Air Stories — page 28: what you’re looking at

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

AIR STORIES But they had long since rusted from disuse, and Martin had found no great difficulty in filing several of them to make an opening that admitted the passage of a man’s body. That had been done several months ago; but Martin had left the bars in their original positions, and there was no evidence that only a slight pressure would be sufficient to displace them. ‘‘Tf you’ll just step into the bedroom, you'll find everything ready for you,’’ said the American. CHAPTER II The Voice of Retribution EN minutes later the President emerged from the bedroom. His trim but fierce black beard had vanished, and he now wore the greasy overalls of a mechanic. Martin mustered him with an approv- ing eye. ‘‘ You sure look a real dandy mechanic, Mr. President,’’ he com- mented. ‘‘ But I reckon we won’t stop to admire the. transformation. I’ve shifted those bars, so let’s be moving along.’’ ‘« Agreed,’’ said the President. go first.”’ ‘©O.K.,’’? the American replied. ‘‘If the coast’s clear, I’ll signal by flashing my electric torch just once.’’ Then, clambering up on to the window- sill, Martin felt for the rope he had fixed to one of the uninjured bars while the President had been changing in the bedroom. He grasped it and slid noise- lessly to the ground. The President, standing well back from the window, waited for the signal. It came, and he slid agilely down the rope to stand beside Martin. He glanced nervously round the kitchen garden in which he found himself, but no lurking form rose up to bar his way. A sudden furious burst of machine-gun fire from the harbour quarter stirred him to action, and cautiously he led the way down the long central path. At the farther end he extracted a key with which he opened the massive gate, and the two men passed out into the park. ‘* You 26 Less than a quarter of a mile away lay the stretch of level turf that served as the President’s private aerodrome. As they approached it in silence the President’s heartbeats quickened. He had never felt quite easy about the next part of the proceedings, for everything depended upon the attitude of the sentinel on guard at the hangar. There had to be a sentinel there. The President would gladly have dispensed with him, but the risks were too great. Only the presence of an armed guard could ensure the machine against sabo- tage by some zealous member of the Quesada party for, despite the mani- fold activities of his secret political police, he knew there were only too many undetected adherents of his rival who would gladly hazard their lives to prevent his escape at this critical moment. What would the sentinel do? If he recognised the President in his mechanic’s disguise, he must inevitably guess his intentions. Would he then summon the rest of the guard who formed a cordon round the park? Would they all turn against him and hand him over to Quesada ? ‘“‘Get some fellows from one of the mountain regiments to furnish the park guard,’’ Martin had advised him. ‘‘ Hicks like them’ll never know you with or without your beard.’’ The advice was good, and the Presi- dent had acted on it, but was it good enough P Or would the million to one chance place on guard at the aerodrome just the one man who recognised and hated him? That was the possibility he foresaw and dreaded. But the President had learnt to control his fears, and there was no outward sign to betray his uneasiness as he slouched along by Martin’s side with the gait of a slovenly mechanic. ‘‘ Halt ! Who goes there P ’’ A sentinel’s bayonet gleamed before them in the moonlight. ‘‘ Friends | ’’ replied Martin. ‘‘ The password P ”’ ‘‘San Cristobal. I’m the President’s pilot ; you ought to know me by now ! ”’ ‘‘Ah, the Gringo !’’ exclaimed the Co LDOO)