"TWENTY minutes," repeated Gerald blankly. "Why, she's half a dozen ballonettes useless."
"Quite so," assented the captain. "Fortunately they are all in the lowermost tier. We can make use of the emergency compartments. Now, Dacres, will you see about making ready to slip the moorings?"
Quickly the "Repulse's" lieutenant and his men boarded their cutter, taking with them the Valderian prisoners. Since Whittinghame was not under the orders of Rear-Admiral Maynebrace he did not have to request "permission to part company"; but he paid the Admiral the compliment, sending the message by the lieutenant.
Within a few minutes of that officer's return to the flagship the "Repulse" signalled, "Wish you success."
The "Meteor" rose slowly to a height of three hundred feet. Even then the whole of the ultra-hydrogen at Whittinghame's disposal had to be brought into play. The airship possessed sufficient gas barely to counteract the attraction of gravity. To increase the altitude she would have to depend solely upon her elevating planes unless some of the stores could be ruthlessly sacrificed, for there was no ballast available.
At quarter speed the "Meteor" passed immediately over the flagship's masts, dipped her ensign, then circling, bore away northward for the Peruvian coast.
"It's getting serious," declared Captain Whittinghame to Dacres. "The supply of ultra-hydrogen is less than I thought. We'll stick to it and attempt to run Durango's new craft down. After that the best thing we can do is to make for Jamaica, and wait there until we get a fresh consignment of ultra-hydrogen from home."
"There's a leakage somewhere," said the sub.
"Yes, unfortunately. Still, it is not to be wondered at, after what the 'Meteor' has gone through. No doubt our hurried repairs after the scrap with the 'Libertad' were not carried out so carefully as we could have wished."
"And the motors, sir?"
"Thank goodness they are good for another twenty thousand miles, if necessary. One couldn't hope for a more economical fuel than cordite."
"I suppose we could, if necessary, rest on the surface of the sea and carry on under power?"
"We could, provided the water were sufficiently calm. All the same, Dacres, I don't want to have to do it. The air is my sphere, my lad. Ha! we're approaching Nazca, I can see. Keep a good look out in case we spot this flying boat arrangement. I'm rather curious to see what it is like."
"But if Durango hasn't started yet and spots the 'Meteor' approaching? He'll give us the slip."
"He cannot go far without being noticed in a strange country," replied Vaughan Whittinghame cheerfully. "We have an extradition treaty with Peru, you know."
"He may disguise himself."
"More than likely; but to what end? Had he made for a large city like Lima or even Callao he might escape notice. But in a little place like Nazca, why, he's playing into our hands."
Both men remained silent for a few moments, then Dacres blurted out:—
"It is awfully good of you, sir, to make it all right at the Admiralty for me."
"Nonsense!" protested Captain Whittinghame. "I knew you'd be pleased. One can generally take it for granted that when a young fellow cuts off his nose to spite his face he's genuinely sorry for it, even though he won't admit it. Now, honestly, weren't you jolly sick about having to leave the 'Royal Oak'?"
"I'm very glad I joined the 'Meteor,' sir."
"That's no answer to my question, Dacres."
"Well, then, I don't mind having to leave the 'Royal Oak,' but I'm awfully pleased to find that I am still an officer of the Royal Navy."
"Then, I wasn't far out in my estimation, Dacres. All's well that ends well, you know."
"It hasn't ended yet," rejoined the sub, pointing to the land, which was now only a mile off. "Now for Durango."
Captain Whittinghame telegraphed for the propellers to be stopped. Slowly the "Meteor" descended, alighting on the south side of the town of Nazca.
Practically all the inhabitants, preceded by the alcalde, came out to see the unwonted sight of a huge airship flying the British colours, the mayor tendering the hospitality of Nazca to the visitors during their stay.
"We do not remain long, señor alcalde," replied Gerald Whittinghame. "We are in pursuit of an outlaw, one Reno Durango, who has fled from Valderia. We heard, on good authority, that he came hither."
"All strangers arriving at Nazca are known to us, señor," said the portly alcalde. "No one of that name has set foot in our town."
Gerald Whittinghame showed no sign of disappointment at the information. It was as he had expected.
"I believe, señor," he remarked, "that you have an inventor who has built a kind of boat that is capable of flying?"
"Ah, yes," replied the alcalde. "Then you, too, are anxious to purchase the boat? I fear you are too late, for an English milord has just taken her away."
"I think I know the gentleman," said Gerald. "Would you mind describing him to me?"
The mayor's description left no doubt as to the identity of the supposed English "milord." Durango had forestalled them.
"Ask the alcalde if the inventor of the boat is present," suggested Vaughan, after his brother had explained the conversation.
"Here he is, Señor Jaurez is his name," announced the mayor, indicating an alert little Peruvian, who was paying more attention to the visible details of the "Meteor" than to the conversation between the chief magistrate of Nazca and the officers of the airship.
Señor Jaurez elbowed his way through the crowd. His face was beaming in anticipation of booking another order.
"What is the radius of action of your flying-boat, señor?" asked Gerald, prompted by his brother.
"A hundred leagues, señors; that is without replenishing the petrol-tanks. I could, of course, construct another boat with twice or even thrice the capacity. Perhaps your worships would like to pay a visit to my hacienda?"
"We regret, señor," replied Whittinghame, not to be outdone in courtesy, "that such a course is at present impossible. Might we ask what is the speed of your flying boat?"
The Peruvian explained that under favourable conditions a rate equivalent to eighty-five miles per hour was possible.
"We'll overtake his craft in three hours, then," said Vaughan to his brother. "Now, let us bid farewell to Nazca."
The "Meteor" resumed her quest. Durango's destination was unknown. He had gone in a northerly direction, and since it was very unlikely that he would take overland a craft designed to alight upon the sea, it was reasonable to conclude that he would attempt a landing in Equador or Columbia, seeing that, now his identity was established, he dare not seek refuge in Peruvian territory.
Flying at her greatest speed the "Meteor" skirted the coast line. Every little harbour and creek capable of affording refuge to the winged boat—which by reason of its two forty-feet planes was very conspicuous—were carefully swept by the aid of binoculars. At Truxillo the airship brought up to hail a Peruvian man-of-war lying in the harbour. The officer of the watch replied that a hydro-aeroplane had passed overhead less than an hour previously, bound north. The motors, he added, were apparently giving trouble.
"Good! We're gaining rapidly!" ejaculated Captain Whittinghame. "I hope to goodness we pick the fellow up before dark, or he may give us the slip—but only for a time. As long as the 'Meteor' is capable of keeping the air I will continue the pursuit."
Two hours later the "Meteor" was above the small town of Mancora. Ahead lay the broad expanse of the deep indentation of the Gulf of Guayaquil—practically the only large break in the coastline on the Pacific coast between Corcovado Gulf in Southern Chile and the Bay of Panama. The question was: had Durango crossed it, or had he skirted the shore? By adopting either course he would quickly reach Equadorean territory, where he would be able to land without fear of arrest.
"We will make inquiries; it will save time," declared Whittinghame, as he telegraphed for the propellers to be stopped.
Descending to within fifty feet of the plaza the "Meteor" hung motionless in the air. Gerald Whittinghame promptly hailed the throng of spectators. A hundred voices shouted in reply, while a hundred hands pointed in a northerly direction; but not a word was intelligible to the crew. Whittinghame tried again, only to be greeted by a chorus that conveyed no information to the anxious members of the "Meteor's" crew.
"Evidently he's gone straight across the gulf," declared Vaughan. "We'll carry on. We are only wasting precious time."
"One moment," protested his brother. "Here, take hold of this rope and let me down. I'll soon find out."
Four of the crew paid out the rope, and Gerald, turning like a joint on a meat-jack, was lowered to earth. Instantly he was surrounded by a mob of ever curious townsfolk all pointing, shouting, and pushing each other with the utmost vehemence. The airship, drifting slowly in the faint breeze, carried Gerald along the ground, and the crowd moved too.
"Hurry up!" shouted Vaughan. "You'll be jammed up against the wall of that building in half a minute."
"Haul away, then," bawled his brother in reply, at the same time throwing his arms round one of the most loquacious of his attentive audience.
The man struggled, but unavailingly. His companions, too astounded to come to his aid, watched him being taken up in the iron grip of the Englishman. Then, realizing that should he break away there would be an ever-increasing drop that would end fatally to him, the Peruvian changed his tactics and clung with desperation to his captor.
"We will not hurt you, señor," said Gerald reassuringly, as the two men were hauled into safety within the "Meteor." "We merely want information, and then we will land you in safety. Here is a five dollar piece for you."
"What information do you want, señor?" asked the Peruvian, after testing the coin betwixt his teeth. The gold reassured him. Had his life or liberty been in danger he would not have been treated in this lavish fashion.
"The boat that flies, señor?" he repeated. "Madre!of course I have seen her. Did not all of us say so?"
"But we could not understand: you were all shouting together. Now, where did you see that flying-boat?"
"Señor, she came down just outside the town not an hour ago. There were three men in her. Two were Valderians. Their master was not. He bought petrol: four cans of it. He poured the petrol into a metal flask in the boat and went on his way, over yonder," and the Peruvian pointed due north.
With the utmost celerity the fellow was lowered to his native soil, and again the "Meteor" darted ahead. Every man was now keenly on the alert. All depended upon Durango's craft being sighted before the sun dipped behind the waters of the Pacific. Only forty minutes' of daylight remained.
"Land right ahead, sir," reported one of the crew.
"That's St. Helena Point, then," declared Captain Whittinghame. "We've done a hundred miles in an hour and ten minutes. Nothing much wrong with the motors as far as we are concerned."
The next instant he devoutedly wished he hadn't spoken in this strain, for with a terrific crash one of the blades of the foremost port propeller became detached from the boss. Sheering through the aluminium cylinder protecting the double propellers, it ripped the metal to such an extent that a long strip of wreckage caught the remaining blade, snapping it off close to the base. The motor raced furiously until Parsons, knowing that something was amiss, promptly cut off the detonator.
"That's done it!" ejaculated Vaughan Whittinghame disgustedly. "That is the result of boasting."
"Repairable?" asked Dr. Hambrough.
"Yes, but not now. We can't afford to bring up for repairs. How's the steering, quartermaster?"
"Rather hard on her helm, sir," replied that worthy. "She wants to come round to port, sir."
"I thought so," rejoined the Captain. "That's caused by the unequal drive of the starboard engines. We must carry on and risk the consequences."
He glanced at the speed indicator. The "Meteor" was still travelling through the air at one hundred and twenty miles an hour.
"We're gaining thirty at least on that villain," continued Vaughan. For the time being he appeared to give slight attention to the damage done to his beloved airship. His whole thoughts were centred upon the pursuit of Durango.
Only ten more minutes to sunset.
"Get the two bow searchlights connected up," ordered the Captain. "See that new carbons are used. It will be like chasing a mouse by candlelight, but we——"
"There she is, sir!" interrupted Callaghan excitedly.
"Where?" asked Whittinghame, rushing to one of the scuttles on the port bow, and following the direction of the Irishman's outstretched arm. "You're right, Callaghan. Hurrah! We've overtaken her."
Such indeed was the case. Evidently Durango had gone a couple of points out of his course in the dash across the mouth of the Gulf of Guayaquil. Consequently, although the crew of the "Meteor" were unaware of it until a few moments previously, the airship had drawn level with her quarry, but on a divergent course; while—another point in her favour—she was between the flying-boat and the shores of Equador.
"Starboard your helm, quartermaster," ordered the Captain.
Round swung the "Meteor" till her bows pointed straight for the object of her pursuit. Durango and his two companions, ignorant of the fact that they were being followed, were possibly contemplating a welcome rest on neutral ground, when one of the Valderians caught sight of their arch-enemy bearing down upon them hand over fist.
The crew of the "Meteor" saw the Mexican literally push the helmsman aside and grip the steering-wheel. The aerial boat turned almost as rapidly as a racing yacht, and made, not for the coast, but due west towards the wide Pacific.
Down plunged the sun—a red orb in a ruddy sky. Night was about to fall upon the scene of the desperate race between the airship and her prey.
"WHERE's he making for?" asked the doctor.
Vaughan Whittinghame paid no apparent heed to the question. His eyes seemed riveted upon the small dark object against the crimson glow of the brief tropical sunset.
It was Dacres who answered Hambrough's query.
"I believe he's making a dash for the Galapagos Islands," he replied. "It's a matter of six hundred and fifty odd miles."
"If the fellow had any sense he would keep on doubling," said Gerald. "Quick as we are that craft can turn like a top. It would be like a hare dodging a hound."
"Don't send him any telepathic messages, Mr. Whittinghame," said the doctor. "The sooner we nab him the better. I am beginning to see what a London theatre looks like again."
"Now, if you were a kinematograph operator you'd make your fortune, doctor," remarked Setchell.
The Captain half turned his head. One glance was enough. The inconsequent conversation annoyed him. The rest of the officers promptly subsided.
"Switch on, there," he ordered curtly.
The two powerful beams shot out into the now fast gathering gloom. Both were focussed upon the fugitive. The flying-boat looked as if made of silver, floating motionless in the air, for the "Meteor's" speed had been reduced till the relative rates of the two craft were practically the same.
Had Captain Whittinghame wished he could have ordered the bow-gun to be manned, and the result would be a foregone conclusion. Owing to engine trouble Durango's craft was capable of travelling only at the comparatively slow rate of sixty miles an hour. At that speed the ordnance of the "Meteor" could be brought into action. But the captain of the airship, apart from his desire to recover the stolen plans, was averse to taking life unless absolutely necessary. He would pursue the Mexican until the latter, through sheer exhaustion or inability on the part of his craft to keep running, would be compelled to surrender.
Onwards and onwards tore the two craft, the huge airship in pursuit of the midget aerial boat. Durango made no attempt to double. It was his only chance, and for some unknown reason he failed to avail himself of his loophole of escape.
The two Whittinghames, Dacres, and the doctor remained in the lower fore observation room, their eyes fixed upon the apparently stationary object upon which the two searchlights played relentlessly. Not a word was spoken. The rapt attention of the watchers was centred upon their prey.
Presently Durango relinquished the steering-wheel, his place being taken by one of his Valderian companions. Stooping he drew a small leather bag from one of the lockers, opened it and produced a bundle of papers.
For a few moments he paused irresolutely, alternately looking at the tied-up parcel of documents and at the relentless Dreadnought of the Air. Then, standing up and steadying himself against the furious blast that whirled past the boat, he poised the packet.
A muttered ejaculation burst from Vaughan Whittinghame's lips. This, then, was to be the fate of the precious submarine plans, for such the documents undoubtedly were.
The Mexican was on the point of letting the packet fall when the second Valderian touched him on the shoulder and said something. Durango shook his head. Again the Valderian spoke, seemingly in remonstrance. Just then a vivid flash of lightning threw the boundless expanse of sea into strong relief.
A tropical storm was brewing. Although there was practically no wind and the sea was as smooth as glass it was quite evident that the "Meteor" and her prey were heading towards the storm-centre. A glance at the barometer showed Dacres that, allowing for the difference in altitude when the instrument was last set, the mercury had dropped nearly three-quarters of an inch in two hours.
Suddenly the helmsman of the flying-boat put the vertical rudder hard over. Round spun the craft like a top, tilting to a dangerous angle as she did so. The unexpected movement took Durango by surprise, and unable to retain his balance he sprawled ignominiously upon the floor-boards. The precious plans slipped from his grasp.
As the fugitive boat swerved from her former course the quartermaster, running the port searchlight of the "Meteor," promptly swung the giant beam in the hope of following the elusive craft. The effort was in vain. The object of the chase darted out of the path of brilliant light and was instantly swallowed up in the darkness.
"After searchlights, there!" ordered Captain Whittinghame on the telephone. "Switch on and try to pick up the flying boat."
At the same time the "Meteor's" vertical rudders were put hard over, while the remaining propellers on the port side were set astern to assist in the more rapid manoeuvring of the airship.
Four searchlights swept the air in all directions. Yet although it seemed impossible that any object floating in space within the limits of the beams could escape detection there were no signs of the craft containing Durango and his two companions.
"Perhaps, sir, she crumpled her planes when she turned," suggested Dacres.
"Quite possible," assented Captain Whittinghame. "In that case she has a drop of nearly eight thousand feet before she hits the surface of the sea."
"Then, it will be useless to expect to recover the plans," said Dr. Hambrough.
"It does not matter so long as we know they are destroyed," replied Vaughan Whittinghame. "The Admiralty have others: the danger was that there was a possibility of this set getting into the hands of a foreign power. Provided——"
His remarks were cut short by a vivid flash of lightning that seemed to envelop completely the now practically stationary airship. Almost simultaneously came an ear-splitting detonation. The whole fabric of the Dreadnought of the Air seemed to quiver.
Dacres, Hambrough, and Gerald Whittinghame looked at each other. They fully expected to find the "Meteor" rent amidships, falling with an ever-increasing rapidity into the sea.
The Captain was the only man who seemed to ignore the sublime and appalling atmospheric conditions.
"Keep a look-out!" he exclaimed; "you're missing our only chance."
Flash succeeded flash with the utmost frequency. The "Meteor" was evidently between two huge stores of electricity, for the clouds were not releasing their super-charges to earth. The airship's best chance of safety was to descend to within a few hundred feet of the sea.
Three ballonettes only were required to be emptied to allow the "Meteor" to drop rapidly, until the air, growing denser as she descended, her vertical course would be automatically retarded and eventually stopped.
The seaward plunge was awe-inspiring. The airship was passing through a bank of clouds so dense that even the powerful searchlights were as useless as candle lamps in a heavy London fog. Yet at about every ten seconds the veil of pitch dark vapour was pierced by flashes of lightning that left the crew blinking like owls suddenly transported from the depths of a lightless cave to the dazzling brilliance of the noonday sun.
Four thousand feet. The "Meteor" was still enveloped in clouds, but to add to the terrors of the situation fierce whirlwinds were assailing her on all sides. In spite of her non-rigidity the unprecedented strain to which she was subjected threatened to break her asunder amidships.
The Dreadnought of the Air was now utterly out of control. At one moment her bows were pointing upwards at an angle of forty-five degrees and to the horizontal. At another she was plunging obliquely with her nose downwards. She rolled like a barrel, and strained and writhed like a human being in torment.
Elevating planes and vertical rudders were alike useless. The only chance of escape was to drop vertically.
Staggering to the engine-room indicators the Captain ordered the motors to be switched off Now the motion was slightly less erratic. Hailstones the size of pigeons' eggs were falling upon her aluminium deck—not with the metallic clang that characterizes their fall on the land, but with comparative lightness, for the airship was still within a few hundred feet of the cloud in which the frozen rain-drops were generated.
Two thousand feet. The "Meteor" was now regaining her normal stability. Her seaward descent was momentarily becoming slower. She had emerged from the rain-cloud, and although the lightning still played, the danger seemed to have passed.
Something had to be done to save the airship from violently alighting upon the water. Her present rate of retardation was insufficient.
"Telegraph for half speed ahead," ordered Captain Whittinghame. "Trim the forward elevating planes there, doctor."
Back came the startling information from both the fore and after motor-rooms: the ignition had failed.
"Short circuit somewhere," muttered the Captain. "I'm not surprised. Recharge those three ballonettes, Dacres."
A thousand feet. With a succession of sharp hisses the ultra-hydrogen escaped from the cylinder in which it had been stored under pressure and re-entered the ballonettes. The crew could feel the sudden check to the downward plunge, but in spite of the additional gas the "Meteor" was still falling.
The four searchlights were still running: two practically parallel beams showing ahead and two astern. In the after motor-room—whence were actuated the still intact propellers—Parsons was hard at work trying to locate the source of the mischief. Could these motors be started in time the attraction due to gravity would yet be overcome.
Suddenly Gerald Whittinghame gave a shout and pointed towards the starboard observation scuttle. Dacres was just in time to see an object falling—falling with extraordinary irregularity. It was Durango's flying-boat. She was describing a succession of "loops," while her motors were still running.
In the path of the starboard searchlights' rays she appeared to check her downward course; then lurching ahead made straight for the bows of the "Meteor." Just as it seemed as if a collision were imminent the wrecked craft dipped and passed into Cimmerian darkness.
"He's done for, by Jove!"
"What's that?" asked Captain Whittinghame, who had heard his brother's exclamation but had failed to see the reason for it.
"Durango—smashed up," reported Dacres.
Vaughan Whittinghame made no audible remark. H e realized that the "Meteor" herself was in peril. In the face of impending disaster one is apt to banish thoughts of vengeance.
Two hundred feet. Dacres glanced at his watch and looked inquiringly at his chief.
"Well?" asked the Captain laconically.
"We're hardly falling, sir," said the sub. "Our downward course is being greatly retarded——"
"You're right, by Jove!" exclaimed Whittinghame. "All the same, I wish Parsons could get those motors to start."
His hopes were not to be realized for the present. With a barely perceptible jar the airship alighted on the surface of the Pacific. Her searchlights played upon an unruffled expanse of calm water. The storm had been confined to the upper strata of the atmosphere.
"Heave out the sea-anchor in case it comes on to blow," ordered Vaughan Whittinghame. "We're safe for the present. Mr. Dacres, will you please go on deck and obtain a stellar observation? It will be dawn in half an hour; but I would like to ascertain our position in case we drive ashore before daybreak."
The sub hurried to carry out his orders. It was a relief, after being cooped up in the confined atmosphere of the observation room of the heaving and pitching "Meteor," to breathe in the fresh night air.
The searchlights had now been switched off. The airship was floating motionless in a phosphorescent sea. Having taken the observation Dacres was about to go below and work out his position when a peculiar swirl in the water about a hundred yards to starboard attracted his attention.
"Surely that's not a reef?" he asked himself. "I wish I had my night-glasses."
Then came a quick succession of splashes. "Sharks—that's what it is. Or perhaps a swarm of threshers attacking a whale. A lively commotion! I'll go below and get my binoculars."
"Anything in sight?" asked Captain Whittinghame, noticing Dacres' haste.
"Something splashing, sir; I'm just going to get my binoculars."
The two men made their way to the upper deck. The sub pointed in the direction he had noticed the commotion, but all was now quiet. A careful examination of the spot by the powerful night-glasses revealed no sign of anything to account for the swirl of the water.
"Hark! What's that?" demanded Whittinghame.
"I heard nothing," replied Dacres.
"Could have sworn I heard a man's voice. Perhaps my senses are playing me a trick."
"It may be the breeze, sir," suggested the sub, as a catspaw ruffled the surface of the placid water.
"Of course. All the same, I'll have the searchlight trained on the place."
For quite ten minutes the beams swung slowly to and fro, but nothing could be seen beyond the ripples on the sea.
"There's a vessel approaching, sir," announced Dacres, who had been sweeping the horizon with his glasses. "I can just pick up her red and green lights. She's quite five miles off, I should think."
"She must have spotted our searchlight, and is altering her course to investigate. Pass the word for the searchlight to be switched off, Dacres. I don't think we need assistance, unless I'm very much mistaken about Parson's capabilities."
"There's quite a decent breeze, sir," commented Dacres as he prepared to descend the companion ladder. "We must be making a fair drift."
"Not with that sea-anchor out," said Whittinghame.
"I don't know about that, sir; you see, we're floating light. I'll work out our position, for I shouldn't be surprised if we are drifting down upon the Galapagos."
Captain Whittinghame remained on deck. He was pondering over the fate of his rival, Reno Durango, and wondering whether he could safely assert that the last of the tasks he had set out to perform had been satisfactorily accomplished. He had witnesses ready to affirm on oath that they had seen the Mexican's flying-boat being hurled to destruction. Could it unquestionably be taken for granted that the stolen plans of Submarine "M I" were no longer in existence to prove a menace to the admittedly superior construction and organization of the British submarine service?
The rapid approach of the coming day disturbed Vaughan Whittinghame's reveries.
The vessel whose navigation light Dacres had picked up had altered her course and was steaming quite two miles to windward of the practically helpless airship.
By the aid of his glasses the captain could see that she was a tramp of about eight hundred tons, and in ballast, for she rose high out of the water, while the tips of her propeller blades could be seen amid the smother of foam under her rudder-post. There was nothing about her to enable Whittinghame to determine her nationality. Her single funnel was painted a dull black without any colouring bands.
Even as he looked the tramp starboarded her helm. The dawn had likewise revealed to her sleepy watch on deck the presence of the disabled airship. She was on the point of steaming down in the hope of earning a salvage job.
"No use, my friend," quoth Vaughan.
The next moment he burst into a hearty laugh, for the tramp began to circle as if to resume her former course. The acceptance of his muttered advice to a vessel a mile and a half away tickled his sense of humour.
"Hulloa! What is the move now, I wonder?" he exclaimed. He might well evince curiosity, for instead of holding on to her former course, which was practically due north, the tramp was slowly turning due east. Even as he watched, Whittinghame could see that the cascade of foam under her rudder had vanished. She had stopped her engines.
Apparently the vessel was still carrying too much way, for again her propellers churned up the froth, this time for less than half a minute. Men were hanging over her port side and lowering ropes.
"Good heavens!" ejaculated Whittinghame aghast.
WHITTINGHAME could now see the reason for the manoeuvre. One of the derricks of the stumpy foremast was swung outboard. Her donkey-engine began to work, and from the sea, with the water pouring out of her, was hoisted the waterlogged flying-boat.
The plane on her port-side had completely vanished, and only a few fragments of her starboard one remained. Standing amidships and steadying themselves by the spars of the lifting tackle were three men—Reno Durango and his Valderian crew.
When the crippled craft was half-way up the side of the tramp the donkey-engine stopped. The captain of the vessel, leaning over the bridge rail, shouted to the three castaways. Durango replied, vigorously shaking his head and gesticulating wildly in the direction of the "Meteor."
Apparently his protests were unavailing, for he grasped a rope trailing from the tramp's rail and clambered on board. His companions followed suit.
The argument proceeded. Evidently the master of the cargo vessel wished to steam towards the airship, and to this suggestion Durango demurred strongly. After a while the wrecked flying-boat was lowered into the water again, and the lifting tackle cast off, the Mexican pointing towards the abandoned craft and talking volubly.
With a shrug of his shoulders the skipper walked to the centre of the bridge and telegraphed to the engine-room. The tramp's propeller began to revolve, and the lumbering vessel gathered way.
For some moments Durango stood as if in despair, then leaning over the bridge-rail shook his fist at the disabled airship.
Through his binoculars Captain Whittinghame saw his expression clearly. The rogue, despite his own troubles and obvious disappointment, was gloating over his rival's misfortunes.
Without saying a word to his comrades in the observation room, Vaughan Whittinghame went below and made his way to the after engine-room, where Parsons was found lying on his back with portions of the partly-stripped motor all around him.
"How long, now?" asked the Captain.
"A couple of hours, maybe, sir," replied the engineer.
"Can you manage in an hour? The after-motors will be sufficient."
"I'll try my best, sir," replied Parsons, unwilling to commit himself.
"Very good; carry on," rejoined his superior, and without another word he left the engineer to do his level best towards restoring the motors to a state of efficiency.
"We are sixty-four miles east a quarter north of the Galapagos, sir," announced Dacres.
"Thank you," replied Vaughan. "Just one minute, Mr. Dacres; will you please come on deck with me?"
The sub followed his chief. Whittinghame said nothing more until the two officers were out of earshot and on the deck of the water-borne airship.
"There's the vessel whose lights you picked up an hour ago, Dacres."
"Yes, sir; has she communicated?"
"She apparently meant to, but changed her mind. Do you see something floating about two and a half miles dead to windward of us?"
The sub brought his telescope to bear in the direction indicated. It took him some time to locate the object, as it was almost in the reflected glare of the early morning sun.
"I have it, sir," he said.
"What do you make of it?"
"Cannot say, sir. Wreckage of some sort."
"It is," added Whittinghame. "More, it is the wreck of the flying-boat, and that rascal Durango has eluded us again."
"Surely he didn't survive the fall?"
"He did. I saw him boarding yonder tramp. Now, this is what I want you to do: take a compass bearing of the wreckage, and observe the direction and rate of our drift. In an hour Parsons hopes to have the after-propellers working. We will then forge ahead and investigate Durango's flying-boat. Do not say a word to any of the others until after breakfast. I know them: they would throw aside any idea of food until we are fit to get under way; and, with all due respect to their zeal, I am no believer in a man working on an empty stomach."
In exactly forty-nine minutes from the time that the Captain left the motor-room, Parsons had the engines ready for work. The fault, once discovered, was easy to remedy.
"Gentlemen," began the Captain after the morning meal was over, "I have unpleasant news to announce; but I can rely upon your co-operation sufficiently to know that you will face it with your characteristic determination. Reno Durango is not only alive, but he is on board the vessel we saw approaching us just before dawn. Fortunately we are no longer in a totally crippled state. Although the supply of ultra-hydrogen is insufficient to lift the bulk of the 'Meteor' our after-motors are once more in working order. I propose, therefore, to bring the 'Meteor' up to the wreck of the flying-boat and investigate. We will then take a drastic step. We will pump all the remaining ultra-hydrogen in Nos. 2 and compartments into Nos. 1 and 5; abandon and scuttle the first two compartments I have mentioned, and resume the pursuit in a 'Meteor' that will be only two-fifths of the size of the one that left England only a few weeks ago. I mean to chase that rascal as long as there is sufficient buoyancy to keep us in the air and as long as an ounce of cordite remains to actuate the motors."
"Hear, hear!" exclaimed the doctor, as if he were at a medical students' smoking concert. The others present contented themselves by inclining their heads, but resolution was plainly visible on their bronzed features.
The "Meteor" was navigated from the upper deck, her course set according to Dacres' observations. Meanwhile, owing to the now steady breeze the airship had drifted nearly five miles from the scene of the disaster.
"There she is, sir," shouted the look-out man, "a point on the starboard bow."
Travelling at a modest ten knots the waterborne craft made straight for the flying-boat that was lying practically awash in the slight swell. Owing to her immense bulk and to the fact that she had little or no grip upon the water the airship was almost unmanageable. To run to leeward of the wreck was to court disaster, for the thin aluminium plates were especially liable to be stove in should they come in contact with the water-logged craft.
"I'll swim to her, sir," said Dacres. "If we bring the 'Meteor' bows on to the wreckage I can easily take a light line to her and make her fast. She will serve as a good sea-anchor while we make investigations."
"How about sharks?" objected Whittinghame.
"Must risk that, sir. A couple of men with rifles will scare them off."
"Very good; I'll see that they are the best shots we have on board. I shouldn't like to see you plugged, Dacres—especially by one of our own men."
Dacres smiled, then proceeded to strip. Waiting till the "Meteor" was dead to leeward of the remains of the flying-boat, and moving ahead only enough to counteract the drift caused by the wind, the sub lowered himself over the bows. Round his waist was made fast one end of a length of mackerel-line, which though strong was not heavy enough to impede his progress.
"Pay out!" he shouted, at the same time slipping into the sea. The water was agreeably warm and remarkably buoyant. Dacres swam with ease, fifty strokes being sufficient to enable him to gain the wreck.
As he scrambled over the gunwale the boat dipped stern-foremost, but on sitting on one of the thwarts with the water up to his chin she quickly resumed a horizontal position.
Dacres' first act upon getting on board was to haul in the light line, to which was attached a stout grass rope. The latter he made fast to a bollard in the bows of the craft, which enabled the "Meteor" to ride comfortably to her practically submerged "mooring."
Considering the weight of her motors it seemed wonderful that the flying-boat kept awash, till the sub discovered that fore and aft were air-tight lockers. Indeed, the hull of the boat seemed but little damaged. Evidently as she was executing a loop she struck the water with very little speed in a vertical direction. It was certainly strange that Durango and his companion had not been hurled clear of her as she fell, and the only conclusion Dacres could come to was that the men when they felt their craft falling must have thrown themselves under the waterways and held on tightly during her erratic downward plunge.
"Much amiss?" shouted Captain Whittinghame.
"Very little, I believe, sir," replied Dacres. "She may be slightly strained."
"Is she fitted with slings?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then, stand by; we'll haul you to windward and abreast of No. 3 section."
Evidently, thought Dacres, the skipper had some scheme in his mind's eye. Whittinghame had. It would be possible to stow the boat aboard the airship, for in her curtailed displacement there would be sufficient ultra-hydrogen to lift the slightly added weight. Should occasion serve the hull of the flying-boat, if repaired, would make a handy tender.
In response to an order several of the crew brought up stout fir spars from below. These they lashed to the deck, allowing their slightly tapered ends to project seven feet clear of the extreme beam of the airship. To these, stout purchase blocks and tackle were secured, the falls manned, and the lower blocks lowered to the water's edge.
It was now an easy matter to cant the airship sufficiently for the water-logged craft to be brought immediately under the improvised davits. Deftly the sub adjusted the hooks of the lower blocks and gave the word to haul away.
Under the heavy strain the "Meteor" took a list to starboard, and by the time the gunwales of the boat were a foot out of water the airship's decks were at an angle of fifteen degrees.
"She won't stand it, sir," expostulated Setchell, "unless we station at least twenty men on the port side."
"I don't mean her to," replied Vaughan Whittinghame. "Couple up a length of hose to the auxiliary pump. We'll soon throw the water clear of her. One blessing, it shows the boat's topsides are fairly tight. I was rather afraid of it, when I remember seeing the water pour from her as the tramp's derrick heaved away at her; but I suppose it was that she was not slung accurately. Any signs of the water leaking out of her, Mr. Dacres?"
"None, sir," replied the sub, who had now emerged from his liquid surroundings, and was perched upon the turtle back deck.
"Very good. We're sending down a hose."
Ten minutes later the pump sucked dry. Relieved of the weight of water the salvaged boat's keel was a foot clear of the surface, while the "Meteor" had practically recovered from her awkward list. The lightly constructed hull and the motor together weighed less than two-and-a-half hundredweight, so that on being hauled up level with the upper deck it was a comparatively easy matter to get the craft inboard and secure her on that part of the platform over No. 5 section.
Two of the crew, skilled shipwrights, at once proceeded to overhaul the planks, while Parsons and his assistant attended to the motor, which, owing to its comparatively short period of submergence, was hardly affected by the salt water.
It did not take Dacres long to resume his clothing and report himself ready to carry on with his duty, for there was much to be done and very little time in which to do it.
All the stores and gear that were absolutely essential were removed from those compartments that were to be abandoned, and carefully stored in the remaining divisions. The ultra-hydrogen was then exhausted and recharged into the ballonettes of the fore and aft sections. In an hour from the time of salving the flying-boat the "Meteor" was ready to shed her now superfluous 'midship divisions.
Meanwhile, Dacres and Gerald Whittinghame had carefully examined the interior of the hull of Durango's craft, but no trace of the submarine plans were forthcoming. Nor had Captain Whittinghame seen them in the Mexican's possession as he boarded the tramp steamer. During the chase Durango had been seen holding the precious documents ready to drop them into space, but none of the men in the "Meteor's" observationroom could state definitely what happened to them after the Mexican had been thrown upon the floor-boards of the boat.
"I wish I knew that they were actually destroyed," said Vaughan when the result of the search was reported to him. "Circumstantial evidence is always most unsatisfactory. However, Durango cannot get away from the ship until she touches port, and long before that I hope to be able to have a few words with him. All ready, there, Mr. Setchell?"
"Ay, ay, sir."
"All clear aft, there?"
"Ay, ay, sir," replied Dr. Hambrough, who looked more like a South American stevedore than a member of an honourable profession, for he had neither spared himself nor his clothing in assisting to clear the condemned divisions of the airship.
Giving a final glance around to satisfy himself that all was in order, Captain Whittinghame touched the switch operating the cam-action bolts. Instantly the "Meteor" split into four separate divisions. The two central ones, stripped of heavy gear and with their ballonettes devoid of gas, rolled over and over on the surface of the sea, for very little water had as yet entered the scuttles, which had been left open.
The bow and stern sections shot upwards to a height of nearly a thousand feet. The bow division, being unable to be manoeuvred under motor-power, had to float aimlessly until the after section, skilfully steered under Dacres' direction, was brought end on and quickly secured.
The "Meteor," although now but four hundred and forty feet in length, was again fit to resume her pursuit of the arch-rogue, Reno Durango.
Vaughan Whittinghame showed no immediate desire to take up the chase. Gripping the stanchion rails he lent over the stern, his eyes fixed upon the two cylindrical objects far beneath him: the abandoned sections of his beloved airship. He watched them as they slowly filled. They were no longer lively, but wallowed sluggishly in the slight swell. They sank slowly: quite three-quarters of an hour elapsed ere one section slipped quietly beneath the waves. Its downward course was clearly visible long after it had sunk beneath the surface of the Pacific. Five minutes later No. 3 section plunged to its ocean bed—a sacrifice to the force of circumstances.
Whittinghame turned abruptly. His eyes looked suspiciously moist, but without a tremor in his voice he gave the order "Clear upper deck."