“Might—be.”
“If—it—is—we—win.”
“If—we—live—through,—yes.”
There was silence. But again there came a sound from the tube. This time it was not Pant, but the stranger who rode behind Johnny. Johnny started; he had quite forgotten him.
“What—what is it?” he stammered.
“Thought—I—ought—to—tell—you.” The voice was low and subdued, like a parson reading the funeral service at a grave.
“Tell—me—what?” Johnny asked, bewildered.
“About—the—wreck. Why—we—are—going—”
But at that instant there came a blinding flash, a deafening roar, and the plane seemed to leap into midair, like a rowboat hit by a fifty-pound projectile.