De Garros and Miss Jarrold stood together apart from the rest.
“And your uncle’s influence over you is broken forever if we ever escape from this?” he was asking.
She nodded.
“That time in Paris when he tried to persuade you to give up the aeronautical plans was when I first began to mistrust him. I never thought I should see you again after our engagement was broken off, but fate has brought us together. It has been like a dream,” she went on. “I think sometimes that he exercised a hypnotic influence over me. But I know it all now and can see things clearly.”
De Garros was about to answer, when suddenly his body stiffened. He pointed to the northern horizon.
“There,” he cried. “Look there!”
His excitement was mounting high.
“See,” he shouted, “that white light! It’s sweeping the sky! What is it?”
Far off, a faint pencil of light swung across the zenith as if on a pivot. It dipped to the horizon, rose again and swung like a radiant pendulum across the sky.
“Signals,” the girl choked out. “It’s a searchlight!”