They came at last to the crest of the ledge hanging over the spot where the jet plane rested on the rock beside the sea. Since the surface of the ledge sloped, it was possible for them to remain some thirty feet from the brink of the hundred-foot drop and still see the plane.

Jack would have walked to the brink of the cliff for a clearer view, but Mary pulled him back.

“Wait!” she whispered. “It is still light. If that man is down there he may see you. You’d stand out against the sky. Sit down here. We’ll watch to see if anything moves down there. There’s a steep path round this ledge. We can reach the jet plane in two minutes.” She pulled him to a seat beside her.

“There’s no one down there,” Jack said in a low voice after half a minute of silence. “This is my chance. We might as well go down.”

“No! Wait!” the girl insisted.
201

A minute passed—two—three minutes. Jack was restless. Darkness was throwing thin shadows over the plane, half hiding it.

He rose and walked almost to the brink of the cliff and stood there staring down.

“There’s no one,” he called softly without turning. “We’ll go down.”

At that instant a bulky figure shot past the girl and straight at Jack. Only the girl’s quick, piercing scream saved the young flier. Turning quickly, Jack threw out his arms to meet the man head on and to bring him crashing to earth close to the brink.

Realizing his perilous position, Jack fought desperately. He was no mean fighter.

His opponent was larger and older than he and slower in his movements. The battle raged over the surface of the cliff. Now they were close to the ledge, now away. Now Jack was up, and now down again. This man was a beast. Once he bit Jack’s finger to the bone. He tried to knock him senseless by banging his head on the rocks. Jack’s head was hard, but this beating made him groggy.

It was then that the big man snatched a knife from its sheath to kill Jack. His hand was up. The end appeared certain now. But suddenly something hard crashed against that upraised arm. The knife rang as it hit the rocks.
202

The stout hardwood club swung by the plucky girl—that for the moment had saved Jack’s life—did not stop with the knife. It came crashing down on the German’s head.

Stunned, the big fellow staggered to his feet, made a lunge at Mary, and lost his balance. He fell to the rocky surface and started to roll slowly down the slope. Ten seconds later he had disappeared over the edge of the cliff.

“Wha—what happened?” Jack rose groggily.

“No ma—matter what happened.” The girl was a bit shaky. “Come on back and sit down.”

“Wh—where is he?” Jack stammered.

“He’s gone for good. Come on,” she urged.

They returned to the shadows. Having regained his vantage point, Jack rubbed his battered head. “I must have practically gone out,” he murmured. “What happened to that Nazi?”

“Plenty!” said Mary. “But nothing he did not deserve. Besides, this is war, and war is—”

“No picnic.” Jack was himself again.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

He stood up, balanced himself for a moment, then went through the motions of skipping a rope.

“You’ll do.” She sprang to her feet. “We haven’t a moment to lose. Come on!”
203

Jack followed her over the steep, uncertain trail. Since she was barefoot, native style, her feet appeared to cling to the rocks. From time to time she gripped his hands to whisper, “This is a bad spot.”

And then they were on the level rock, racing for the plane.

“Are you sure?” Jack hesitated with his hand on the jet plane.

“Yes, sure!” she whispered. “He fell too far. Couldn’t possibly bother us now. I’ll send the natives to look him up later. But now, please hurry!”

She joined him in climbing to the plane&rsquo............