Leaving his companions, he dashed down the corridor to the wireless operator’s room. The operator was already engaged in conversation with the aerial visitor by means of the wireless telephone, and the captain took in the situation at a glance. "What does he want? Who is he?" blurted out the skipper. *CHAPTER X* *THE BRIGAND OF THE EASTERN SKIES* "Someone has signalled us to stop, Captain!" said the wireless operator. "Who is it?" demanded the irate skipper. "He will not declare himself, sir!" "Hand me that receiver, Robson!" and the commander, clamping the ear-piece of the wireless telephone to his ear, asked of the intruder, "Who are you that thus dares to order me to stop on a lawful voyage?" "It is I, Sultan von Selim, Air-King of the Hamadian Desert, who orders you to stop!" came the reply from the aerial raider, who now rode just a little way above the large airship, and on the starboard side. "Then I refuse!" thundered the skipper. "You will do so at your peril," came the quiet, cool reply, which rather disconcerted the captain. "I will call up the patrols, you brigand!" continued the commander of the liner. "One word to the patrols and I will blow your wireless to pieces. I have two guns already trained on it," replied the air-king. "I dare you to do it!" replied the brave skipper. Then, turning to the operator, he said, "Send the S.O.S. with the latitude and longitude to the patrols. Smartly there, Robson." "Yes, sir." "This is that raider we heard of at Delhi, but he can’t touch us." The raider, however, had caught the sentence, or part of it, and he understood the order. The next instant a burst of fire from a machine gun, trained with wonderful accuracy, blew the main part of the wireless apparatus to pieces, and rendered it perfectly useless for either receiving or transmitting. How the captain and the operator escaped injury or death will for ever remain a mystery. Seizing a megaphone, the former dashed out of the cabin, down the keel corridor and the narrow slip-way, to the central touring gondola on the starboard side, and, shaking his fist at the raider, who sailed calmly alongside about a hundred feet away, shouted through the instrument: "You brigand! You shall hang for this!" A mocking laugh, drowned by the roar of the engines, which still continued full speed ahead, was the only reply. Evidently this mad airman was enjoying the fun immensely. At any rate he appeared very careless of the other’s threats. "I mean it, you felon!" roared the skipper. "Are you going to heave to?" came the the reply through the raider’s megaphone. "No, certainly not!" "Then you must take the consequence!" came the mocking taunt, and the next instant, "Rep-r-r-r-r-r-r-r!" came another burst from that deadly machine-gun, which seemed so effective every time it spoke.