"If we could stop them another hour!" cried the man in yellow.
"Nothing can stop them now," said the old man. "They have near a hundred aeroplanes in the first fleet."
"Another hour?" asked Graham.
"To be so near!" said the Ward Leader. "Now that we have found those guns. To be so near——— If once we could get them out upon the roof spaces."
"How long would that take?" asked Graham suddenly.
"An hour———certainly,"
"Too late," cried the Ward Leader, "too late."
"Is it too late?" said Graham. "Even now———An hour."
He had suddenly perceived a possibility. He tried to speak calmly, but his face was white. "There is one chance. You said there was a monoplane———?"
"On the Roehampton stage, Sire."
"Smashed?"
"No. It is lying crossways to the carrier. It might be got upon the guides———easily. But there is no aeronaut———"
Graham glanced at the two men and then at Helen. He spoke after a long pause. "We have no aeronauts?"
"None."
He turned suddenly to Helen. His decision was made. "I must do it."
"Do what?"
"Go to this flying stage———to this machine."
"What do you mean?"
"I am an aeronaut. After all——— Those days for which you reproached me were not altogether wasted."
He turned to the old man in yellow. "Tell them to put it upon the guides."
The man in yellow hesitated.
"What do you mean to do?" cried Helen.
"This monoplane———it is a chance———"
"You don't mean———?"
