Air Stories — page 26: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AIR STORIES tyrant from whom Quesada had sworn to deliver the long-suffering Republic of Botogonia. The President smiled again. If Quesada won, he would hang on to the presidency year after year, just as all his predecessors had done. Then one day he, too, would become the tyrant, and another liberator would lead a revolution against him. The firing broke out again, and the President listened intently. Several unsuccessful revolutions against his authority had taught him to follow the course of the fighting in the harbour quarter from the sounds of the firing he could hear on his balcony. This time he detected an ominous note which indicated that the rebels must be advancing while the Government troops, commanded by General Valdeno, whose loyalty was more than doubtful, were falling back. It was time to quit, he reflected. Well, why not? The greater part of the fortune he had amassed in fifteen years of office lay snug and safe in a London bank. It amounted to over a million pounds sterling. Then he thought of the copper mines for which an English syndicate was in negotiation with him. If that deal came off, it ought to bring him in a second million in a few years. Then he could retire and live such a life as even he had seldom dreamt of, in Paris and on the Riviera. He listened to the firing again, and shook his head. Of course, he might be able to suppress Quesada’s rebellion and retain his office just long enough to gather in that second million but, on the other hand, he might find himself with his back to a stone wall and his chest bared to receive the bullets of a dozen rifles. That had been the fate of his predecessor, the late lamented ex- President Garcia. Bah ! Garcia had been a fool, reflected the President. The man had collected something more than a modest com- petence for his old age, but had been too greedy and too stupid to go while the going was good. And so he had died the death of a fool, facing those dozen 24 rifles. The President’s mind was made up. It was time to put his foolproof getaway into action. He closed the balcony window, strode over to his desk and took up the receiver of the palace telephone. - ** Send Martin to me,’’ he ordered. ‘‘ Tell him I have instructions for him about to-morrow.’’ Then the President went bedroom and unlocked the safe. First, he extracted a packet of Boto- gonian notes, smiling disdainfully as he thrust them into a trouser pocket. Their value was small, for his country’s finances were a byword. However, they might serve some immediate need, but, like all Botogonians, he had more faith in the next packet his fingers grasped. This contained {2,000 in crisp, crinkly Bank of England notes, and he knew that it would be a potent bribe for anyone who tried to stop the getaway he had planned for just this emergency. Yet even {2,000 might be too small a sum for any true patriot he might chance to meet before he won safely through to his aeroplane, and so he had a larger bribe at hand. It con- sisted of bearer bonds to the value of £100,000—one-tenth of the entire for- tune he had earned by ruling Botogonia for fifteen long and tyrannous years ! A goodly sum, but a cheap price for his life, and, if necessary, he would pay up and look pleasant. But he did not think there was any real danger of having to part with those bearer bonds, for the details of his foolproof getaway had been too carefully planned. into his S the President stowed the last of the bearer bonds about his person, there came a knock at his door. ‘*Come in,’’ he called, and beamed graciously when Rudge Martin, his long, lean American pilot, entered. Although he could trust no Botogonian, he was on terms of some intimacy with this foreigner from the States who had helped to plan his means of escape. ‘*Going to quit to-night, Chief? ’’ inquired the American. Co OO