At last the longed for moment for action came. Anything was better than long drawn-out suspense.
He wrung Le Couteur’s hand as he stepped into the machine.
“I’ll be back with her by dawn,” he said, “or else—” there was no need to finish the sentence.
He had not gone five minutes before Le Couteur received a message from Jules announcing that Yvette had escaped. If only Dick had known!
It was raining hard when the Mohawk rose into the air, but Dick was beyond caring for the weather, and anxious only for Yvette, he sent the helicopter tearing through the darkness eastward to Berlin. He drove almost automatically, his thoughts intent on the girl ahead of him.
As he approached Berlin, the weather cleared and the rain stopped. All around him were the navigation lights of the German mail and passenger planes, hurrying to every quarter of the Empire, and, even in his anxiety, Dick was conscious of an uneasy feeling of irritation at the thought that England was being left so far behind in the race for the mastery of the air.
Then he caught sight of the great beams of light that marked the position of the huge Berlin aerodrome, and a few minutes’ flying brought him above Spandau. He circled twice, looking for Gaston’s signals, and at last he dropped lower, caught the gleam of the three lanterns which Gaston had placed to guide him, and brought the machine swiftly down beside the big barn. Then he leaped from his seat.
He nearly gave a shout of joy that would have aroused every German within a mile! For there, in the light of the lanterns, stood Yvette herself.
There was no time for explanation.
“Now’s your chance,” gasped Jules, wild with excitement, “the German plane has just gone up!”