He was standing on the slope of a small tor. At the foot there was a smooth stretch of green sward. It was on this stretch that the people of Dartmoor held their pony races in the summer months. There was no sign of horses; but only a great bat-like machine with out-stretched pinions of taut white canvas, and by that machine a man clad from head to foot in brown overalls. John stumbled down the slope. As he neared the machine he stopped and gasped. “Kara,” he said, and the brown man smiled. “But, I do not understand. What are you going to do!” asked Lexman, when he had recovered from his surprise. “I am going to take you to a place of safety,” said the other. “I have no reason to be grateful to you, as yet, Kara,” breathed Lexman. “A word from you could have saved me.” “I could not lie, my dear Lexman. And honestly, I had forgotten the existence of the letter; if that is what you are referring to, but I am trying to do what I can for you and for your wife.” “My wife!” “She is waiting for you,” said the other. He turned his head, listening. Across the moor came the dull sullen boom of a gun. “You haven't time for argument. They discovered your escape,” he said. “Get in.” John clambered up into the frail body of the machine and Kara followed. “This is a self-starter,” he said, “one of the newest models of monoplanes.” He clicked over a lever and with a roar the big three-bladed tractor screw spun. The aeroplane moved forward with a jerk, ran with increasing gait for a hundred yards, and then suddenly the jerky progress ceased. The machine swayed gently from side to side, and looking over, the passenger saw the ground recede beneath him. Up, up, they climbed in one long sweeping ascent, passing through drifting clouds till the machine soared like a bird above the blue sea. John Lexman looked down. He saw the indentations of the coast and recognized the fringe of white houses that stood for Torquay, but in an incredibly short space of time all signs of the land were blotted out. Talking was impossible. The roar of the engines defied penetration. Kara was evidently a skilful pilot. From time to time he consulted the compass on the board before him, and changed his course ever so slightly. Presently he released one hand from the driving wheel, and scribbling on a little block of paper which was inserted in a pocket at the side of the seat he passed it back. John Lexman read: “If you cannot swim there is a life belt under your seat.” John nodded. Kara was searching the sea for something, and presently he found it. Viewed from the height at which they flew it looked no more than a white speck in a great blue saucer, but presently the machine began to dip, falling at a terrific rate of speed, which took away the breath of the man who was hanging on with both hands to the dangerous seat behind.