The strange propellers caught the air at once. The cavern walls, glowing in the eerie light, seemed to slide backward as the ship swung around the curve toward the entrance.
Then daylight burst upon us.
For the next ten seconds, it was almost a matter of life and death.
Without Gascoigne, I am certain we would never have made it out.
The great ship shot from the cavern like an arrow. I touched the small steering wheel, and she banked sharply into the dangerous turn. The granite walls seemed to rush toward us, ready to crush the ship between them.
Only Gascoigne’s calm, rapid commands kept us alive.
I obeyed him almost automatically.
At last, we were clear.
Then I opened the engines to their full power.
For a moment the ship trembled like a bird preparing to take flight. Then, humming like a giant wasp, she shot upward and out over the sea.
The needle on the speed indicator began to climb.
Eighty miles an hour.
A hundred.
A hundred and fifty.
Then another thirty.
We were flying at nearly two hundred miles an hour, straight out over the Atlantic.
I had not even thought about where we were going. I cared about nothing except the incredible joy of flying through the morning wind.
The whole world below was blue and gold, fresh and beautiful.
Far beneath us, the Atlantic stretched out like a sheet of sapphire without a wrinkle. The sunlight made it look like a sea of glass mixed with fire.
Far away on the horizon, the Isles of Scilly looked like a tiny purple cloud sleeping beneath the sun.
Connie quietly came into the cabin and stood beside me. She put her hand on my shoulder.
I knew exactly what was in her heart, because I felt the same thing.
Everything we had suffered came rushing back through my mind. Yet the memory only made our happiness more intense.
We had escaped from hell.
We had escaped from the hands of men who seemed like devils.
And in that single moment, we both understood just how lucky we were.
I cannot describe what I felt. No words seem good enough.
Connie stared at the glowing sea and sky.
Then she softly quoted Milton:
“To the Ocean now I fly,
And those happy climes which lie
Where Day never shuts his eye
Up in the broad fields of the sky.”
I looked at the compass and made a wide turn until we were heading back toward the rugged coast of Cornwall.
Connie spoke again, this time with quiet pride:
“For still the Lord is Lord of Might
In deeds, in deeds, he takes delight.”
She gently squeezed my arm, then returned to the other cabin.
I had not noticed Danjuro for several minutes.
He had taken Gascoigne behind me as soon as we had escaped from the cavern.
Now he came back.
“Danjuro!” I cried. “This ship is beyond anything I have ever imagined! There is nothing else like it in the world. It will completely change flying. Piloting her is pure joy!”
Danjuro merely nodded.
He was not a man easily carried away by excitement. There was something almost like a panther hidden inside his quiet soul.
“I have been talking with the prisoner,” he said.
“With Vargus?”
“No. I looked in on him, and he is perfectly safe. I mean Gascoigne. He has pointed out something neither of us had considered, Sir John.”
“His help will certainly count in his favor at the trial. What is the problem?”
“A very serious and obvious one. Look at this ship. There is no way to mistake her. Any pilot in the country would recognize her from the descriptions already circulated.”
He pointed toward the coast.
“We are approaching land again and intend to fly to Plymouth. The sky must be full of armed patrol ships. Even if our speed keeps us from being shot down on the way, we may be blown to pieces the moment we approach the sea-drome.”
I felt my face go hot.
I had been unbelievably foolish.
He was right.
No one could possibly know that we had captured the Pirate Ship.
I immediately reduced our speed by half.
“What are we going to do?” I asked.
“There is a complete wireless installation aboard,” Danjuro said. “Can you operate it?”
“No. Even if I could leave the controls, I wouldn’t know what to do. I know nothing about wireless.”
“Neither do I. It is a gap in my knowledge that I intend to correct soon. But Gascoigne is an operator. He has offered to send whatever message we require.”
“Can we trust him?”
“He saved us from certain disaster when we left the cavern. I believe we can.”
I shuddered.
I did not want to think about that terrible, blood-stained cavern again.
“He has everything to gain by helping us,” Danjuro continued. “And I can see no way for him to harm us. I cannot operate the wireless equipment, but I know Morse code. I can stand beside him and check every letter he sends.”
Then an idea came to me.
“Good. I think I can make the message even safer. I still remember almost all of the Air Police’s private code. We will contact Plymouth and all the patrol ships now in the air using that code.”
I turned the ship toward the open sea again.
“While you take down the message, we will stay out over the Atlantic.”
As we climbed and circled upward, I composed the message in my mind and translated it, word by word, into the private code.
Danjuro wrote it down in pencil in his notebook.
When I finished, Danjuro took Gascoigne to the rear cabin, where Vargus was lying.
That was where the wireless equipment had been installed.
We climbed higher and higher, far above the normal air routes.
I finally felt safe.
The land disappeared.
The sea disappeared.
Everything connected with the world below vanished.
The engines were almost silent as the ship floated through a golden haze.
It was like a dream.
But no dream could ever have been more beautiful.
Connie came in again.
“I thought I would leave Thumbwood and Wilson alone,” she said. “They have been sitting together and whispering ever since we started. Neither seems even slightly curious about where we are or where we’re going.”
“How thoughtful of you, darling.”
I smiled.
“Was that the only reason you came in here?”
The rest of our conversation does not belong in this story.
It lasted for quite some time as the ship flew in huge circles, each nearly five miles across.
Then the telephone rang beside my ear.
It was Danjuro.
“The message has reached Plymouth,” he said. “They have been sending a reply for the last ten minutes. Gascoigne is dictating it, and I am writing it down.”
A little later, Danjuro brought the message to me.
As soon as I read it, the real world seemed to close around me again.
The beautiful dream was over.
But triumph flooded through me.
The message was from Muir Lockhart, who had returned to Plymouth. It was filled with astonishment and congratulations.
At the end came the words:
“The whole world will thank you.”
For a few moments, I was drunk with pride.
I imagined myself as a hero, completely vindicated in the eyes of the world.
I saw myself as the Chief of the Air Police whose name would live in history.
I suppose very few men my age would have reacted differently.
We are all human.
But when I read the message aloud to Gascoigne, I suddenly understood the truth.
I had done very little.
The success was really due to his extraordinary intelligence and courage.
Thank God, I realized that without feeling even the slightest jealousy.
I told him exactly what I thought of him.
He listened without changing expression.
When I finished, he said quietly:
“You have been very kind, Sir John. I greatly appreciate what you have said. If you truly believe you owe me something for the help I have given, perhaps you can repay me.”
“To half my kingdom!” I laughed.
But I meant it.
“Is that a promise, Sir John?”
He looked down at me with those strangely magnetic eyes.
“A promise, Danjuro.”
“Then I ask one thing. As long as I live, say nothing about my part in this affair.”
I stared at him.
“I want it kept as secret as possible,” he continued. “Some of it will inevitably become known. There will be investigations, trials, and public reports. But much of it can remain hidden. That will depend upon you and Thumbwood. Now that I have your promise, I can rest.”
“But this is madness, Danjuro! Two continents will owe you their thanks. You—”
He stopped me.
“I want none of that. I have already received your thanks, and that is enough. The work itself is enough.”
He paused.
“My usefulness to Mr. Van Adams, which has been the purpose of my entire life, would be destroyed if people discovered what I have done.”
Reluctantly, I gave him my word.
“But I will tell Mr. Van Adams everything,” I said.
Danjuro lowered his head.
A faint blush appeared on his yellow face.
“If you truly think I have done something worthy of such confidence,” he said quietly.
And this was the man with the panther in his soul.
For the American millionaire, Danjuro felt a devotion that was almost worship.
Nothing else in this world seemed to matter to him.
He was a man possessed by a single purpose.
A man with one idea.
Perhaps most great men in history have been like that.
I set the ship on course for Plymouth at full speed, then began our descent to three thousand feet.
The rugged coastline suddenly appeared below us, edged with a thin line of white surf.
We raced in from the Atlantic, crossed the narrow peninsula separating it from the Channel, and turned east.
The Bay appeared beneath us, with St. Michael’s Mount looking like a tiny white pebble.
Then came the long, dangerous-looking point of the Lizard.
A few minutes later, as we approached Falmouth, a group of airships rose from the water of the great harbor and flew toward us like a flock of gulls.
Their huge electric horns blared out a welcome.
Dead Man’s Rock and Gall Island slipped behind us.
Then Looe, Mevagissey, and Fowey disappeared astern.
Soon the bold outline of Rame Head came rushing toward us.
That was the place from which the Devon watchers had first signaled the approach of the Armada.
I had been flying far ahead of the patrol ships, then turning back and circling them again and again.
I wanted them to see what an extraordinary machine we had captured.
And every new thing I discovered about the ship filled me with even greater excitement.
At last, I slowed down and sounded the horn to the leading patrol ship.
We turned into Plymouth Sound.
The other airships spread out behind us in a huge wedge, with me at the front.
We looked like a flock of wild geese in flight.
As we passed high over the Breakwater, guns fired a salute.
Every bell in Plymouth seemed to be ringing as I brought the Pirate Ship down into the sea-drome.
For more than forty-five minutes, however, the two prisoners had been alone together in the rear cabin.
That was where the tools and spare parts were kept.
Neither Danjuro nor I had given them another thought.
It was the one fatal mistake we made on that morning of triumph.
Thumbwood had gone in to check on them once or twice, but he had seen nothing suspicious.
When my men finally came to take the prisoners to the station, they were lying there in their bonds, silent and sullen.
They said nothing to each other.
But by then, the damage had almost certainly been done.
I am running out of space, and there are still two strange and unforgettable scenes left to tell.
There are further tragedies that must be recorded.
The final scene, which I have called “The Epilogue,” was not written until a year after the earlier part of this story.
That is why it was not included until now.
If you continue reading to the end, you will understand the reason.
For the moment, I will not burden you with every detail of that crowded day at Plymouth.
I want to bring the story quickly to eleven-thirty that same night.
As soon as the Pirate Ship was safely resting on the calm waters of the sea-drome, Muir Lockhart arrived with a large force of Air Police.
Constance and her maid were taken by motorboat to one of my patrol ships.
Within half an hour, the patrol ship had started for Hounslow Aerodrome.
We both thought it best for Constance to return to London immediately.
Traveling by air in a Government ship would spare her most of the unwanted attention and publicity.
Every approach to the sea-drome was sealed off.
The Hoe was packed with spectators, but no one was allowed anywhere near us.
I gave Lockhart a brief account of what had happened.
The two prisoners were then taken across the pool under heavy guard and carried by the private lift to the Air Police station.
A strong cell was waiting for them.
At last, I was free to show Lockhart, who was himself an expert pilot, the incredible machine we had captured.
We were examining the pilot’s cabin when one of my men entered.
“A motor launch has just come alongside,” he said. “It has come from the private air-yacht May Flower. She’s less than a hundred yards away.”
I had noticed the magnificent yacht when we landed, but I had not realized it belonged to Mr. Van Adams.
Apparently, he had been sleeping aboard her for the previous two or three nights.
He had flown down from London for the funeral and was now waiting nearby.
Van Adams was, of course, an exception to ordinary rules.
Within a minute, he was shaking hands with me in the private saloon, bursting with curiosity about our adventure.
I left Danjuro to tell him everything.
After we shared a bottle of Helzephron’s champagne, I left two trusted men to guard the Pirate Ship and went ashore.
Danjuro returned to the May Flower with his patron.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of business and excitement.
I managed to get about three hours of much-needed sleep during the afternoon.
Messages poured in from the Government, from America, and even from royalty.
There seemed to be no end to the officials I had to meet.
Newspaper correspondents wanted stories.
There were endless arrangements to make.
All England was in an uproar.
For several hours, the Air Police building on the Hoe became the center of everything.
The sky was crowded with patrol ships, warning every other aircraft to keep away from the Pirate Ship.
The captured ship rested quietly and harmlessly beside the north wall of the pool.
Just before I went to bed, news began arriving about what people were calling “The Battle of the Moor.”
When the pirates realized that their ship was gone, they had rushed back into the house and defended it with the courage of desperate men.
Only three had survived.
They were now prisoners at the police station in Penzance.
It would take many pages to describe everything that happened that day.
For me, it did not end until ten o’clock at night, because I had been required to attend a congratulatory dinner at the Royal.
Before that, I had summoned Danjuro from the May Flower, where he had spent the day quietly with Mr. Van Adams.
I needed to look like my old self again.
Only Danjuro could restore my blond hair.
Unfortunately, he could do nothing about my moustache.
I had arranged to sleep at the station, where there were several bedrooms.
At about ten-thirty, I passed the sentry and entered the grounds.
Plymouth was quiet now.
It was a hot, dark night.
There was no moon and no stars.
The weather had changed during the day.
Far out at sea, thunder muttered in the darkness, while purple flashes of lightning flickered along the horizon.
Every now and then, a drop of hot rain fell.