d then under the corner of the reek the Norwood stage. On
Blackheath no aeroplane had landed but an aeropile lay upon the guides.
Norwood was covered by a swarm of little figures running to and fro in a
passionate confusion. Why? Abruptly he understood. The stubborn
defence of the flying stages was over, the people were pouring into the
under-ways of these last strongholds of Ostrog's usurpation. And then,
from far away on the northern border of the city, full of glorious
import to him, came a sound, a signal, a note of triumph, the leaden
thud of a gun. His lips fell apart, his face was disturbed with emotion.

He drew an immense breath. "They win," he shouted to the empty air; "the
people win!" The sound of a second gun came like an answer. And then he
saw the aeropile on Blackheath was running down its guides to launch.
It lifted clean and rose. It shot up into the air, driving straight
southward and away from him.

In an instant it came to him what this meant. It must needs be Ostrog
in flight. He shouted and dropped towards it. He had the momentum of
his elevation and fell slanting down the air and very swiftly. It rose
steeply at his approach. He allowed for its velocity and drove straight
upon it.

It suddenly became a mere flat edge, and behold! he was past it, and
driving headlong down with all the force of his futile blow.

He was furiously angry. He reeled the engine back along its shaft and
went circling up. He saw Ostrog's machine beating up a spiral before
him. He rose straight towards it, won above it by virtue of the impetus
of his swoop and by the advantage and weight of a man. He dropped
headlong--dropped and missed again! As he rushed past he saw the face of
Ostrog's aeronaut confident and cool and in Ostrog's attitude a wincing
resolution. Ostrog was looking steadfastly away from him--to the south.
He realized with a gleam of wrath how bungling his flight must be. Below
he saw the Croyden hills. He jerked upward and once more he gained on
his enemy.

He glanced over his shoulder and his attention was arrested by a strange
thing. The eastward stage, the one on Shooter's Hill, appeared to lift;
a flash changing to a tall grey shape, a cowled figure of smoke and
dust, jerked into the air. For a moment this cowled figure stood
motionless, dropping huge masses of metal from its shoulders, and then
it began to uncoil a dense head of smoke. The people had blown it up,
aeroplane and all! As suddenly a s