“What else are we, my dear fellow?” the Master queried.  “To seize a ship—­a water-ship or one of the air matters nothing—­and to overpower the crew, kill or wound a few, throw them outboard and sail away, comes pretty near constituting piracy.  Of course the air-rules and laws aren’t wholly settled yet; but we’re in a fair way of giving the big-wigs a whacking precedent to govern the future.  I fancy a good many cases will be judged as per the outcome of this expedition.

“We’re pirates all right—­if they catch us.  And they will catch us if they get within gunshot.  The next few minutes will settle that question of whether they’re going to, or not!”

“Nice, comforting prospect!” muttered the Celt.  “What do they do with pirates, anyhow, these days?  They can’t hang us at the yard-arm, because airships don’t have ’em.  Of course they might stage a hanging-bee with this Legion dangling from the wings, but that would be pretty hard to manage.  It’ll be shooting, eh?”

“Probably, if my neutralizer fails.”

“You’re cheerful about it!  The neutralizer may be all right, in its way, but personally I’m rather strong for these!” He laid a hand on the breech of the Lewis machine-gun mounted in the gallery, its grim muzzle pointed out through a slit in the colloid screen.  “The six guns we’ve got aboard, in strategic positions, look like good medicine to me!  Wouldn’t it be the correct thing to call the gun-crews and limber up a little?  These chaps aren’t going to be all day in getting here, and when they do—­”

“I admire your spirit, Major,” interrupted the other, with undertones of mockery, “but it’s of the quality that, after all, can’t accomplish anything.  It’s the kind that goes against artillery with rifles.  Six guns against perhaps six hundred—­and we’re not built for rapid maneuvering.  That swarm could sting us a thousand times while we were giving them the first round.  No, no, there’s nothing for it now, but the neutralizer!”

“My will is made, anyhow,” growled Bohannan.  “Faith, I’m glad it is!”

The Master gave no reply, but took from the rail the little phone that hung there, and pressed a button, four times.  He cupped the receiver at his ear.

“You, Enemark?” asked he, of the man at the neutralizer far down in the penetralia of the giant air-liner.  “Throw in the first control.  Half-voltage, for three minutes.  Then three-quarters, for two; and then full, with all controls.  Understand?”

“Yes, sir!” came the crisp voice of Enemark.  “Perfectly!”

The Master hung up the receiver, and for a moment stood brooding.  An intruding thought had once more forced itself into his brain—­a thought of “Captain Alden.”  In case of capture or destruction, what of the woman?  Something very like a pang of human emotion pierced his heart.  Impatiently he thrust the thought aside, and turned with a quiet smile to Bohannan.