The man seemed in no hurry, for some minutes elapsed before his head and shoulders appeared in view. Then came another pause as, sitting on the coaming with his feet resting on the topmost rung of the ladder, he flashed his light around the interior of the mechanical bird.
The miscreant had little of the accepted appearance of a spy. He was slight of build, although his head seemed out of all proportion to his body. His features were round and florid, his eyes—as far as the glare of the torch permitted them to be seen—large and exhibiting a docile expression like that of a well-cared-for household cat. Encountered under ordinary circumstances one would without hesitation set him down as an easy-going, babyish man devoid both of mental and bodily power.
Judging him from a physical point of view Athol formed a rapid conclusion that either he or Dick could tackle him with one hand.
Still Blake gave no sign. He was too old a campaigner to throw away his advantage by premature action. He resolved to wait until the fellow had moved sufficiently far from the aperture to be unable to make a quick dive for safety.
Presently the German crept forward, still flashing his torch. Evidently there was something that attracted his attention to a greater: extent than did the motors and wing-actuating mechanism.
"Hands up!" exclaimed Desmond Blake sternly, at the same time flooding the interior of the fuselage with the dazzling rays of his electric lamp.
"Sorry—my mistake," replied the fellow coolly. "Mistook this place for a barn, 'pon my word, I did. Beastly awkward mistake, don't you know. Then, seeing what I took to be a novel sort of agricultural implement I was curious——"
"Are you putting your hands up?" enquired the inventor briskly.
A pistol shot rang out. The spy, grasping the still-smoking weapon, threw himself flat upon the floor to await the result of his shot. Dazzled by the glare he had been unable to see his challenger; nor was he cognisant of the fact that the two lads were present. The result of previous investigations led him to believe that the inventor was the only able-bodied man about the place, and, now that the dogs had been disposed of, the odds were level.
Greatly to the consternation of Athol and his chum, Blake began to emit blood-curdling, hollow groans. They were on the point of replying to the rascal's shot when Blake signed to them to keep under cover, punctuating his groans by a series of winks that showed plainly that there was plenty of "kick" left in him yet.