He rubbed his gloved hands together and chuckled into the telephone.
"Wait until I get there," he told himself. "Wait till I learn all about them! Wait until my signals bring shells smashing into their batteries! Then they'll know. Then they'll learn what it means to hunt Heinrich Hilker from their country."
"Stop!" he shouted. "That's the church tower! Now steer her to the right, then drop! The ground is clear behind, and you can make a landing."
The broad back in front wriggled and writhed, the strong shoulders heaved upwards. If Heinrich Hilker had been a man of discernment, and less engaged with his own affairs and his own importance, he would have appreciated the fact that that heave, that wriggle, denoted something not altogether pleasant. Indeed it denoted the anger of the pilot, his hatred for his passenger, his indignation with this man who ventured to give him—an experienced pilot—instructions. He growled a reply into the telephone, and, sighting the spot to which Heinrich had referred, sent his machine down in a spinning nose-dive.
"I'll scare the life out of him," he thought. "Let him believe he's about to be dashed to pieces—there!" and he threw his hands up from the "joy-stick".
But Heinrich never even blinked his eyelids. His thoughts were upon the task he had before him, and his eyes were riveted upon the ground. All thought of his own personal safety had left him for the moment, while that heaving of the shoulders in front of him, like the reply the pilot had growled at him, escaped his attention.
"Down!" he shouted. "Faster!"
"Faster! The man's crazy," thought the pilot, pulling his machine out of its spinning nose-dive with some little difficulty. "What if we find a crowd of the enemy there! But the landing-place looks broad enough. Get ready to move out! I shall drop here like a stone, give you half a minute to dismount, and be off again instantly."
Heinrich's answer was to begin to unbuckle the belt which strapped him securely to his seat, and to make sure that no part of his clothing was entangled in the framework. He bent easily over the side of the fuselage, which was now lying horizontally, and then half rose to his feet as the machine, already within a thousand feet of the ground, shot down at a steep angle. Presently the pilot flattened it, dropped it again, bumped his wheels, and, having already switched off his engine, finally brought the aeroplane to a standstill.
"Au revoir!" shouted Heinrich, for by then the pilot—a skilful fellow—had got his engine going again.