SKY-HIGH TERROR

Waikato Times, Volume 126, Issue 21057, 8 March 1940, Page 3

SKY-HIGH TERROR

—By— RALPH TREVOR

(Author of “The Ghost Counts Ten,” “Murder for Two Pins.”

CHAPTER Vl—(Continued) “I expect you’ll have enough petrol left to get down. Follow me. I’m keeping my headlamps on so that you can’t fail to see where I’m going. I’ve judged your speed to be now not more than a hundred miles an hour. That is my speed at the moment, so ask Mr Chiltern if he will be a good boy and do as he’s told. We’ve got a somewhat tricky lar/.ing to make that will test his ability as a pilot. At this speed we’ll reach our destination in about two hours. I reckon you’ve enough petrol lor that, according to calculations.” Scholes thought that the pilot’s voice seemed amused as he made the last remark. When Scholes had passed the message on to Peter, that young man’s face was gloomy. They’d even known just how long his petrol supply would last, and they’d sent out this mystery ’plane to bring him in. It was, he reflected, as nice and as neat a bit of work as one could wish. As he throttled back to conserve his rapidly diminishing petrol supply he recalled the newspaper reports some time ago about a Royal Air Force machine—also out on test —vanishing completely—absolutely without trace. As he had read that report he remembered commenting to himself that such a thing was impossible. Fancy, a big bomber of the latest pattern just lading out into the blue with a crew aboard her and a transmitter! Yet nothing had been heard of her. For weeks uie surrounding hills had been combed for some trace of wreckage, but none was found, and it had been presumed at the Air Ministry that something must have happened and the ’plane had been lost at sea. Even so, Peter had thought, surely the tides would have washed up some sort of wreckage. Yet no! Nowhere had any wreckage been found. Now, as he followed dismally in the wake of the mystery ’plane with the powerful nose-glims, he began to wonder anew.

This that was happening to him might have happened to the Government aircraft. He had been virtually shanghaied in the air, andeehlplec shanghaied in the air, and helpless to send out any warning signals. As this idea flashed through his mind he wondered why the R.A.F. ’plane hadn’t used her transmitter. That she hadn’t done so convinced him that the sabotage had been signularly complete. Perhaps, too, they had meddled with the petrol tank as they had done with his.

Behind Peter, Scholes was waiting patiently, and with a remarkable degree of matalism, for the next instructions of the mystery pilot. They must have travelled another hundred miles or so and, looking across Peter’s shoulder, he saw that their petrol supply was nearly exhausted. He watched the swinging needle, and .saw that it was not yet on the deadline. That meant that there va: still a gallon or two left, and if the designer’s calculations regarding petrol consumption were accurate—even allowing for the leakage from the tank—there was just a chance that they would make another hundred miles or so at their present speed. At last the mystery voice came again. “You’re below a hundred, I think,” the man said. “But if that’s because of your petrol supply, I’ll throttle back myself. I don’t want to lose you,” he chuckled, “not after all the trouble I’ve taken. It’s a pity you can’t tell me just how much juice yo&’ve got let, but should the worst come to the worst, fire another rocket. You’ll find another in the same cupboard you found the already loaded pistol.” Scholes was as mystified as Peter. Despite the precautions they had taken it appeared as though someoen hadobtained clear access to the machine practically on the point of her departure from Rendelshaw that night. It was an unpelasant thought, yet trying to solve it now wasn’t going to help. Their immediate job was to get The Mendip safely down. “The fellow seems to have thought of everything,” Peter commented as he heard what Scholes had to say. “I must say he sounds particularly considerate. Oddly enough, Scholes, the engines are firing perfectly; so perfectly, in fact, that no one would imagine that we were short of petrol.”

Awaiting Instructions For a long time the two men remained silent. Peter, Sphinx-like at the controls; Scholes behind him waiting quietly for the next instructions from the aeroplane in front of them. At last they came. “In another fifty miles from here,” informed the man, “I shall be firing a Verey light. That is the signal for the landing flares to be lighted. If you keep to your presena course you ought to see them about five degrees away to the north-west, apparently out at sea. Don’t be alarmed at that. I shall land first. I should advise you to circle round once or twice so that I shall have time to get my machine out of the way.” The announcement from the leading ’plane brought a flicker of new interest to Peter Chiltern’s impassive features. At last there was something definite, although just where they could be landing in this out-of-the-way spot he had not the remotest idea. To all intents and purposes they looked like landing in the sea. He called through to Scholes to study their position on the chart. “Looks as though we’re heading for a point somewhere between the Isle of Skye and the south end of the Hebrides. At this time of the year Scholes continued, “I’ve heard it said that most of the places are ‘dead.’ God knows where he’s taking us!” Peter agreed, and glanced once more at the indicator on the petrol gauge. “We’re nearly on the dead-line now, Scholes,” hec ailed back. “If we’ve much further to go. I’m afraid it’s all over, and our unknown skyrobber will have had all his trouble for nothing.” Scholes shivered. He was thinking of his wife in Rendelshaw—the boy aged ten and the girl two years younger. His eyes b#gan to smart, and he was conscious* that his pulses were racing, for there was still no sign of the landing signal from the ’plane ahead of them. Ah. well, he thought, if it had to end this way, it was small use grumbling. Sir Arthur Chiltern would, likely as not, look after his family for him. . . (To be continued).