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 Dick as he dashed for the Mohawk.
For the moment, racing down the hill, they were safe. But Dick 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 Dick 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 Dick’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 Dick. “Where are we?”
“We ought to be about over Scutari according to speed and compass 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 Dick.
“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 Dick 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.
“Dick,” 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, Dick,” 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.
“He sees us!” said Dick, as Yvette set the Mohawk on a flat downward slant. Two minutes later they struck the water with a mighty splash just as the motor-launch tore up, flinging a cloud of spray into the air as she rushed to their rescue. They were safe and they had saved a throne! But the gallant Mohawk sank to the bottom of the Adriatic.
There was no revolution in Galdavia. With the damning evidence of the film and the phonograph record the Allies acted promptly, and with the traitor Mestich dead the plot went to pieces. King Milenko rules to-day over a contented, happy and prosperous people, and his early follies laid aside has become a capable and popular ruler. Fédor they never saw again; he was killed in a motor smash a week after they left, and the secret of his wonderful invention died with him.
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