Davis pressed his lips together and used every artifice he knew of to increase the speed of his machine, but the glistening black body ahead of them drew steadily farther away. At last it could barely be seen. Then, as if in derision, a light appeared in the cabin of the black flyer. It winked oddly. Dot-dash, dot-dash——
"He's signaling," said Davis.
Dot-dash, dot-dash——
"W-a-t-c-h," spelled Davis, "t-h-e M-i-s-s-i-s-s-i-p-p-i.—V-a-r-r-h-u-s."
"Watch the Mississippi, Varrhus," repeated Teddy. "He's getting away! He's getting away!"
The light ahead of them winked and disappeared. The sky was empty except for the biplane roaring after a vanished enemy.
"He's gotten away," half sobbed Davis. "Damn him! He killed Curtiss, and he's gotten away!"
Teddy stared into the empty night with something of Davis' disappointment and despair.