al
rights--no other outcomes are possible than slavery or violent, physical
revolution. As I have made Gabriel Armstrong say: "The masters would
have it so. Academic discussion becomes absurd, in the face of
plutocratic savagery. And in a case of self-defense, no measures are
unjustifiable."

I believe in political action. I hope for a peaceful and bloodless
revolution. But if that be impossible, then by all means let us have
revolution in its other sense. And with the hope that this book may
perhaps revive some fainting spirit or renew the vision of emancipation
in some soul where it has dimmed, I give "The Air Trust" to the workers
of America and of the world.

GEORGE ALLAN ENGLAND.

Boston, Mass., November 1, 1915.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

I. THE BIRTH OF AN IDEA
II. THE PARTNERS
III. THE BAITING OF HERZOG
IV. AN INTERLOPER
V. IN THE LABORATORY
VI. OXYGEN, KING OF INTOXICATORS
VII. A FREAK OF FATE
VIII. ONE UNBIDDEN, SHARES GREAT SECRETS
IX. DISCHARGED
X. A GLIMPSE OF THE PARASITES
XI. THE END OF TWO GAMES
XII. ON THE GREAT HIGHWAY
XIII. CATASTROPHE
XIV. THE RESCUE
XV. AN HOUR AND A PARTING
XVI. TIGER WALDRON "COMES BACK"
XVII. THOUGHTS
XVIII. FLINT AND WALDRON PLAN
XIX. CATHERINE'S DEFIANCE
XX. THE BILLIONAIRE'S PLOT
XXI. GABRIEL, GOOD SAMARITAN
XXII. THE TRAP IS SPRUNG
XXIII. THE BEAST GLOATS
XXIV. CATHERINE'S SUPREME DECISION
XXV. THROUGH STEEL BARS
XXVI. "GUILTY"
XXVII. BACK IN THE SUNLIGHT
XXVIII. IN THE REFUGE
XXIX. "APRES NOUS LE DELUGE!"
XXX. TRAPPED!
XXXI. ESCAPE!
XXXII. OMINOUS DEVELOPMENTS
XXXIII. "NOW COMES THE HOUR SUPREME"
XXXIV. THE ATTACK
XXXV. TERROR AND RETREAT
XXXVI. THE STORMING OF THE WORKS
XXXVII. DEATH IN THE PIT OF STEEL
XXXVIII. VISIONS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"VISIONS!" SHE SAID SOFTLY, "DO YOU BEHOLD THEM TOO?"

"CAN'T BE DONE, EH?" SAID FLINT

HE GATHERED HER UP AS THOUGH SHE HAD BEEN A CHILD

AIMING AT THE BASE OF THE SKULL SHE STRUCK

THE SPY'S BODY BURST INTO A SHEAF OF FIRE

HIS FINGERS LOST THEIR HOLD--HE DROPPED LIKE A PLUMMET

THE AIR TRUST

CHAPTER I.

THE BIRTH OF AN IDEA.

Sunk far back in the huge leather cushions of his morris chair, old
Isaac Flint was thinking, thinking hard. Between narrowed lids, his
hard, gray eyes were blinking at the morning sunlight that poured into
his private office, high up in the great building he had reared on Wall
Street. From his thin lips now and then issued a coil of smoke from