“If we could stop them another hour!” cried the man in yellow.
“Nothing can stop them now,” said the old man, “they have near a hundred aeroplanes in the first fleet.”
“Another hour?” asked Graham.
“To be so near!” said the Ward Leader. “Now that we have found those guns. To be so near—. If once we could get them out upon the roof spaces.”
“How long would that take?” asked Graham suddenly.
“An hour—certainly.”
“Too late,” cried the Ward Leader, “too late.”
“Is it too late?” said Graham. “Even now—. An hour!”
He had suddenly perceived a possibility. He tried to speak calmly, but his face was white. “There is one chance. You said there was an aeropile—?”
“On the Roehampton stage, Sire.”