The Commandant strolled over to where Lieutenant Hayward was talking to a few friends. As soon as he had gone, Crichton beckoned to his servant.
"Jackson, have you put the things I told you in my kit-bag?"
"Yes, sir, and two of everything, sir. Shall I strap the bag on?"
"Yes, and you are to come with me; so get your helmet, quick."
Soon all was bustle and commotion. The crowd of officers and soldiers and few civilians present made a wide semi-circle in the rear of the monoplane.
"Good luck, old chap!" "Don't lose your way!" "Got your maps?" "Wire us time of arrival!"—and a host of other remarks, mingled with chaff, were drowned in the roar of the propeller as Jim started the engine. He raised his hand and the great, bird-like aeroplane rushed forward and almost at once began to rise.
Soon it grew smaller and smaller as the distance increased, and began to curve to West as Jim set his course for Exeter.
The roar made by the engine of an aeroplane renders it impossible to hear one's own voice, much less to speak to another; but all military "two-seaters" are equipped with 'phones to enable the pilot and observer to converse with ease.
Jim now pulled down the receiver and adjusted it over his helmet. "Look here, Jackson! Do you know why I've taken you instead of Mr. Hayward?"
"No, sir."