Almost at point-blank range, howling maledictions, he hurled a murderous fusillade at the Master of the now swiftly falling Eagle of the Sky.

CHAPTER XVIII

“CAPTAIN ALDEN” MAKES GOOD

The crash of shattered glass mingled with the volley flung by the murderously spitting automatic of the stowaway.  From the forward companion, at the top of the ladder, “Captain Alden” fired—­one shot only.

No second shot was needed.  For the attacker, grunting, lunged forward, fell prone, sprawled on the down-slanting plates of the take-off platform.  His pistol skidded away, clattering, over the buffed metal.

“As neat a shot as the other’s was bad,” calmly remarked the Master, brushing from his sleeve some glittering splinters of glass.  A lurch of Nissr threw him against the rail.  He had to steady himself there, a moment.  Down his cheek, a trickle of blood serpented.  “Yes, rather neat,” he approved.

He felt something warm on his face, put up his hand and inspected red fingers.

“Hm!  A sliver from that broken shield must have cut me,” said he, and dismissed it wholly from his mind.

Major Bohannan, with chromatic profanity, ran from the gallery.  “Captain Alden” drew herself up the top rounds of the ladder, emerged wholly from the companion and likewise started for the wounded interloper.  Both, as they ran aft toward the fallen man, zigzagged with the pitch and yaw of the stricken airship, slipped on the plates, staggered up the incline.

And others, from the aft companion, now came running with cries, their bodies backgrounded by the leaping flames and smoke that formed a wake behind the wounded Eagle of the Sky.

Before the major and Alden could reach the stowaway, he rallied.  Up to hands and knees he struggled.  He dragged himself away to starboard.  Trailing blood, he scrambled to the rail.

The major snatched his revolver from its holster.  Up came the “Captain’s” gun, once more.

“No, no!” the Master shouted, stung into sudden activity.  “Not that!  Alive—­take him alive!”

The stowaway’s answer was a laugh of wild derision; a hideous, shrill, tremulous laugh that rose in a kind of devilish, mockery on the air of that high level.  For just a second the man hung there, swaying, at the rail.  Beyond him, up the tilt of the falling Nissr, brighter flames whipped back.  Came a burst of smoke, another concussion, a shuddering impact that trembled through the whole vast air-liner.  White-hot fire ribboned back and away, shredded into little, whirling gusts of incandescence that dissolved in black smoke.

“Take me alive, eh?” the stowaway shouted, madly.  “Ha-ha!  I see you!  You’re all dead men, anyhow!  I’ll go first—­show you I’m not afraid!”

With astonishing agility he leaped.  Hands on rail, with a last supreme burst of the energy that innervated his dying body, he vaulted clear.  Out and away he hurled himself.  Emptiness of space gathered him to its dizzy, vacant horror.