"Upper East Side--private party; I didn't want to do any business near home."

"That's right."

"How much is this machine worth?" asked Owen irrelevantly.

"Oh, six or seven hundred--it ain't new. Why?"

"If anything should happen to it, there wouldn't be any trouble, provided the bill was paid, would there?"

"I got an idea the owner would grab at $300 for this here buggy.

But why?"

"And if this automobile disappeared, vanished--no trace of it; you're sure there wouldn't be any investigation?" pursued Hicks.

"Yes--it would be all right, I tell you. But I want to know what your scheme is. How can you use this machine to get rid of Harry?

Tell me," Owen insisted.

"Never mind--yet. How do you make the course of the balloon now?"

"I guess she'll go over Quirksborough and then up between Hoxey and Brent."

"Then we can pa.s.s him at Quirksborough."

"How do you figure that?"

"He'll stop for gasoline. He hasn't got enough to go more than two miles beyond there. I saw that he hadn't when we set out."

"What do you want to pa.s.s him for? Why not let 'em both break their own merry little necks an' us pick 'em up an' do the weepin'

afterward? That's our music."

"You fool! Don't you think a balloon ever came down safe yet? Don't you know that young devil has got his head full of schemes to beat me out' again? I tell you we've got to make sure of this trick. We've got to get him."

Unconsciously Hicks brought the machine to a stop as both men strained their eyes at the balloon, now traversing a lower course more slowly.

They saw Pauline stand erect in the basket and lift the heavy anchor over the side.

Harry, going at terrific speed on the deserted road, saw the drop of the anchor with a thrill of hope. At least--even if it was useless in itself--it showed him that Pauline was brave and calm enough to use her wits. He waved again but there was no answering signal.

Suddenly the balloon itself was lost to sight from the road. At the lowering angle, drawn downward partly by the anchor and partly by the gradual loss of gas, it swung over the hills.

The road led between two hills. Beyond it curved to the east and north. As he reached the curve Harry was surprised that the balloon was not in sight. When after circling another hill Harry had still failed to pick it up he was alarmed as well as puzzled. The hills had muddled his senses of direction, but he knew that he was near the river again--back on the verge of the Palisades. This added to his fears.

There was but one thing to do, though--follow the road. He went on slowly.

Suddenly he uttered a cry and threw on full speed. Over the top of a high, jagged cliff, set like a rampart between two bastion knolls, he saw the upper half of the gas bag.

It veered and tossed in the wind like a tethered thing. The basket was invisible, but Harry knew that the anchor had caught on the cliff side.

As he neared it he discovered that what was a cliff on one side was the river wall on the other. He thanked heaven that the road led to the top of it. He turned the machine up the road, which threaded narrow ledges through growths of bramble and stunted trees.

He saw and turned sick in soul and body, for the pulling of the balloon held the basket almost inverted, and Pauline was not in the basket.

The anchor had doubled itself into rock or root far down the cliff side. From it the balloon dragged toward the river instead of toward the sh.o.r.e. The taut rope writhed fifty feet out from the top of the declivity.

To the edge of the cliff crawled Harry. He moved rapidly, but at the uttermost verge he paused and covered his eyes with his, hand.

At last he looked down.

To Pauline on her wild flight had come increasing calm. As she felt the balloon reaching lower levels--though it still soared high above the hills--she even allowed herself a little hope. Leaning over, she watched the shining blades of the anchor dance through the air.

Northeastward she could see the waves of the great river dancing. On the little anchor, hung her hope of life; in the water beyond the farthest cliff lay her final peril.

She had lost track of Harry and the other automobile long ago. She had given up all hope of aid from any living thing.

The balloon moved slowly above the palisade. The anchor dragged on the landward side of the knolls. These were sheer rock that the steel talons clawed in vain.

The balloon moved out over the river, then suddenly glided back. An eddy of breeze from the water had turned its course. The anchor dangled along the river wall of the precipice.

Pauline seized the rope. She alternately pulled and loosened it, trying to hook the anchor to tree or shrub. Suddenly she was flung forward--almost out of the basket. The balloon had stopped with a jerk. Hopefully, fearfully, she pulled in the rope. The anchor held.

The balloon was tugging and swaying wildly, but its tether did not break. She looked down at the ledge. Between her and that narrow footing the only thoroughfare was two hundred feet of swaying rope.

She pulled upon the rope again. She dropped two more of the heavy ballast bags over the side, and the bag shook and groaned upon its stays as it dragged the anchor deeper into the rock. She put her feet over the edge of the basket. With her hands clutching the rim, she lowered herself. Taking her hands from the basket and grasping the rope, she started down.

The raw hemp tore her hands. The fearful strain upon her arms made her sick and faint. Only desperation nerved her after the first ten yards. The wrenching of the balloon whirled and jostled her. At first, holding only by her hands, she was flung out from the aft halyard like a flag. Then instinct told her to wrap her feet around it and she trembled on. She looked down once, saw the far swaying river, and looked quickly up again. It was not until her groping feet touched the rock of the ledge that she opened her eyes again. At the top of a slender rope whirled and veered and battled a balloon with an empty basket. The sound of creaking ropes mingled in her ears with the chugging of a motor car. The chugging seemed a long way off, but its noise seemed to make her dizzy. She sank in a dead faint upon the narrow ledge beside the hooked anchor.

"Pauline! Pauline! It's I--Harry. Can't you hear me? Pauline!"

There came no sound in answer--only the creaking of the balloon rope in the air, the rasping of the anchor fluke upon the stone.

He sprang up and back to the motor and began throwing out the robes, blankets, tools and chains. He laid a blanket on the ground and began to slash it into strips with his pocket knife. In the ends of the strips he cut slits and linked the slits with the chains to form a rope. He paused only once in his frantic labor. That was when he rushed back to the edge of the cliff to look again and call again-in vain. He fastened the chain at the end of his strange line to a sapling growing some ten feet back of the verge and with a throb of relief saw the other end drop to within a few feet of the unconscious girl. He tested the strength of the cable by pulling on it with all his might. It did not give. He put himself over the cliff side and began the descent.

Owen and Hicks had not only lost the balloon, but had lost Harry, too.

They could follow him only by the deep cut tracks of his flying car, and these were as likely to be over marshes and fields as on the highway.

More than once Hicks urged that they turn back.

"We can't do no good," he argued. "If they ain't dead they ain't-- that's all."

"I've got to be sure," muttered Owen.

The little runabout had a hard fight to climb the cliff that Harry's big car had taken so easily. But as they came through the grove into view of the balloon and the empty basket the two felt amply rewarded for their worry and trouble and toil.

"By George, it has happened. It's done!" cried Owen. No artist gazing on a finished masterpiece, no conqueror thanking the fates for victory could have spoken with more triumphant fervor.

But Hicks was out of the machine and running to Harry's car. He saw the shreds of the blankets; he saw the knife; finally he caught a glimpse of the chain that was fastened to the sapling.

"Don't be so sure," grumbled Hicks. "Come on--but come quiet."

He got down on his hands and knees and crawled to the edge of the cliff. Owen followed him. Together they drew back with gasps of surprise and anger.