While Andy lay senseless on the floor of the hangar with the flames from the oil-soaked waste mounting higher, a shadow appeared in the doorway. It was Blatz, whom Andy had surprised in the hangar as he was about to attempt the destruction of the Goliath.

The German observer crept closer to the flames and it was not until he was almost at the blaze that he discerned the inert form of the assistant pilot.

“Andy,” he cried, “Andy!”

There was no answer and Blatz acted with sudden determination. He picked up the coat which Andy still clutched and used the garment to beat out the flames. That task accomplished he turned on his flashlight and bent down to examine the lump on Andy’s forehead. The young airman groaned and Blatz chuckled grimly. The game was nearly over. He was glad.

He managed to pick Andy up and carried the now half-conscious American out of the hangar and into his office, where he turned on the light.

Andy came to several minutes later and finally focused his eyes long enough on one spot to see Blatz standing in front of him.

“I’m on to you,” cried Andy, struggling to get out of his chair. “You’re trying to destroy the Goliath.”

“Easy, Andy, easy,” urged Blatz. “You’ve had another nasty bump on your head. The Goliath is all right.”

“The last I remember is falling,” said Andy. “How did I get in here and what are you doing around the hangar at this time of night?”

“You took a tumble, all right,” agreed Blatz, “and the match you had in your hand fell into a handful of greasy waste. You’d chased me out of the hangar but if I hadn’t been curious when you failed to follow, the whole thing might have burned up. As it was, I got back in time to put out the fire before it got to you or the Goliath.”

Andy looked at the speaker with incredulous eyes.

“If that’s true,” he said, “I have done you a great wrong.”

Before the observer could reply, Bert burst through the door.

“Big news,” he said. “The Rubanian air force rebelled this afternoon and forced Dictator Reikoff clear out of the country. I just got that bulletin over in the radio shack.”

“You’re sure there’s no mistake?” asked Blatz.

“Positive,” replied Bert. “It was an Associated Press dispatch broadcast through the courtesy of one of the Louisville papers.”

Blatz looked at Andy and they smiled understanding.

“What’s the joke,” demanded Bert.

“There isn’t any joke,” replied Blatz gravely, “and I can now tell you the truth. I am Lieut. Serge Larko of the Rubanian air force. I was assigned to special duty as an agent of the Gerka, our secret police, and my mission was to make a non-stop flight to the United States, make my way to Bellevue and bring about the destruction of the Goliath.”

Bert stared at him in speechless wonder but Andy nodded and said.

“Then you were piloting the gray monoplane we chased that afternoon?”

“Right,” said Serge. “You gave me a real scare.”

“And you went into that warehouse on the east side while we were in New York?” continued Andy.

“Right again.”

“And tonight you went into the hangar for the purpose of destroying the Goliath?”

“I started in with that purpose,” admitted Serge, “but I’m too much of an airman. After I got inside I couldn’t bring myself to damage that beautiful craft. I was about to leave when you entered and we met in the dark. You know the rest of the story.”

“I know that it was mighty fortunate for me that you came back,” replied Andy and be grasped Serge warmly by the hand. “Now that the menace of Reikoff has been removed from your homeland, I’m sure we’ll become real friends. We’ll see Dad and Captain Harkins about having you added to the permanent staff of the National Airways.”

“I’d like that,” smiled Serge happily, “but they’ll probably order me away from Bellevue or the secret service may take a hand in my case.”

“I think Merritt Timms can be made to see things my way,” replied Andy.

“When did you first suspect me?” asked Serge. “Almost as soon as you arrived,” admitted Andy. “If you remember I questioned you about Friedrichshafen and suggested that you might know Karl Staab? When you admitted that you knew Staab I decided something was wrong for as far as I know Staab never existed outside of my own mind.”

“But I really have been at Friedrichshafen,” replied Serge.

“I believed that,” said Andy, “for your technical knowledge showed you had been trained with the Germans. Now let’s go over to the hotel and see Dad and Captain Harkins.”

The conference at the hotel was interesting and successful and before the long evening drew to a close it was agreed that Serge Larko, who had assumed his real identity, should become a permanent member of the Goliath’s crew.

Even though the next day promised to be unusually busy, it was midnight before they were in bed but they were up at the crack of dawn.

Serge was happier than he had been in months and Andy felt that a great weight had been lifted from his mind. There was no further danger to the Goliath from inside sources and they were practically ready for the test flights.

Lieut. Jim Crummit, in command of the army pursuit ships at Bellevue, stopped them as they left the hotel.

“Will you want us to stand by this afternoon in case you decide to take the Goliath aloft?” he asked Captain Harkins.

“I hardly think that will be necessary, Lieutenant!” replied the commander of the Goliath. “Any flight we might make would be confined to the limits of the field.”

“Right, sir,” said the army officer as he turned and walked toward the hangars which housed the army ships.

At eight o’clock Andy, Serge and Bert gathered in the radio shack and Bert turned his set to talk with the Neptune. There was a steady crackle of interference but Bert stepped up the power with the hope that he would get through to the Neptune.

“Looks like we’re out of luck this morning,” he finally announced, “but I’ll give it one more try.” He turned to the dial again, tuning so carefully the black disks hardly moved.

“Harry’s coming in now,” he said. “I’ll have it strong in a minute.”

Bert switched over to the radiophone loudspeaker and the boys heard Harry calling, “Hello Bellevue. Good morning.”

“Good morning yourself,” replied Bert. “Have fish for breakfast?”

“Not this morning,” replied Harry. “Besides, it’s mid-forenoon out where we are. How’s the Goliath?”

Andy picked up the microphone and told Harry briefly what had taken place the night before, adding that Serge had been added to the crew of the Goliath and would make the trip to the North pole.

“I’m glad to hear that,” replied Harry over the magic waves which bridged the hundreds of miles between them. “I’ll say hello to Serge if he’ll take the mike now.”

The young Rubanian conversed with Harry for several minutes and then the operator of the Neptune signed off.

“I’ll be back on the air tonight at eight,” he told Bert. “Be sure and let me know how the Goliath behaves on her first trip out of the hangar.”

The interior of the great hangar was alive with activity that morning. Final weight checks were being made for the war department. Specifications on the total weight were very strict and builders of dirigibles were always prone to exceed the specification limit.

Captain Harkins and Andy’s father were at first one end of the Goliath and then at the other supervising the countless last minute tasks.

A tri-motor droned over the field at 11 o’clock, circled and dropped down to waddle across the fresh green of the meadow. It stopped at one side of the Goliath’s hangar and a dozen army officers, all with the wings of the air corps on their collars, descended and walked toward the hangar.

Captain Harkins and Andy’s father hastened to make them welcome and assure them that the Goliath would be ready for a walk-out test immediately after lunch.

While the builders and chief engineers of the Goliath entertained the visiting army delegation at the hotel at noon, Andy and Serge made the final inspection of the big ship. The ground crew had been drilled in its task and the operator of the portable mooring mast to which the nose of the Goliath had been fastened had thoroughly rehearsed his part.

At one o’clock the army officers, accompanied by Captain Harkins and Charles High, returned from the hotel. For the next hour the army men went over the Goliath, inspecting every yard of fabric and testing every duralumin beam. Motors were put on test, Bert demonstrated the power of his radio equipment and even the passenger cabins came in for a rigid inspection.

At two o’clock Captain Harkins stepped into the control room at the forward end of the gondola.

“Everything ready?” he asked Andy, in whom he had placed a large share of responsibility for the successful flight.

“Everything ready, sir,” replied Andy.

Captain Harkins took over the controls. The army officers lined the windows of the control room. Andy leaned out one window on the right side and placed a whistle to his mouth. He was wearing a telephone headset while on the wall of the control room was a compact little switchboard so that he could instantly communicate with any part of the dirigible whenever Captain Harkins gave a command.

The great moment was at hand. The Goliath was ready for its first test, the walk-out from the hangar. Months of work and planning were represented in the great ship; would it live up to expectations?

Andy sounded a shrill blast on the whistle. The ground crew, which had been waiting for the signal, leaped to its stations. The operator of the portable mooring mast started the engine of the big tractor-truck which carried the mast.

The assistant pilot of the Goliath looked at Captain Harkins, who nodded quietly.

Andy sounded two long blasts on the whistle. The shackles which had held the Goliath in the hangar for so many months were loosened. The great airship quivered slightly as though eager to test its power.

The blasts of the whistle echoed through the hangar and the operator of the huge tractor ahead eased in the clutch and started forward. The Goliath lurched slightly at the tug of the mooring mast, and then slowly started ahead. The ground crew steadied the great hulk as it was eased out of the shed. There was no wind and in ten minutes the Goliath was outside the hangar in which it had been born and in which it had grown to such proportions that it was king of all the skycraft.

The Goliath moved steadily ahead until it was well away from the hangar. Captain Harkins signaled Andy and another blast of the whistle stopped the portable mooring mast.

Captain Harkins conferred with the ranking air corps officer and Andy caught a snatch of their conversation. They were going to take the Goliath up. The big ship was behaving perfectly and the army men were anxious for an air test. Captain Harkins assented and turned to Andy.

“Have the motors started at once,” he ordered.

Andy cut in a main phone connection so that he could talk to each of the 12 motor rooms at the same time.

“Start your motors,” he said, “and stand by for flight.”

Sharp, joyous answers echoed in his ears as the engineers hastened to start the engines which were capable of sending the Goliath through the air at a maximum speed of 120 miles an hour.

The rear engine crews were the first to get their motors turning over but within a minute the steady pulse of the 12 powerful engines could be heard. Engine room after engine room reported to Andy and he checked each one off as they reported ready. In three minutes he turned to Captain Harkins and said:

“The engineers are ready.”

The Goliath was ready to test its wings. For a moment it hung, poised just above the ground. Then Captain Harkins nodded again, Andy’s whistle shrilled the “lines away” call and the Goliath floated upward into the heavens. For the moment it was the world’s largest balloon, drifting upward in the warm rays of the afternoon sun, lifted higher and higher by the buoyancy of its helium gas.

Andy, Bert and Serge were grouped at one of the windows in the control cabin together. The ground simply floated away from them. There was no sense of sudden rising; no undue motion to the great craft.

Fifty, one hundred and then two hundred feet the Goliath climbed into the skies, its powerful motors purring smoothly and ready to take up their task.

Andy cut in the general connection to all of the engine rooms and warned the engineers to stand by for further orders.

When the Goliath was three hundred feet above the field, Captain Harkins turned to Andy and gave the order for slow speed ahead.

“Slow speed ahead,” Andy repeated into the transmitter.

The Goliath came to life almost instantly. The great gas bag shook itself as though getting accustomed to its new power and then moved slowly ahead, the ground beneath drifting away in a fascinating panorama.

Captain Harkins, at the controls, moved the wheel which operated the elevators at the tail of the Goliath, and the earth dropped rapidly away from them as they climbed for altitude and circled over the home field. Andy, looking down, could see the members of the ground crew, faces upturned, watching their every move.

The great moment had come and passed. The Goliath had soared aloft and even now was proving the claims of its builders. Captain Harkins ordered half speed ahead and Andy repeated the command to the engine rooms. The speed quickened as the beat of the motors increased but so carefully insulated were the engine rooms that there was no unpleasant or disturbing noise.

The air corps officers appeared elated at the ease with which the Goliath handled and they were outspoken in their praise of the engineers and staff which had constructed the new king of the skies.

For half an hour the Goliath cruised leisurely around the field, now climbing, now dipping lower at the will of the silent man at the controls.

Andy turned his telephone set over to Bert to relay Captain Harkins’ commands to the engine rooms and in company with his father, made an inspection of the whole ship.

There had been no shifting of the big gas bags and stress and strain indicators on the transverse rings of duralumin, the real backbone of the dirigible, exceeded their expectations. Engine performance was more than satisfactory and before returning to the control cabin, they mounted one of the stairways to an observation cockpit on the top of the Goliath.

Ahead and behind them stretched the smooth, silvered surface of the Goliath. Far to the east, were the haze enshrouded mountains while below them was the rich, fresh green of the countryside in spring.

Andy stood close to his father for he knew how much the successful flight of the new dirigible meant to the vice president of the National Airways. His father, with Captain Harkins, had dreamed and planned for years for the Goliath, and the culmination of their hopes meant their life careers. Andy, himself, had shouldered no small part of the burden in the studying and engineering necessary for the construction of the huge ship but he felt his own share small in comparison to the manifold burdens which his father had carried. They stood together in the observation cockpit, happy in the knowledge that the Goliath represented a great task well done.

“Son,” said Charles High, “I’m mighty proud of all that you’ve done in the building of the Goliath.”

“And I’m mighty proud of you, Dad,” said Andy, “for I have some idea of the obstacles you’ve had to face and the problems you’ve been called on to solve. The Goliath is certainly an accomplishment for which the world will pay you tribute.”

“I’m not looking for tribute or praise,” replied his father. “Satisfaction in knowing that the job is done, and done well, is all that I ask. Now I’m looking forward to the day when our plant here at Bellevue and the Goodyear-Zeppelin people at Akron will be busy all the time turning out air cruisers like the Goliath; when the country will be crossed with a network of dirigible lines carrying passengers, express and valuable freight at a high rate of speed and much more safely than airplanes.”

“The day is coming and it is not so far in the dim and distant future,” said Andy confidently.

A telephone in the observation cage buzzed and Andy answered the call. It was Bert, warning them that Captain Harkins was about to descend.

“We’d better get back to the control cabin,” said Andy’s father, and they hurried down the ladder, along the main interior runway, and into the control room where Captain Harkins was giving Bert orders to relay to the engine rooms.

With power on, the Goliath nosed down for its first landing. The ground crew was strung out along the field, ready to grasp the lines which would be dropped while the portable mooring mast had been maneuvered into position for the landing.

They were dropping rapidly but smoothly and there was only a slight feeling of downward motion. Captain Harkins checked the forward speed of the Goliath, lines were dropped, and the big ship was back to earth after a flight in which it had lived up to the fondest hopes of its designers and builders.

The nose was pushed up against the mooring mast where the automatic coupling was made and the slow entry into the berth in the hangar started with the mooring mast, on its tractor-truck, waddling along ahead and the Goliath following obediently.

In fifteen minutes the big ship was in its berth and the “orange peel” doors were rolling shut.

Before leaving the gondola, Captain Harkins and Andy’s father held a conference with the air corps officers who had made the trip with them and definite plans for the first long trial flight were made. Captain Harkins turned to Andy when the conference was over.

“See that orders are issued for the crew to be aboard ship and ready to depart at three in the morning,” he said. “We’re going to make a surprise visit to Washington if the weather reports at 2 A. M. are fair.”