"Stop! Stop!" cried the official.
"Here we go, Ned!" yelled Tom, and turning on more power the Falcon
arose swiftly, before the very eyes of the angry governor, and his staff
of Cossack soldiers.
Up and up she went, faster and faster, the motors working well on the
kerosene. Higher and higher. The governor and his soldiers were directly
below her now.
"Stop! Stop! You must stop. The Imperial governor orders it!" yelled the
officer, evidently his Excellency's aide-de-camp.
"We can't hear you!" shouted Tom, waving his hand from the motor room
window, and then, turning on still more power he flew over the city,
taking his friends and the valuable supply of platinum with him. So
surprised were the soldiers that they did not fire a shot, but had they
done so it is doubtful if much damage could have been done.
"And now for home!" cried Tom, and homeward hound the Falcon was after a
perilous trip through two storms. But she weathered them well.
In due season they reached Paris again, and now, having no reason for
concealment, they flew boldly down, to change what remained of the
kerosene for gasolene, as the motor worked better on that. The secret
police learned that the exiles were aboard, but they could do nothing,
as the offenses were political ones, and so Tom kept his friends safe.
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