"Look out for bombs!" yelled Ned.
"Bless my safety match!" cried Mr. Damon. "Are they anarchists?"
"It's only their motor back-firing," cried Tom. "It's all right, They're done for now, we'll leave them behind."
He was a true prophet, for with a continued rush and a roar the airship of our friends opened up a big gap between her rear rudders and the forward planes of the craft that was chasing her. The three men were working frantically to get their motor in shape, but it was a useless task.
A little later, finding that they were losing speed, the three police agents, or spies, whatever they might be, had to volplane to earth and there was no need for the Falcon to maintain the terrific pace, to which Tom had pushed her. The pursuit was over.
"Well, we got out of that luckily," remarked Ned, as he looked down to where the spies were making a landing. "I guess they won't try that trick again."
"I'm afraid they will," predicted Mr. Petrofsky. "You don't know these government agents as I do. They never give up. They'll fix their engine, and get on our trail again."
"Then we'll make them work for what they get," put in Tom, who, having set the automatic speed accelerator, had rejoined his companions. "We'll try a high flight and if they can pick up a trail in the air, and come up to us, they're good ones!"
He ran to the pilot house, and set the elevation rudder at its limit. Meanwhile the spies were working frantically over their motor, trying to get it in shape for the pursuit. But soon they realized that this was out of the question, for the Falcon was far away, every moment going higher and higher, until she was lost to sight beyond the clouds.
"I guess they'll have their own troubles now," remarked Ned. "We've seen the last of them."