Up soared the Dart. It came around. Don saw the mail ship turning to cross the bay. Full-gun, he took up pursuit, heedless of the Chief’s warning that their tear-gas, brought in case the swamp yielded the culprit, had been taken, must be in the hands of the escaping Scott.
Seeing that the Dragonfly’s pilot had trouble with his arm, Don knew he alone stood between Scott and escape.
The Dart was fast. So was the mail ship, once free of the water.
Garry, backing up the channel, saw Don fly over. He kept on, until he reached the wider sheet of water, backed around, swung close to the Dragonfly, climbed aboard, and feverishly begged to have a chance at the controls. The other pilot, not too strong, yielded. The Dragonfly started.
Don climbed, losing some advantage; but he knew that it would be a long chase—wanted it to be so. The man in the mail ship, with his bravado serving to the end, lifted and showed strings of jewels that flashed vividly in the first rays of the rising sun.
Don saw that Scott meant to cross to Connecticut. It would be a run across Long Island Sound. Don did not want to drive down the ship over water—he would lose the treasure.
He saw, far behind, the Dragonfly.
The crossing was made in record time, and then Don, in a ship easily maneuvered, raced up above the other. Then Chick screeched a warning.
Up toward them came one of those missiles—a tear-gas bomb.
Don made a quick barrel-roll. It caused the bomb to miss him.