Their frightful peril lasted only a few seconds. Although the machine still swayed like a ship laboring among surges, it struck more tranquil air, and with its graceful spiral motion lightly touched the ground, ran to the edge of the clearing and stopped with its front rigger within a few feet of a huge oak on the edge of the open space.

It was still spinning forward when Detective Pendar leaped from his seat, and without a word to Harvey Hamilton, who, of course, had shut off the motor, dashed away on a run through the wood, making for the spot among the rocks where the pile of lumber and rails disclosed the headquarters of the kidnapping gang. He had not yet seen one of them, but knew they whom he sought were there.

Before he reached the spot he caught sight through the treetops of the monoplane of Professor Morgan heading for the same point. Recognizing him he uttered an impatient exclamation.

“He’s going to mix in and spoil everything.”

As easily and noiselessly as a soaring eagle, the circling machine came to a rest directly over the ramshackle structure. The wonderful “uplifter” was spinning under the monoplane and held it motionless over the exact spot, at a height of barely a hundred feet.

Detective Pendar in a frenzy of excitement leaped into the scant open space, where he was in sight of the aviator, who, as he had done in a former instance, stood erect, with a large oblong object in his hand to which he was about to apply a lighted match. Reading his purpose, Pendar shouted:

“Don’t do that! You’ll kill the little girl!”

Professor Morgan did not seem to hear him, or, if he did, paid no attention.

“Don’t, Professor! You will kill the child!”

The man now called down from his elevation:

“Don’t be alarmed! She is not there!”

“I know she is,” insisted Pendar, drawing his revolver. “If you drop that bomb I’ll shoot you!”

The tall, ungainly figure remained upright. He had lighted the fuse which was spitting flame. He still held it in his hand and was carefully sighting with the purpose of making it fall where he wished.

“I tell you the girl is not there, but the men are! Put up that pistol or I’ll throw the bomb at you and send you to kingdom come with them!”

The naturally cool-headed detective was beside himself. The calm assurance of the crank overhead stayed his hand. He did not know what to do and therefore did nothing.

“Stand back!” warned the aviator; “or you’ll catch it too!”

The words were yet in his mouth, when an object eight or ten inches in length, two or three inches in diameter and of a dull gray color, left his hand and dived downward. The fuse was smoking and the bomb turned end over end several times before it alighted on the warped boards which served for a roof to the structure. It lay there for a brief interval, during which it jerked to the right and left, as a spurting hose will do when no one is holding it, then it toppled over and dropped through a gap in the boards.

The next instant there was muffled, thunderous report, and rocks, rails and splintered wood flew in every direction, as if from the mouth of Vesuvius. The bomb had exploded with terrific force, and a noise that stunned the spectator, who caught a glimpse of something resembling a huge bird which darted toward him. A rail, as if fired from a modern siege gun, whizzed within a few inches of his head and skittered among the branches behind him.

In those terrifying moments the detective saw another sight,—one that held him dumfounded for a brief interval. Among the flying debris was the form of a man, which shot upward for fifty feet, turning over, passed above the head of Pendar and fell among the trees, where it lay still and motionless.

A second man came rolling like a log rushing down hill and settled to rest a few paces in front of the shocked spectator. His clothing was on fire in a dozen places. Rousing himself, the officer snatched off his coat, and hurriedly wrapped it about the wretch, who lay still, moaning with pain.

But in the midst of the fearful scene, Simmons Pendar glanced around in quest of that which he dreaded to see above everything else in the world. Harvey Hamilton had identified the stolen child and how could she escape that awful explosion? But she was not to be seen, and with relief unspeakable he decided that Professor Morgan was truthful in his declaration. Paying no heed for the moment to the man at his feet, the detective looked upward and shouted:

“Where is she?”

There was no reply, for Professor Morgan was not there, or at least was beyond hearing or replying to the question. Having accomplished that which he had in mind to do, he had set his silent machine again in motion, and was fast vanishing in the direction of the town of Chesterton.

Relieved of his great fear, Pendar stooped over the form at his feet. To his amazement the man seemed to have suffered only trifling injuries. The enwrapping of the coat had put out the incipient flames and the fellow came as easily to his feet as if rising from sleep. He said something to the detective in his own language, which was not understood. Pendar reached out and taking his scorched garment quietly put it on himself, but in the act of doing so he gave proof of his professional deftness by slipping a pair of handcuffs on his prisoner before he suspected the trick. He struggled desperately to free himself, and unable to do so, tried to strike his captor with the irons which clasped his wrists. But all that remained possible was to try to run away, and the detective was prepared to defeat an attempt of that nature.

That the fellow understood English became clear the next minute, when Pendar drew his revolver from his hip pocket and addressed him:

“If you try to run off I’ll shoot you!”

“Me no run off,” replied the man, cowering with fear. Probably his meekness was pretense with a view of gaining an advantage over his captor.

“Where is that little girl you stole from her home in Philadelphia?”

The prisoner shrugged his shoulders and shook his head:

“Me no understand.”

“Yes, you do; answer before I fire!”

And the weapon was leveled with the muzzle within a few inches of the man’s face, which was contorted by terror.

“Don’t know,” he hastened to say.

Detective Pendar was enraged enough to shoot him. With a dreadful sinking of hope the officer asked himself whether there was to be a miscarriage of justice after all. Grace Hastings was neither within the shanty nor anywhere near it when Professor Morgan blew it up with his bomb. Could it be that the abductors had discovered their danger before that time and removed the little one to a safe retreat, or could it be——

He dared not finish the question. One thing was clear: the negotiations that had been carried on for so many days were now ended, and could never be renewed. The friends of the child had proved their determination not to pay the ransom demanded, and no more communication could be held between them and the kidnappers.

Humanity seemed to demand that attention should be given to him who was hurled among the trees in the rear by the explosion; but in the intensity of his chagrin and wrath, Detective Pendar decided that, as he was already past help, time would be wasted upon him. Although the garments of the prisoner showed faint wisps of smoke here and there, the fire was gradually dying out and he was in no danger from that cause. His captor compressed his lips with the resolution to force the truth from the wretch. Surely he could throw light upon the disappearance of the child, and the detective was resolute in his purpose of forcing him to do so.

“What is your name?” was the first question of the master of the situation, who, noticing the other’s shrug and hesitation, added: “You needn’t pretend you don’t understand me. What is your name, I repeat?”

“Alessandro Pierotti,” was the answer.

“Who was the man that was blown into the wood behind me?”

“Giuseppe Caprioni.”

To test the truthfulness of the fellow Detective Pendar now demanded the name of the other member of the group that had loitered during the last few days about the hotel in Chesterton. Pierotti gave it correctly, and his questioner was convinced that all were right.

“That makes three. Who were the others connected with you?”

“No more,—that all.”

The detective did not believe this, aware as he was of the fearful penalties that are visited by members of the Black Hand upon those who betray their associates. He wondered in fact why Pierotti had not tried to deceive him as to the names. It may have been because he believed the truth was at the command of this captor. That others were connected with his crime was a certainty, but this was not the time nor place in which to probe the matter.

“How long did you have the little girl in this part of the country?”

The frightened prisoner wrinkled his brow in thought.

“A week,—almost—not quite.”

“Where is she now?”

“Went off—she play—she soon come back.”

This statement was perplexing and Pendar did not understand it.

“When did she go?”

“One—two—tree hour; she soon come back,” he repeated.

“Who went with her?”

“No one—she go with herself; she not go far.”

“Which way?”

Pierotti pointed in the direction of the cabin of Uncle Tommy Waters. The path which has been mentioned as dimly marked, took another course before joining the main trail which branched off from the highway a little way out from Chesterton.

While it seemed improbable that a captive like Grace Hastings would have been permitted anything in the nature of freedom at so critical a time, the detective decided to act upon the statement.

“Lead the way, Pierotti; I shall walk behind you; if you try to slip off, or I find you have deceived me, look out!”