In the third dirigible, as the night dropped down the dead awoke! O’Brien stirred, rubbing his bruised face and working his stiff jaws. Other than the small discomfort of feeling that his countenance had been stepped on, he felt once more like himself, ready for anything.

“The top av the night to ye,” said O’Brien briskly, sitting up. “Also Mizpah, Selah, Judah and the rest of them intertainin’ east-side sayin’s. I never did know was they a t’reat or a promise. Back when I was ridin’ in the Mounted Police of Upper Canada, there was a felly always said ... but that’s neither here nor there.” He checked himself. O’Brien never told stories of the North and its frozen trails although his friends spent hours trying to trick him into some of the hair-raising yarns that they knew he could tell if he only would. But no use. O’Brien was silent as the grave. More silent, some of the fellows grumbled. You could dig into a grave. Nothing could pry into or dynamite O’Brien.

“Have a good sleep?” asked Hank, looking wistfully at O’Brien’s welted face.

“So-so,” said O’Brien. “I dreamed. And it’s no time at all for dreamin’. What’s gone on since I slept?”

“Nothing,” Bill assured him. “She is sailing as smoothly as a swallow, and the lights ahead are steady.”

“Oh, ye have ’em sighted, have ye? Did ye try creepin’ up since night fell?”

“Yes,” said Bill. “But we are making our best speed, and the balloon ahead is doing its best too. We can tell that through the glass by the way she shivers.”

“Any sign of any other balloon?” asked O’Brien, rising and stretching himself.

“Not a sign!” said Hank.

“Well, what shootin’ irons have ye?” demanded O’Brien next. He glanced at the two revolvers held out to him. “Two dear little pill-boxes, those! Carry wan foot. See these?”

He opened a case and disclosed four of the new model revolvers that had just been perfected. The design was unique. Instead of the steel cartridge clip holding six cartridges as in the old style revolver, the new invention consisted of a light case at the base of the hand grip. This held a coil of cartridges fastened by aluminum clips to a light webbing. This had necessitated the rehanging and rebalancing of the whole revolver, but the perfected weapon proved to be a great improvement on the old gun, and almost “fired itself,” O’Brien explained. The small, round clip holder at the end of the grip was not at all in the way and was so light that it was not cumbersome. Counting the six cartridges that were strung in the grip and the ones lying in the coil, the revolvers held eighteen shots. Also a new explosive called “Marsden,” after its inventor, added a terrific force to the projectile. The barrels, longer than the squat model that had been so long in use, were octagonal.

O’Brien viewed them with pride.

“See me babies?” he purred. “The pretty pets! So neat and dainty and willin’! Willin’ is no name! I’m not sure you couldn’t nick that big sassy star over yonder, so be ye aimed straight. And I’m goin’ to trust you with one each. Don’t be afraid you can’t shoot straight after usin’ the old model, because ye can. These are hung exactly like the ould guns on that account. The man who invented ’em had a grain of sense. He saw no reason why everybody in the world should have to learn his shootin’ all over again, so he balanced this new barrel and modelled the clutch so they would hang the same. All the difference is it’s simply a new gun from stem to stern, and Marsden is a great felly himself. They do tell of him that when he was tryin’ out his new explosive that he planted enough to go on a tin cent piece down a well, and sat a fuse, and now ’tis a bottomless pool with thousands payin’ a nickel to just peek over the edge. It is sure wonderful. And no noise! It is going to make scraps like the one I think is ahead both noiseless and orderly.”

“Well, I should say these are beauties,” exclaimed Hank, bending over the case with respectful tenderness. “Beauties; no less!”

“You have said the word, me boy,” rejoined the detective. “Help yerselves to anny you like, they bein’ as like as four peas, and pass one on to Ollie at the wheel, and tell the lad be careful of it. Here’s the fourth and lasht for me; and I trust it means the same as a slice of bread.”

“Slice of bread! How’s that?” asked Hank.

“Did ye never hear now the great impartance of takin’ the lasht slice uf bread on the plate? No? Dear, dear, how neglected ye’ve been! Ye’ve only to take the lasht slice of bread and ye are sure of a handsome wife. It’s a thrue sayin’ at that, because I could have had a handsome wife—yes, and a dozen of ’em—if only they would have consinted to marry me. It niver, niver fails! I’m a strong belaver in signs. I have missed havin’ many and many a million dollars just by neglectin’ to say, ‘Money-money-money-wisht-I-had-a-million-dollars’ when I saw a fallin’ star. Else I’d be rich now!” O’Brien sighed and regarded the young men with eyes that twinkled. “Just where are we?” he asked after a slight pause.

The men told him.

“Good!” exclaimed O’Brien. “Dawn or thereabout will see us off the white cliffs of England; and I’ve not seen Ireland for a dozen years. ’Twill be a small hop across the continent of Europe after we see the cliffs, and then we are due a vacation, I’m thinkin’.”

All at once O’Brien’s face changed.

“Boys, ye see the welts here and here?” he pointed to his face.

Bill and Hank felt a pleasurable shiver travel up and down their spines.

“Yes,” they said together.

“Good!” said O’Brien. “They belong in another story quite. What I am tellin’ you is this. I picked you back there because I think you are two bould lads wit’ no fear in ye, havin’ seen you do stunts of all sorts aloft and below; so if you think I have let you in for danger, take it that it was meant as a true tribute to your manhood.”

Hank and Bill did not venture a reply. He was likely to stop right there. But he did not. He pointed out into the darkness of the east.

“Ahead,” he said crisply, “sails the lowest, meanest, cruelest, sneakin’ scoundrel that goes unhung! And he is stalkin’ the finest, grandest, truest gentleman that ever served his country and his God wit’ a whole heart. And here are we. And Mr. Hamilton Ridgeway,—for the first gentleman is him—thinks that it’s meself trudgin’ along behind. And the saints alone know what the demon in the middle machine thinks of us. Does the wireless work?”

“Perfectly!” answered Hank.

O’Brien frowned. “See that it is tuned up ready for instant use,” he ordered. “I don’t like to use it unless I am invited, but I’ve a hunch the man just ahead may want to ask me a question or two. If he calls, don’t say a wurrud ’til I can get to the receiver. And keep your guns limber and your hearts willin’, because it’s the man ahead put me in a most embarrassin’ position wit’ a gag in me teeth and me arms and legs bound and a dose of poison yearnin’ at me on the table. And that no later than lasht night. And bein’ where he is, I know he means death and destruction to the finest man and the most promisin’ boy in this wurruld. And he’s after some written words meant for a dinky little locality across Europe which is sittin’ up nights waitin’ for ’em; likewise there’s a quane next door like, who can’t go to her son’s comin’-out party without her crown jewels, the same which Mr. Ridgeway is takin’ her, her husband havin’ placed ’em in our Treasury durin’ the war and it takin’ him five years to get things cleaned up enough to get ’em home again.

“And that man ahead has his plans all laid. Bein’ he thought I was well out of the way, he was careless with his instructions. He has laid the plan for his attack off the cliffs ahead, and I am afraid to have a fuss so far out as this because we are too far out of the track of steamers, should wan of us go down. Likewise, Mr. Ridgeway undoubtedly thinks I am ahead there. I wonder if we could reach him by wireless?”

“Wouldn’t that give the alarm to the man ahead?” asked Hank anxiously.

“It might,” said O’Brien. “I don’t see what to do but keep watchin’ and wait for day. I know Mr. Ridgeway has a balloon that can make double the speed of either of these boats, and sure he don’t want to speak to me. So why should he bother to get in range with that felly? Of course he has guns, but how big I dunno. All we can do is watch.”

Hank and Bill sat silent, thinking rapidly. They were having thrills enough now. As O’Brien went forward to speak to Ollie, Hank dug a sharp elbow into his mate.

“Gosh, doesn’t some people have all the luck?” he wailed. “Gagged and bound and ’most poisoned! All in one night! Just like a movie!”

Bill stared at him disgustedly. “Yes, you nut,” he retorted, “and suppose he hadn’t uv escaped? How would you like that?”

“But he did,” said Hank. “Some people have all the luck! Cousin of mine was in the war, and he got gassed and shell shocked and had five shrapnel wounds, and one of ’em took the top of his head off, so he wears a silver plate and the gassin’ took off all his hair so he wears a wig and his face is all smooth and shiny, and he has gold wire on his jaw where a piece of shrapnel broke it.”

“Hully gee!” cried Bill. “You don’t call that luck, do you?”

“Of course!” maintained Hank stoutly. “When anybody asts him, he always has something to talk about.”

“Well, I’ll say I will talk about the weather,” said Bill. “I don’t want any conversation whatsoever that has to be made out of pieces of me. I don’t mind doing any job like the one we are on, and I was sore because I was too young to get into the war. I wouldn’t have been afraid of anything, and you know it, but there’s no use inviting trouble by wanting to make conversation out of it. I guess not!”

After a little O’Brien returned. “It looks like a fog was coming,” he remarked. “I wish this English coast would clean up its fogs.”

“We can get above it, can’t we?” asked Bill.

“Not an English fog,” said O’Brien. “The only place above an English fog is Heaven and the only place below it is deeper than I think of travelin’. I do hope we won’t have anything like that to bother us.”

The night dragged along, and the men anxiously watched the banks of vapor rolling around them. O’Brien insisted on Ollie and Hank and Bill taking a good nap while he, O’Brien, sat motionless at the wheel. He was leaving his next move to fate. Just how he should act his part he did not know. As he had told Hank and Bill, he was sure that the speed of the car leading was the greatest protection that they could have or would need. And he remembered happily that he and Lawrence had settled on a signal which he was sure Lawrence had since tried out. If Lawrence only suspected that he was not in the car following, there would be no danger at all for Mr. Ridgeway.

O’Brien was glad the night was passing.

But the passing of the night brought only a shivery gray light as they rolled through billows of heavy fog. O’Brien, at the wheel, set the delicate tentaclever, the wonderful little instrument by which they were able to find the whereabouts of any other aircraft within a hundred miles. It at once caught the direction of the balloon ahead, and reported on its dial that there was no balloon following. So they had not passed one of the other balloons in the fog. They were within two hours’ flight of the coast of England. A half hour passed and there occurred one of the strange freaks of a dense fog. It suddenly lifted, and ahead they saw the dirigible they were following and ahead of that, far, far away, the airship containing the treasure. A moment later the wireless commenced to hum and click. Hank and Bill and O’Brien reached it together.

O’Brien adjusted the receiver. The message ticked faintly.

“Something wrong with their machine or ours,” said O’Brien anxiously.

Finally he got the words. “Who are you?” O’Brien sat staring. Then “John” he answered.

For a second it occurred to him to send out a call for help but he knew that Smith would only too gladly see his co-partners drop into the ocean and drown. So O’Brien sent the single name, and waited. There was no response.

“Why?” called O’Brien.

Still there was no reply. Then, “Something wrong with your wireless, John,” came to him. “Can’t make out anything you send. Take this if you can. Cliffs about two hours ahead. I am going to—” there was a buzzing and a flutter and dead silence.

O’Brien listened and called in vain. Something had gone wrong with the wireless. Once more baffled, O’Brien sent out call after call. There was no response. Once more Smith had escaped for O’Brien could not help thinking that the words he had been about to send would have made everything clear.

As O’Brien threw down the receiver with an exclamation of bitter disappointment the fog again drifted about them like a pall, and O’Brien, silent and bitter, took the wheel, and with his eyes on the indicator kept the balloon headed toward its invisible foe ahead. They were nearing the cliffs.