Evans had been sitting thus in solitude at the controls for some minutes before he heard a strange popping sound from somewhere in the rocket's interior beneath him. He listened sharply, and heard other quick-following popping sounds, as of slight detonations; then came a babel of cries from beneath, cries that were cut sharply short! Evans sprang to his feet. There was silence below now, but suddenly the door of the pilot-house was flung open and Seaworth burst up into it, his face livid.
"The Hawk!" he gasped. And then, his eyes suddenly widening, he pointed out through the windows beyond Evans. "Look there!" he cried.
Evans whirled toward the window. In the next instant he seemed to see a curtain of flame descending before his eyes as something struck him a crashing blow on the head. The flame-curtain was succeeded instantly by the black depths of unconsciousness.
It was only slowly that he came back to himself. He became aware that he was sitting against the wall, that the thunder of the rocket's firing-tubes was coming to his ears, that his brain ached. He tried to move, but found that his hands were tightly tied, his feet were bound, and every movement made his head throb. He opened his eyes, then stared uncomprehendingly, as if stupefied.
He was sitting against the pilot-house wall, and a half-dozen feet from him, at the control-board, sat Seaworth. He was calmly manipulating the firing-levers, and he looked up and smiled as he saw Evans' astounded gaze upon him.
"It really was the Hawk after all, you see," he said. "Only instead of being outside the rocket he was inside!" He laughed with genuine amusement.
Evans struggled to speak. "Then you—you—"
"Yes, the Hawk, at your service," Seaworth calmly told him. "And as a word of friendly advice, Captain Evans—when someone tells you excitedly to look—look at them."
Evans, striving to understand, did not hear the mocking final words.
"You the Hawk! But we saw the Hawk's rocket attacking you there—we came and saved you—"