking me up.”

“Now, then!” Cried Snell, as they swept down.

With a fast-beating heart Arbuthnot hurled himself into the car, knocking the surprised Malvowley into a corner, where he lay momentarily stunned.

With lightning movements the young man seized the unconscious girl in his arms and passed her over to Bowden Snell, who, pale as death, stood ready to receive her. Arbuthnot had scarcely time to leap back after when Malvowley recovered himself, and, with horrible oaths, rushed to the side of his car.

“Curse you!” He shrieked, “I’ll wreck you; I’ll send you all to eternity!”

“Up-up-quick!” Shouted Arbuthnot. “Another bomb!”

They rose with sickening speed, and Malvowley, foaming with demoniacal rage, hurled another deadly missile up after them, putting all his strength into the attempt.

They were too quick, however, and the bomb fell back again on Malvowley’s own car, exploding on the contact, and scattering the machine and its unhappy occupant into a million fragments.

Some of the wreckage struck the victors as they still soared upwards, but they were rising too rapidly to suffer any injury. When at last, pale and trembling, they found courage to look down, only a few pieces of floating wood and aluminum far below remained as witnesses of Eagle Malvowley’s fearful end. To their great joy, Snell and Arbuthnot discovered that the rescued girl had merely fainted, and in a short time the keen