“Prepare for action,” the young Lord barked. “See that the bombs are in their place. Make all fast.
“And,” he added softly, “say a prayer.”
Their ship was fast. Smoke loomed on the horizon. Ships, a large convoy, took form. A minor sea-battle was in progress. Doughty captains of freighters were pitting their small guns against the heavy ones of a raider.
They were rapidly approaching the scene when with a joyous battle cry the Lark sang out, “Man! Oh, man! They’ve spotted us. Look! There they go! Running at full speed.”
“We’re after them.” The young Lord’s lips were drawn into a straight line.
Old Jock was at the bomb controls, Dave and Brand at the one-pound cannons, the Lark at the radio.
They climbed a thousand feet, three, five, then twenty thousand feet. They were all but above the fleeing raider now. Dave tried to imagine the wild commotion and the frenzied preparation on board that raider at that moment. Just what the young Lord meant to do, he knew. Life and death hung in the balance.
As for the young Lord, his brow suddenly wrinkled. He had caught a glimpse of two specks against the sky.
“Here,” he called to Alice. “Have a look through the glass. Off to the right! Enemy or friend? Tell me—Quick!”
One look and she told him. “Enemy! Twin motor interceptors. Two of them.”