At dawn, in a bomber that made their little Spitfires seem like gulls, the young warriors rose high in air, far above the clouds, to zoom away. When land was lost from sight the young Lord studied his compass and his chart, set a course south by west to at last drop down close to the sea. After that, hour after hour, with eyes that burned from watching and hearts that ached with longing, they studied the dark surface of the never-ending sea. Twice they came upon British ship convoys and dipped low to greet them. Once they thought they saw a life-boat and hope ran high. But, as they dropped low, the supposed boat submerged. “Whale or a submarine?” the young Lord barked into his receiver. “Whale,” was old Jock’s instant response. So they soared on. It was only after their gasoline supply began running low that they at last rose into the blue to go zooming to a landing field in the north of Scotland. There, after darkness had fallen, Alice slipped away to a little hotel where no questions were asked. When, however, she told what she dared of their mission, she was accorded the hospitality due a queen and in the morning not a cent would her hostess accept. “It’s our own war,” said the good lady, “and may the good Lord bless you.” The second day was more than half gone. The girl’s eyes were red with watching when she called in her phone, “I—I hear the sound of firing.” Every headset was removed. “Not a sound but the motors. Not a sound,” was the report. “Climb. Then shut off your motors,” Alice insisted. It was done, and from the west to their listening ears came the roar of heavy guns. “Prepare for action,” the young Lord barked. “See that the bombs are in their place. Make all fast. “And,” he added softly, “say a prayer.” Their ship was fast. Smoke loomed on the horizon. Ships, a large convoy, took form. A minor sea-battle was in progress. Doughty captains of freighters were pitting their small guns against the heavy ones of a raider. They were rapidly approaching the scene when with a joyous battle cry the Lark sang out, “Man! Oh, man! They’ve spotted us. Look! There they go! Running at full speed.” “We’re after them.” The young Lord’s lips were drawn into a straight line. Old Jock was at the bomb controls, Dave and Brand at the one-pound cannons, the Lark at the radio. They climbed a thousand feet, three, five, then twenty thousand feet. They were all but above the fleeing raider now. Dave tried to imagine the wild commotion and the frenzied preparation on board that raider at that moment. Just what the young Lord meant to do, he knew. Life and death hung in the balance. As for the young Lord, his brow suddenly wrinkled. He had caught a glimpse of two specks against the sky. “Here,” he called to Alice. “Have a look through the glass. Off to the right! Enemy or friend? Tell me—Quick!” One look and she told him. “Enemy! Twin motor interceptors. Two of them.” “Good! We’ll show them how it’s done.”