The Flying Legion Part 21

The air-wasp was already swerving, making a spiral glide, coming up astern with obvious intentions. As the two men watched--and as a score of other eyes, from other galleries and ports likewise observed--the lean wasp carried out her driver's plan. With a sudden, plunging swoop, she dived at the Eagle of the Sky for all the world like a hawk stooping at quarry.

A moment she kept pace with the air-liner's whirring rush. She hovered, dropped with a wondrous precision that proved her rider's consummate skill, made a perfect landing on the long take-off that stretched from rudders to wing observation galleries, atop the liner.

Forward on _Nissr_ the wasp ran on her small, cushioned wheels. She stopped, with jammed-on brakes, and came to rest not forty feet abaft the Eagle's beak.

Quite at once, without delay, the little door of the pilot-pit in the wasp's head swung wide, and a heavily-swaddled figure clambered out.

This figure stood a moment, peering about through goggles. Then with a free, quick stride, he started forward toward the gallery where he had seen Bohannan and the Master.

The two awaited him. Confidently he came into the wind-shielded gallery on top of _Nissr's_ port plane. He advanced to within about six feet, stopped, gave the military salute--which they both returned--and in a throaty French that marked him as from Paris, demanded:

"Which of you gentlemen is in command, here?"

"_Moi, monsieur!_" answered the Master, also speaking French. "And what is your errand?"

"I have come to inform you, in the name of the A.C.B.'s law, recognized as binding by all air-traffic, that you and your entire crew are under arrest."

"Indeed? And then--"

"I am to take charge of this machine at once, and proceed with it as per further instructions from International Aerial headquarters at Washington."

"Very interesting news, no doubt," replied the Master, unmoved. "But I cannot examine your credentials, nor can we negotiate matters of such importance in so off-hand a manner. This gallery will not serve. Pray accompany me to my cabin?"

"_Parfaitement, monsieur!_ I await your pleasure!"

The stranger's gesture, his bow, proclaimed the Parisian as well as his speech. The Master nodded. All three proceeded in silence to the hooded companion-way at the forward end of the take-off, that sheltered the ladder. This they descended, to the main corridor.

There they paused, a moment.

"Major," said the Master, "pardon me, but I wish to speak to our--guest, alone. You understand."

The major's glance conveyed a world of indignant protest, but he obeyed in silence. When he had withdrawn into the smoke-room, where a brooding pipe would ill divert his mind from various wild speculations, the Master slid open his own cabin door, and extended a hand of welcome toward it.

"_Apres vous, monsieur!_" said he.

The A.C.B. officer entered, his vigorous, compact figure alive with energy, intelligence. The Master followed, slid the door shut and motioned to a chair beside the desk. This chair, of metal, was itself placed upon a metal plate. The plate was new. At our last sight of the cabin, it had not been there.

Taking off goggles and gauntlets, and throwing open his sheepskin jacket, the Frenchman sat down. The Master also plate was new. At our last sight of the cabin, it had not been there.

Taking off goggles and gauntlets, and throwing open his sheepskin jacket, the Frenchman sat down. The Master also sat down at the desk.

A brief silence, more pregnant than any speech, followed. Each man narrowly appraised the other. Then said the newcomer, still in that admirable French of his:

"You understand, of course, _n'est-ce pas?_ that it is useless to offer any resistance to the authority of the A.C.B."

"May I take the liberty of inquiring what your credentials may be, and with whom I have the great pleasure of speaking?" returned the Master.

His eyes, mirroring admiration, peered with some curiosity at the dark, lean face of the Frenchman.

"I," answered the other, "am Lieutenant Andre Leclair, formerly of the French flying forces, now a commander in the International Air Police."

"Leclair?" demanded the Master quickly, his face lighting with a glad surprise. "Leclair, of the Mesopotamian campaign? Leclair, the world-famous ace?"

"Leclair, nothing else. I deprecate the adjectives."

The Master's hand went out. The other took it. For a moment their grip held, there under the bright white illumination of the cabin--for, though daylight had begun fingering round the drawn curtains, the glow-lamps still were burning.

The hand-clasp broke. Leclair began:

"As for you, monsieur, I already know you, of course. You are--"

The Master raised a palm of protest.

"Who I am does not matter," said he. "I am not a man, but an idea. My personality does not count. All that counts is the program, the plan I stand for.

"Many here do not even know my name. No man speaks it. I am quite anonymous; quite so. Therefore I pray you, keep silent on that matter.

What, after all, is the significance of a name? You are an ace, an officer. So am I."

"True, very true. Therefore I more keenly regret the fact that I must place you under arrest, and that charges of piracy in the high air must be lodged against you."

"Thank you for the regret, indeed," answered the Master dryly. Save for the fact that this strange man never laughed and seldom smiled, one would have thought the odd twinkle in his eye prefaced merriment.

"Well, what now?"

The Frenchman produced a silver cigarette-case, opened it and extended it toward the man now technically his prisoner. As yet he had said no word concerning the tremendous execution done the air police forces.

His offer of the cigarettes was as calm, as courteous as if they two had met under circ.u.mstances of the most casual amity. The Master waved the cigarettes away.

"Thank you, no," said he. "I never smoke. But you will perhaps pardon me if I nibble two or three of these khat leaves. You yourself, from your experience in Oriental countries, know the value of khat."

"I do, indeed," said the other, his eyes lighting up.

"And may I offer you a few leaves?"

"_Merci_! I thank you, but tobacco still satisfies." The Frenchman lighted his cigarette, blew thin smoke, and cast intelligent, keen eyes about the cabin. Said he:

"You will not, of course, offer any resistance. I realize that I am here among a large crew of men. I am all alone, it is true. You could easily overpower me, throw me into the sea, and _voila_--I die. But that would not be of any avail to you.

"Already perhaps a hundred and fifty air police have fallen this morning. It is strange. I do not understand, but such is the fact.

Nevertheless, I am here, myself. I have survived--survived, to convey organized society's message of arrest. Individuals do not count.

They are only representatives of the ma.s.s-power of society. _N'est-ce pas?_"

"Quite correct. And then--"

"Sooner or later you must land somewhere for petrol, you know. For _essence_, eh? Just as sea-pirates were wiped out by the coming of steam-power, which they had to adopt and which forced them to call at ports for coal, so air-pirates will perish because they must have essence. That is entirely obvious. Have I the honor of your signed surrender, my dear sir, including that of all your men?"

"Just one question, please!"

"A thousand, if you like," smiled the Parisian, inhaling smoke. His courtesy was perfect, but the glint of his eye made one think of a tiger that purrs, with claws ready to strike.

"What," demanded the Master, "is your opinion of the peculiar and sudden fall of all your companions?"

"I have no opinion as to that. Strange air-currents, failure of ignition due to lack of oxygen--how do I know? A thousand things may happen in the air."