In the darkness Bronson utilized an opportunity that he had already considered. His hand stole stealthily to the hip-pocket of his leather breeches, but before it closed on its objective Jim had gripped it and spun him round, for Jim possessed other qualities of the cat besides its lives.
“Let me see that lethal weapon. Good,” said Jim, and flung his own to the grass. “I am afraid mine is slightly damaged, but I’ll swear that yours is in good trim. Now, off with those leggings and boots.”
“I shall catch my death of cold.” Bronson’s teeth were chattering.
“In which case,” said the sardonic Jim, “I shall send a wreath; but I fear you are not born to die of cold in the head, but of a short sharp jerk to your cervical vertebra.”
“What is that?” asked Bronson.
“It is German for neck,” said Jim, “and if you think I am going to stand here giving you lectures on anatomy whilst you deliver the goods, you have made a mistake—strip!”
XL
Under menace of Jim Steele’s pistol, Mr. Bronson stripped and shivered. The morning was raw, and the clothes that Jim in his mercy handed to the man to change were not very dry. Bronson said as much, but evoked no sympathy from Jim. He stood shivering and shaking in the wet clothes, whilst his captor strapped his wrists behind.
“Just like they do when they hang you,” said Jim to cheer him up. “Now, my lad, I think this handkerchief round your mouth and a nearly dry spot under a hedge is all that is required to make the end of a perfect night.”
“You’re damned funny,” growled Bronson in a fury, “but one of these days—”
“Don’t make me sing,” said Jim, “or you’ll be sorry.”
He found him a spot under a hedge, which was fairly dry and sheltered from observation, and there he entertained his guest until the grey in the sky warned him that it was time to wake Villa.
Mr. Villa woke with a curse.
“Come in and have some cocoa.”
“Bring it out here,” said Jim. He heard the man fumbling with the lock of the door and raised his pistol.
Something inside Jim Steele whispered:
“Put that pistol away,” and he obeyed the impulse, as with profit he had obeyed a hundred others.
Men who fight in the air and who win their battles in the great spaces of the heavens are favoured with instincts which are denied to the other mortals who walk the earth.
He had time to slip the pistol in his pocket and pull the goggles down over his eyes before the door opened and Villa sleepily surveyed him in the half-light.
“Hullo, you’re ready to fly, are you?” he said with a guffaw. “Well, I shan’t keep you long.”
Jim strolled away from the house, pacing the road as Bronson had done the night before.
What had made him put the pistol away? he wondered. He took it out furtively and slipped the cover. It was unloaded!
He heard the man calling.
“Put it down,” he said, when he saw the cup in his hand.
He drank the cocoa at a gulp, and making his way across the field to the aeroplane he pulled off the waterproof cover, tested the engine and pulled over the prop.
Eunice had swallowed the hot cocoa and was waiting when Villa came in. What the day would bring forth she could only guess. Evidently there was some reason why Digby Groat should not wait for her, and amongst the many theories she had formed was one that he had gone on in order to lead his pursuers from her track. She felt better now than she had done since she left the house in Grosvenor Square, for the effect of the drug had completely gone, save for a tiredness which made walking a wearisome business. Her mind was clear, and the demoralizing fearfulness which the presence of Digby evoked had altogether dissipated.
“Now, young miss, are you ready?” asked Villa. He was, at any rate. He wore a heavy coat and upon his head was a skin cap. This, with his hairy face and his broad stumpy figure, gave him the appearance of a Russian in winter attire. Why did he wrap himself up so on a warm morning? she wondered. He carried another heavy coat in his hand and held it up for her to put on.
“Hurry up, I can’t wait for you all day. Get that coat on.”
She obeyed.
“I am ready,” she said coldly.
“Now, my dear, step lively!”
Jim, who had taken his place in the pilot’s seat, heard Villa’s deep voice and looking round saw the woman he loved.
She looked divinely beautiful by the side of that squat, bearded man who was holding her forearm and urging her forward.
“Now, up with you.”
He pushed her roughly into one of the two seats behind the pilot, and Jim dared not trust himself to look back.
“I’ll swing the prop, for you, Bronson,” said Villa, making his way to the propeller, and Jim, whose face was almost covered by the huge fur-lined goggles, nodded. The engine started with a splutter and a roar and Jim slowed it.
“Strap the lady,” he shouted above the sound of the engine, and Villa nodded and climbed into the fuselage with extraordinary agility for a man of his build.
Jim waited until the broad strap was buckled about the girl’s waist, and then he let out the engine to its top speed. It was ideal ground for taking off, and the plane ran smoothly across the grass, faster and faster with every second. And then, with a touch of the lever, Jim set the elevator down and the girl suddenly realized that the bumping had stopped and all conscious motion had ceased. The Scout had taken the air.
Eunice had never flown in an aeroplane before, and for a moment she forgot her perilous position in the fascination of her new and wonderful experience. The machine did not seem to leave the
