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.
