called.
"A bit rocky," laughed Dick. "Where are we?"
"We ought to be about over Scutari according to speed and compassbearings," 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 aboutseventy. That should bring us very near the coast."
After a stiff dose of brandy and a mouthful of food Dick felt better. Afew moments later he pointed downwards.
"Lake Scutari!" he remarked, as he recognised the long narrow sheet ofwater at the head of which the ramshackle half-Turkish town stands.
The mist was already breaking as, at ten thousand feet elevation, theyswept out over the Adriatic and headed for the Italian coast. ThenYvette began a rapid call on the wireless set with which the Mohawk wasfitted and placed the head-telephones over her ears.
"Got him! He's there all right!" she exclaimed triumphantly a fewminutes later. "He answers `O.K.'"
It was Jules, who for three days had been cruising off Cape Gallo in amotor-launch, ready to dash to their rescue if anything went wrong asthey crossed the Adriatic, and who was now heading in their direction asfast 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 thenumber four tank and five and six will only carry us about seventymiles."
Evidently the bullets of their pursuers had pierced the tank which wasnow 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 threemiles and the glide as we come down. It's lucky we are so high; weought to do it."
Then seven or eight miles away a column of vapour rose from the waterahead. Jules had fired a smoke bomb to guide them! Their petrol wasalmost gone. But as the engine flickered out and stopped Yvette, with acry of joy, pointed to a tiny dot on the sea which they knew was Julesrushing to their help. A rocket shot up from the launch.
"He sees us!" said Dick, as Yvette set the Mohawk on a flat downwardslant. Two minutes later they struck the water with a mighty splashjust as the motor-launch tore up, flinging a cloud of spray into the airas she rushed to their rescue. They were safe and they had saved athrone! But the gallant Mohawk sank to the bottom of the Adriatic.
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There was no revolution in Galdavia. With the damning evidence of thefilm and the phonograph record the Allies acted promptly, and with thetraitor Mestich dead the plot went to pieces. King Milenko rules to-dayover a contented, happy and prosperous people, and his early follieslaid aside has become a capable and popular ruler. Fedor they never sawagain; he was killed in a motor smash a week after they left, and thesecret of his wonderful invention died with him.
CHAPTER THREE.
THE SEVEN DOTS.
In a cosy little house at Veneux Nadon, near Moret-sur-Loing, in thegreat Forest of Fontainebleau, Dick, Yvette, and Jules were seated inearnest conversation. They made a remarkable trio. Dick wasunmistakably English, Yvette and her brother as unmistakably French--thegirl dark-haired and dark-eyed, and with all the grace and vivacitywhich distinguish Frenchwomen of the better class. Her brother, quietand dreamy, lacked his sister's vivacity, but there was a suggestion ofstrength and iron resolution in the firm mouth and steely eyes.
"It will be terribly dangerous, Dick," said Yvette, with an altogethernew note of anxiety in her voice.
"I suppose it will," replied Dick, "but,"--and his voice hardened as hespoke--"I don't see what else we can do. We cannot run the risk ofseeing a perfected helicopter in German hands. It would be too fearfula weapon. We must get hold of the plans and destroy the machine,whatever the risk may be."
Strange stories had come through the French Secret Service of a new andwonderful type of aircraft which was being tested with the utmostsecrecy somewhere in the neighbourhood of Spandau, the great militarytown near Berlin. Of its precise character little was known or could beascertained, and even Regnier, the astute and energetic head of theFrench Secret Service, had at length to confess himself utterly beaten.His cleverest agents had been baffled; more than one was in a Germanprison, with little hope of an early release. In the meantime themysterious machine flitted about the neighbourhood of the greatgarrison, always at night, appearing and disappearing undercircumstances which proved conclusively that it must be of a type whichdiffered widely from any yet known to the public.
"We must go, Dick," said Yvette, "and Regnier is extremely anxious thatyou should help us. His trouble is that while he has dozens of capablemen at his command none of them has a really expert knowledge ofaviation. He thinks that if you once got a good look at the machine youcould form a complete idea of what it really is."
"Very well," said Dick, "we will look upon it as settled. We must workout a plan."
For many months Dick Manton had been working steadily and secretly atVeneux Nadon under the auspices, though not actually in the employ, ofthe French Secret Service. He had offered the plans of the Mohawk tothe British War Office, only to be met with a reception so chilly aseffectually to discourage him from proceeding further in the matter.Regnier, however, was a man of a different stamp from the Britishbureaucrat--keen as mustard and with the saving touch of imaginationwhich is characteristic of the best type of Frenchman. He had unboundedfaith in Yvette, who had for some time been one of his most trustedlieutenants, and when, angry at the attitude of the British War Office,she had given him a hint of what the Mohawk could really do, he hadoffered Dick the fullest facilities for continuing his work. Under thecircumstances Dick had felt that to refuse would have been absurd.
Veneux Nadon was a lonely little spot. Here Dick, though only thirtymiles from Paris, found himself in complete seclusion, with awell-equipped workshop in large grounds completely buried in the lovelyforest, and thoroughly screened from prying eyes. Regnier had put thematter to him quite plainly.
"You are an Englishman, Monsieur Manton," he had said, "and I will notask you to sell your secret to France. But we are willing to bear theexpense of perfecting your invention on the distinct understanding thatwhen the time comes England shall have the option of sharing in it tothe exclusion of all other countries except France. When you are readywe will officially invite the British Government to send arepresentative and will give them the opinion of coming in on equalterms. I do not think we can do more or less."
So it was settled, and for many months Dick and Jules had toiled on thebuilding of a new Mohawk whose performances far surpassed those of themachine lost in the Adriatic. It was now completed and its preliminarytests had satisfied them that they had forged a weapon of tremendouspotency.
The machine was of the helicopter type. The idea, of course, was notnew, but Dick had solved a problem which for many years had baffledinventors whose dream it was to construct a machine which should havethe power of rising vertically from the ground and remaining stationaryin the air.
Driven upward by powerful propellers placed horizontally underneath thebody, the Mohawk was capable of rising from the ground at a tremendousspeed. Once in the air the lifting propellers were shut off and themachine moved forward under the impulse of the driving screws placed inthe front and rear. These screws were the secret of Dick Manton'striumph. They were of a new design, giving a tremendous ratio ofefficiency. In size they wore relatively tiny, but possessed fargreater power than any propeller known. The machine itself was nearlysquare. The body was completely covered by the big, single plane,measuring about twenty feet each way. This was the outside size of themachine and so perfectly was the helicopter controlled that Dick hadrepeatedly brought it to earth in a marked space not more thanthirty-two feet square.
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tted with the new silencer which Dick had discovered and applied tothe old Mohawk with such signal success, the engine was practicallynoiseless. At high speed the tiny propellers emitted only a thin,wailing note, barely audible a few yards away. Time and again Dick hadsailed on dark nights only a few feet above the house roofs of Paris andhad found that the noise of the ordinary traffic was amply sufficient toprevent his presence being discovered.
To ensure absolute secrecy the various parts of the machine had beenmade in widely separated districts of France, and had been brought fromParis to Veneux Nadon, where Dick and Jules had carried out the erectionof the machine alone. The very existence of the new aeroplane wasutterly unsuspected by the few villagers who lived in the neighbourhood.
Keenly interested in his work Dick had thoroughly enjoyed the peacefullife in