"Kenyon!" exclaimed the baronet.
"Sir?"
"We'll cut Panama," was Fosterdyke's astounding decision. "We'll carry
straight away on. She's doing splendidly, shortage of brodium
notwithstanding. We've plenty of fuel, so it's a dash for Madeira."
"How about reporting at the Panama control?" asked Kenneth.
"I'll risk omitting that," replied Sir Reginald. "Being mixed up in a
potty revolution is quite sufficient excuse for non-compliance with
regulations. It isn't as if we were bound to report ourselves, as in
the case of Auckland. Bramsdean, you might ask the wireless operator to
report us to Panama, and enquire if there's any news of our rivals.
Last night's affair has given von Sinzig a very useful lead, I'm
afraid."
Peter hastened to give the necessary orders. Presently he returned.
"No news of the Hun, sir," he reported. "The Yankee airship made a bad
landing at Port Denison, Queensland, and was totally destroyed by fire."
"Hard lines," remarked Fosterdyke, feelingly. "Commodore Nye is a good
sport. I hope he wasn't injured?"
"Far from it," replied Bramsdean. "In fact he's reported to have cabled
to Melbourne asking the Victorian Government if they can sell him a
Vickers-Vimy, so that he can continue the contest."
"Good luck to him, then!" exclaimed the baronet. "And the Jap?"
"Looks like a winner, sir," replied Peter. "The quadruplane is reported
passing over Calcutta."
"Next to beating Fritz myself, the Jap is the fellow I hope will do it,"
remarked Fosterdyke. "By Jove! I'd like to know where von Sinzig is
and what he's doing."
The "Golden Hind," now virtually a heavier-than-air machine, was doing
her level best to make up for the unlucky contretemps that had delayed
her for eight precious hours. Unaccountably the reduction of the volume
of brodium in her ballonets, although the rigid aluminium envelope had
not appreciably contracted, had resulted in a marked increase of speed.
Judging by the time she took to cover the distance between Panama and
Nevis, in the Lesser Antilles--a distance of 1250 miles--her speed over
the water was not far short of 190 miles an hour.
"If those two props had not been crippled," lamented Kenyon, "we'd be
doing a good two hundred."
"I'm content," rejoined Fosterdyke, "provided we can keep it up. If we
don't lap Z64 in another twelve hours, you can jolly well boot me,
Kenyon!"
A few minutes later the wireless operator appeared and handed Fosterdyke
a long written message.
The baronet's face was a study of varying emotions as he read the news.
Kenyon, watching him, wondered what had happened. Not that he was
surprised; after the experiences of the last week or so, it would take
something very much out of the common to take Kenneth Kenyon aback.
"Evidently our friend von Sinzig has butted in where he didn't ought,"
remarked Fosterdyke, handing his companion the slip of paper.
It was a general Marconigram communication to the Press Agency, and read
as follows:
"Hobart, Tasmania, Thursday. The schooner _Myrtle_, Abraham Prout,
master, arrived here this morning in a damaged condition. Her master
reports that in lat. 43 deg. 15' S., long. 141 deg. 20' E., the schooner
was hit by a falling object, which Captain Prout subsequently brought
into port. Examination showed that the object in question was an airship
observation box or basket. In it, fortunately intact, and with the
safety vane locking the detonator-pin, was an incendiary bomb stamped
with the broad arrow. Experts here agree that the bomb is certainly not
a British Government's missile, and by certain markings on the
observation basket it is safe to assume that it belonged to a German
airship. The basket and the bomb are being forwarded to the
Commonwealth Air Board Headquarters at Sydney."
Then came another report:
"Fremantle, Western Australia, Thursday. Investigations amongst the
ruins of the aerodrome destroyed by fire yesterday morning have resulted
in the finding of the remains of an aerial torpedo bearing the British
Government mark. This discovery completely upsets the original theory
as to the cause of the outbreak. Various rumours are afloat, but pending
an official declaration on the subject, the Press is requested to
confine reports to the actual known facts. A further communication will
be made as soon as definite information is forthcoming."
"Yes, von Sinzig is getting desperate," remarked Kenyon. "It's a dead
cert that he thought we were berthed in the Fremantle aerodrome that
night. But how in the name of goodness did he get so far south? It was
reported he went direct from Java to New Zealand, passing north of
Australia."
"He reported, you mean," corrected Fosterdyke. "Trying to throw dust in
one's eyes is an old trick of Fritz's. Personally, I don't believe he
took the northern route, and that he picked up our wireless announcing
our intention of making Fremantle, and then tried to do us in."
"He's done for himself, any old way," declared Kenyon. "I wonder if a
Hun can ever be a sportsman?"
"I wonder," echoed the baronet. "I've come across a good many Huns
during the last five years, but I'm hanged if I ever met one who knew
how to play the game."
Half an hour later the "Golden Hind" intercepted a wireless message to
the effect that the British, American, and French Governments had issued
joint instructions for the German airship Z64 to be detained at the next
landing-place.
"That looks like business," commented Kenyon. "Von Sinzig's out of the
running."
"Unless he contrives to land in Spanish territory," added the baronet.
"There are the Canary Islands, for instance. He could, and probably
will, claim immunity as a political offender. I don't think he can be
extradited. You see, it has to be proved to the hilt that he actually
and by deliberate intent dropped a bomb on the aerodrome. No, I fancy
we haven't lost our Hun rival yet. He stands a chance of romping home,
so it's up to us to beat Z64."
"I'd like to know what the blighter's doing now," said Kenneth,
tentatively. "Perhaps he's within fifty miles of us."
"Provided he's fifty miles behind us, I won't worry my head about him,"
declared Sir Reginald. "I'm not particularly keen on coming in touch
with him on a dark night. He might try his hand at another dirty
trick."