"To meet an emissary of the northern nation," Robur replied. "Then let the mission be one of the sword." "Nay. Not so says the Mouthpiece of Zitu, who plans already a different measure," Aphur's governor answered. "Silence. Give ear to the Mouthpiece of Zitu!" yelled the crowd. "Make way--he desires a passage! Make way! He goes to Scira." The press opened, making a free way. The motur moved forward. "They are with you," said Robur, speeding the car toward the gates of Himyra according to their plans to visit the airplane hangars beyond the walls. "Aye." Croft nodded. That quickly up-flaring spontaneous anger and rage of Himyra's population acted as a subtle tonic to his spirit, set his heart to beating faster, woke a strange fire of unfaltering purpose in his eyes. At the hangars he explained the situation and called for volunteers from among the fliers to cross the Gateway and land of Scira, later taking up the deceptive patrol above the mountains north of the Cathurian border he had already planned. They heard him and stepped forward in a body. Not one man held back. They pressed close before him with eager faces. Again his heart was warmed. He had organized their force. By himself and Naia most of them had been trained. Nominally at least he was their commander-in-chief. They were the pick of Tamarizian manhood--as eager to dare the venture as restrained hounds on a leash. He selected a half dozen quickly, telling them they must destroy both moturs and planes if disaster overtook them and forced a landing on Zollarian terrain, explaining that Robur would see them equipped with small grenades by which the moturs could be blown to atoms. Their faces stiffened a trifle, but they did not falter. "Aye--they shall not have them," they made answer. "By Zitu," Jason prompted. "By Zitu," they returned. Croft saluted them flat-handed. "It is an oath," he said. "To break it were treason to the nation. In four days you will descend at Scira. Look to your machines." Back in the motur he found his pulses leaping to the spur of action and the _ésprit du corps_ among the fliers he had seen. They were men, men--their number would furnish him others--to man the blimps and urge them over Berla--if need be, to blot out the Zollarian city beneath a fiery rain. "Tonight, Rob, I give you many plans and dimensions," he told Robur, breaking the silence of his introspection. "That done, I board Jadgor's galley for Scira. Till I return, the work lies in your hands." * * * * * All Scira was _en fête_, or seemed so, though there was a strange sullenness about her crowds, despite the flags, the banners that decked the houses and lined the streets, and flew above her blue walls.