Russ waited for that attempt. There was nothing that could be done about it. The engines were developing every watt of power that could be urged out of them. If Craven had the power to break away, he would break away ... that was all there would be to it.
An hour passed and the needle crept up a fraction of a point. Russ was still watching the dial, his mind foggy with concentration.
Suddenly the Invincible shuddered and seemed to totter in space, as if something, some mighty force, had struck the ship a terrific blow. The needle swung swiftly backward, reached one mile a second, dipped to half a mile.
Russ sat bolt upright, holding his breath, his teeth clenched with death grip upon the pipe-stem.
Craven had blasted with everything he had! He had used every last trickle of power in the accumulators ... all the power he had been storing up.
Russ leaped from the chair and raced to the periscopic mirror. Stooping, he stared into it. Far back in space, like a silver bauble, swung Craven's ship. It swung back and forth in space, like a mighty, cosmic pendulum. Breathlessly he watched. The ship was still in the grip of the space field!
"Greg," he shouted, "we've got him!"
He raced back to the control panel, snapped a glance at the speed dial. The needle was rising rapidly now, a full mile a second. Within another fifteen minutes, it had climbed to a mile and a half. The Invincible was starting to go places!
The engines still howled, straining, shrieking, roaring their defiance.