“We’re not out of it yet,” rejoined Tom. “The fuel’s nearly done. These comings and goings have used a terrible lot of the paste, and I doubt whether there’s enough to make one journey to the yacht—let alone two. I didn’t reckon on another passenger besides Ingleton.” “Who is this freak? You seem to know him?” Oliphant spoke quietly: Herr Schwab was lying against the rail of the car only a few feet away. “Met him once. His name’s Schwab; he’s an agent for the company I get my powder from. Haven’t had time yet to ask him how he got into this mess. I say, it looks as if a storm is coming up.” “Yes, the wind’s rising, and the clouds are scudding along at a great pace. How will she behave in a storm?” “Don’t know, and don’t want to know just now. We should be in a pretty hobble if the machine were to get smashed up altogether.” While Tom and Oliphant were thus talking in low tones, Herr Schwab was deeply ruminating. He had been struck, on the roof of the kasbah, by something familiar in the speech of this Englishman who was masquerading as a Moor, but in the agitation of the moment he could not sift his recollections. Now, however, safe in the car of an aeroplane, sailing with almost imperceptible motion through the air, he was taking the opportunity to search his memory. Just as the airship arrived above the hill-top where Sir Mark Ingleton was waiting, and Tom was preparing to descend, he was startled by a loud exclamation from the German. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Nozink, nozink at all. I know you vat you are. Mr. Thomas Dorrell! And ze Photographic Sensitizer Preparation Number Six. I know all about him; jawohl! Zere are business for Schlagintwert: I do not mind ze captivities now: business are business.” Oliphant looked inquiringly at Tom; but the moment was not propitious for explanations. Tom’s whole attention was engaged by the machinery. The airship alighted without mishap, and Tom as he stepped out of the car was greeted by Sir Mark Ingleton. “I have a new conception of the music of the spheres,” he said. “Your approach was heralded by an immense humming, which, I take it, will discount the usefulness of the airship in time of war.” “Zat vill be chance for Schlagintwert,” interposed Schwab: “to invent somezink vat stop ze row.” “Precisely,” said Sir Mark, with a faint smile. “How do you feel now, sir?” asked Tom. “Greatly invigorated by the fresh air. I am glad of your coat. May I know to whom I am indebted for this surprising change in my fortunes?” “My name’s Dorrell,” said Tom. “I happened to be rather lucky in getting my airship to go just when it could be made useful.” “Viz Schlagintwert’s Photographic Sensitizer Preparation Number Six,” added Schwab. “This is Mr. Oliphant, Lord Langside’s son,” Tom went on.