"Why, do you think it may not?" surprised.
"It's barely possible. The whole thing has been very scientifically calculated, of course; but the slightest flaw in the mathematics could cause a miss. Yes, the projectile may never reach its mark; it's something to be considered."
"In which case," returned Mona, evidently convinced that he was teasing, "in which case, your own scheme falls through!"
"Oh, no," with the utmost calm. "My scheme depends upon the cannon, not upon the projectile."
Mona nearly lost her temper. "I wish you wouldn't talk in riddles!" But Fort was plainly unwilling to say anything further just then; he changed the subject, directing Mona's glasses toward a point far to the rear, where the blue wall of the contact loomed, some twenty miles away. The spot had been chosen, of course, because there were fewer inhabitants in that locality than any other; the discharge of the gun would mean an immense volume of smoke and gas, likely to prove disagreeable for days. Nobody cared to live near the contact, because of its queer, sunless conditions.
"Almost time we were getting out of here," said Fort, after another look at his watch. As he spoke a warning whistle on Powart's yacht sounded shrilly; and with one accord the surrounding horde of sightseers—all belonging to the leisure class, of course—began to back away from the spot. The workmen, down below, were already taking flight. A moment later Powart, speaking for the benefit of a recording phonograph, began as follows:
"Precisely at the hour, minute and second determined by the commission's mathematicians the projectile will be slid into the cannon. The concussion will explode the powder in the breech. This final act is to take place"—he glanced at his watch—"within two minutes.
"By so doing, the people of Hafen and Holl, through me, their commander-in-chief, do hereby deliberately take the offensive against Alma." He hesitated, then went on with fresh determination: "Rather than permit them to prepare for the threatened invasion, then, we thus proceed to bombard their roof, in order to so harass them that they shall be made helpless against us."
Mona turned her gaze from the dictator, and took up her glasses. The great cannon was nearly a mile away from them now; not a single aircraft was closer than Fort's and Powart's, which were still backing away. The blast was not a thing to be sneered at. Mona's hands shook with excitement.
Powart's eyes were on his watch. "The thing is beyond all human power to prevent now. The projectile will be released by clockwork. In fact"—his voice rose, his excitement finally getting the better of him—"it is even now sliding! It is only a matter of seconds; the projectile is lubricated so as to slide easily."