“Yes,” called back Norton. Reaching back of him, he pointed out the way to detach the gyroscope and put a sort of brake on it that stopped its revolutions almost instantly. “It's a ticklish job to change in the air,” he shouted. “It can be done, but it's safer to land and do it.”
The flight was soon over, and we stood admiring the machine while Norton expatiated on the compactness of his little dynamo.
“What have you done with the wrecks of the other machines?” inquired Kennedy at length.
“They are stored in a shed down near the railroad station. They are just a mass of junk, though there are some parts that I can use, so I'll ship them back to the factory.”
“Might I have a look at them?”
“Surely. I'll give you the key. Sorry I can't go myself, but I want to be sure everything is all right for my flight this afternoon.”
It was a long walk over to the shed near the station, and, together with our examination of the wrecked machines, it took us the rest of the morning. Craig carefully turned over the wreckage. It seemed a hopeless quest to me, but I fancied that to him it merely presented new problems for his deductive and scientific mind.
“These gyroscopes are out of business for good,” he remarked as he glanced at the dented and battered aluminum cases. “But there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with them except what would naturally happen in such accidents.”
For my part I felt a sort of awe at the mass of wreckage in which Browne and Herrick had been killed. It was to me more than a tangled mass of wires and splinters. Two human lives had been snuffed out in it.
“The engines are a mass of scrap; see how the cylinders are bent and twisted,” remarked Kennedy with great interest. “The gasoline-tank is intact, but dented out of shape. No explosion there. And look at this dynamo. Why, the wires in it are actually fused together. The insulation has been completely burned off. I wonder what could have caused that?”