The Master's right hand closed firmly on Leclair's. The Master's other
hand went out and gripped him by the shoulder.

To his feet sprang the Frenchman. Though still shaken and trembling,
he drew himself erect. His right hand loosened itself from the
Master's; it went to his aviator's helmet in a sharp salute.

"_J'y suis! J'y reste!_" cried he. "_Mon capitaine!_"

The day passed uneventfully, at high altitudes, steadily rushing
into the eye of the East. In the stillness and solitude of the upper
air-lanes, _Nissr_ roared onward, invincibly, with sun and sky above,
with shining clouds piled below in swiftly retreating masses that spun
away to westward.

Far below, sea-storm and rain battled over the Atlantic. Upborne on
the wings of the eastward-setting wind, _Nissr_ felt nothing of such
trivialities. Twice or thrice, gaps in the cloud-veil let dim ocean
appear to the watchers in the glass observation pits; and once
they spied a laboring speck on the waters--a great passenger-liner,
worrying toward New York in heavy weather. The doings of such, and of
the world below, seemed trivial to the Legionaries as follies of dazed
insects.

No further attack was made on _Nissr_, nor was anything seen of any
other air-squadron of International Police. The wireless picked up,
however, a cross-fire of dazed, uncomprehending messages being hurled
east and west, north and south--messages of consternation, doubt,
anger.