On
Blackheath no aeroplane had landed. Norwood was covered by a swarm of
little figures running to and fro in a passionate confusion. Why?
Abruptly he understood. The stubborn defence of the flying stages was
over, the people were pouring into the under-ways of these last
strongholds of Ostrog's usurpation. And then, from far away on the
northern border of the city, full of glorious import to him, came a
sound, a signal, a note of triumph, the leaden thud of a gun. His lips
fell apart, his face was disturbed with emotion.
He drew an immense breath. "They win," he shouted to the empty air; "the
people win!" The sound of a second gun came like an answer. And then he
saw the monoplane on Blackheath was running down its guides to launch. It
lifted clean and rose. It shot up into the air, driving straight
southward and away from him.
In an instant it came to him what this meant. It must needs be Ostrog
in flight. He shouted and dropped towards it. He had the momentum of
his elevation and fell slanting down the air and very swiftly. It rose
steeply at his approach. He allowed for its velocity and drove
straight upon it.
It suddenly became a mere flat edge, and behold! he was past it, and
driving headlong down with all the force of his futile blow.
He was furiously angry. He reeled the engine back along its shaft and
went circling up. He saw Ostrog's machine beating up a spiral before
him. He rose straight towards it, won above it by virtue of the impetus
of his swoop and by the advantage and weight of a man.
Pages:
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304