They had realized, too late, that it was not a bomb,
and that there was no immediate danger for them.
"Come on!" cried Tom. "Make for the airship! We've got to get the start
of them!"
Leading the way, he sprinted toward the road that led to the place where
the airship awaited them. He was followed by Mr. Damon and the
detective, who had Mr. Petrofsky between them.
"Are you all right?" Tom called back to the exile. "Are you hurt? Can
you run?"
"I'm all right," was the reassuring answer. "Go ahead; But they'll be
right after us."
"Maybe they'll stop when they see this," remarked the detective
significantly, and he held his revolver so that the rays of the
newly-risen moon glinted on it.
"Here they come!" cried Tom a moment later, as three figures, one after
the other, came around the corner of the house. They had not taken the
shorter route through the window, as had Mr. Petrofsky, and this gained
a little time for our friends.
"Stop! Hold on!" cried one of the guards in fairly good English. "That
is our prisoner."
"Not any more!" the young inventor yelled back. "He's ours now."
"Look out! They're going to shoot!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my
gunpowder! can't you stop them some way or other, Mr. Detective?"
"The only way is by firing first," answered Mr. Trivett, "and I don't
want to hurt them.
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