“We’re too late,” Doyle groaned. “No chance to stop him now.”
A gate which gave entrance to the private field had been left open. Flash whirled the wheel and they went through, bumping over the uneven ground.
Rascomb sat at the controls of the monoplane, with Fleur in the cockpit behind him. They both saw the approaching car.
Derisively, Rascomb waved his hand. Speeding up the engine, he taxied to the end of the cleared space, then nosed the plane into the wind.
“We’ve lost him,” Doyle exclaimed. “He’s taking off!”
Flash had noted the direction of the wind and the path which the plane must travel.
“There’s one way to stop him!” he cried.
As the plane roared down the field, he deliberately headed the car straight toward it.
“Jump!” he shouted to Doyle. “Save yourself! We’re going to crash head-on!”