Yet, his compunction notwithstanding, Peter's hands were as steady and his eye as clear as an experienced hunter's. It was the first time in his life that he had had a human being covered with a rifle—but it was the only way.
Deliberately he pressed the trigger. The Rioguayan captain did not appear to move. Peter was beginning to think that he had missed, when the man leant forward until his head rested on his arms on the deck of the fuselage—to all appearances as if he were asleep.
Without hesitation, the Englishmen vaulted over the ledge of rocks on to the beach and ran towards the flying-boat. They fully expected to find their way barred by the two mechanics; but the latter had either not heard the shot, or, if they had, had taken it as one of the many fired by the searchers on the island.
[Illustration: PETER TACKLES THE SENTRY Page 126]
Gaining the pilot's cabin, Peter peered down the hatchway into the engine-room. The place was empty. Hurrying aft, he found the two mechanics in the motor-room, where the twin engines driving the after pair of propellers were situated.
At the sight of a couple of automatics thrust down the hatchway both men raised their arms with commendable celerity.
"Up—you!" ordered Uncle Brian, indicating one of the engineers.
The fellow complied, his olivine features grey with terror.