Captain Brookes was one of the first to recover his composure—if indeed, he had lost it.
"To the conning-tower, Mr. Tregarthen. The Z-rays."
Gerald comprehended these brief orders. By means of the electric fluid the aviator would be brought down as he attempted to cross the zone representing the minimum limit of the rays. It meant a headlong race for'ard, but the crew automatically cleared a path for the young officer, and with the least possible delay he gained the armoured citadel.
Swiftly, yet deliberately, Gerald set the pointers. There was no answering spark. He tried another and yet another square; still no response. The Z-rays apparatus had been tampered with.
Realising the uselessness of investigation at that critical moment, Gerald tore aft and reported the occurrence.
Captain Brookes looked in the direction of the retreating aviator.
"Clear away that 6-pounder."
Quickly the gun was manned and a shining copper and steel cylinder thrust into the breach.
"Four thousand yards," sang out Lieutenant Sinclair, who, without waiting for instructions, had taken the distance by means of his pocket range-finder.
"Fire!"