A murmur of dismay greeted him. The oval of that great lid stood up against the forest background.
“He has escaped,” cried Mr. Challoner.
But Sweetwater, laying a finger on his lip, advanced and laid his ear against the door. Then he cast a quick look aloft. Nothing was to be seen there. The darkness of storm in the heavens but nothing more.—Yes! now, a flash of vivid and destructive lightning!
The two men drew back and their glances crossed.
“Let us return to the highroad,” whispered Sweetwater; “we can see nothing here.”
Mr. Challoner, trembling very much, wheeled slowly about.
“Wait,” enjoined Sweetwater. “First let me take a look inside.”
Running to the nearest tree, he quickly climbed it, worked himself along a protruding branch and looked down into the open hangar. It was now so dark that details escaped him, but one thing was certain. The air-ship was not there.
Descending, he drew Mr. Challoner hastily along. “He’s gone,” said he. “Let us reach the high ground as quickly as we can. I’m glad that Mr. Oswald Brotherson is not with us or—or Miss Doris.”
But this expression of satisfaction died on his lips. At the point where the forest road debouches into the highway, he had already caught a glimpse of their two figures. They were waiting for news, and the brother spoke up the instant he saw Sweetwater: