“They speeded her up as soon as they saw what was on!” cried Tom.  “But we haven’t begun to go yet!”

He signalled to Mr. Damon, who pulled over the accelerating lever and instantly the Falcon responded.  Now indeed the race was on in earnest.  The smugglers must have understood this, for they tried all their tactics to throw the pursuing airship off the track.  They dodged and twisted, now going up, and now going down, and even trying to turn back, but Tom headed them off.  Ever the great beam of light shone relentlessly on them, like some avenging eye.  They could not escape.

“Are we gaining?” cried Mr. Whitford.

“A little, and slowly,” answered Tom.  “They have a bigger load on than when we chased them before, but still they have a speed almost equal to ours.  They must have a magnificent motor.”

Faster and faster sped on the Falcon.  The other craft kept ahead of her, however, though Tom could see that, inch by inch, he was overhauling her.

“Where do they seem to be heading for?” asked the government agent.

“Shopton, as near as I can make out,” replied the youth.  “They probably want to get there ahead of us, and hide the goods.  I must prevent that.  Mr. Damon is steering better than he ever did before.”

Tom shifted the light to keep track of the smugglers, who had dipped downward on a steep slant.  Then they shot upward, but the Falcon was after them.

The hours of the night passed.  The chase was kept up.  Try as the smugglers did, they could not shake Tom off.  Nearer and nearer he crept.  There was the gray dawn of morning in the sky, and Tom knew, from the great speed they had traveled that they must be near Shopton.

“They’re slowing up.  Tom!” suddenly cried Mr. Whitford who was watching them through an open port.

“Yes, I guess they must have heated some of their bearings.  Well, here’s where I capture them, if it’s ever to be.  Koku, let down the grappling anchor.”

“Are you really going to capture them, Tom?” asked the custom officer.

“I’m going to try,” was the answer, as Koku came back to say that the anchor was dragging over the stern by a long rope.

“You work the light, Mr. Whitford,” cried Tom.  “I’m going to relieve Mr. Damon in the pilot house.  He can help you here.  It will be all over in another minute.”

In the pilot house Tom grasped the steering levers.  Then in a final burst of speed he sent his craft above, and past that of the smugglers.

Suddenly he felt a shock.  It was the grappling anchor catching in the rail of the other air craft.  A shout of dismay arose from the smugglers.

“You’ve got ’em!  You’ve got ’em, Tom!” yelled Mr. Whitford.

“Bless my hasty pudding!  So he has!” gasped Mr. Damon.

Changing the course of his craft Tom sent the Falcon toward the earth, pulling the other aeroplane with him.  Down and down he went, and the frantic efforts of the smugglers to release themselves were useless.  They were pulled along by the powerful airship of our hero.