With motors turning over at full speed, the Goliath raced due south. But fast though the Goliath traveled, the storm kept pace. Andy was thankful for one thing. The snow was dry. It wouldn’t freeze to the sides and force them down.
The air outside was bitter cold and despite the heating system in the gondola, a penetrating chill crept in.
“How about the two men who are sick?” Andy asked the explorer.
“It’s flu,” replied Mathews. “They’re over the worst of it but so weak they can hardly move. However, if they had been exposed to many hardships, it would have turned into pneumonia and they wouldn’t have had a chance.”
Bert had managed to send out a flash on the rescue of the crew of the Neptune and had added that they were running before an Arctic blizzard. This meager information was relayed by the Hopedale station and for hours a waiting world wondered and waited for news of the Goliath and its daring crew. They knew the king of the skies was battling for its life somewhere in the northland; they knew that its commander was ill in a Montreal hospital and they wondered at the stuff of which Andy and his assistants were made. Could they bring the Goliath through the dangers and rigors of a blizzard in the Arctic?
Radio stations all over the northland tuned their sensitive ears for some word from the Goliath, but the wall of static had dropped and their calls went unanswered.
In the meantime, the Goliath was racing south, its motors on full as it sped through the storm. They were doing a hundred and thirty miles an hour but the snow stayed with them and the cold was even more intense.
The great ship was running blind. The only direction was south. Anything to escape the tearing savagery of the Arctic. Serge stood silent at the controls while Andy went on a tour of inspection. The engine crews were getting drowsy from their long vigil and he ordered the steward to serve a hot lunch for everyone.
Andy was in the rear of the Goliath, leaving the last engine room, when he heard a peculiar whistling sound. A draft of cold air struck him and he turned quickly toward the tail of the ship, stopping only long enough to get a flashlight from the engine room. He worked his way along the narrow catwalk in the tail. The blast of air was stronger. The beam of his flashlight traced a finger of light through the duralumin girders and cables which formed and controlled the main elevator.
The light fastened on one section of the right elevator. There was a great tear in the metalized fabric through which the wind was whistling in an increasing crescendo. Unless the tear was repaired at once, the Goliath would be in grave danger of getting out of control for the opening was growing larger and would soon render the elevators useless.