“It must be a bright spark, for the sun is shining brightly,” mused Craig.
“Oh, maybe it's the small boy with a looking-glass. I can remember when I used to get behind such a window and shine a glass into the darkened room of my neighbours across the street.”
I had really said that half in raillery, for I was at a loss to account in any other way for the light, but I was surprised to see how eagerly Craig accepted it.
“Perhaps you are right, in a way,” he assented. “I guess it isn't a spark, after all. Yes, it must be the reflection of the sun on a piece of glass—the angles are just about right for it. Anyhow it caught my eye. Still, I believe that barn will bear watching.”
Whatever his suspicions, Craig kept them to himself, and descended. At the same time Norton gently dropped back to earth in front of his hangar, not ten feet from the spot where he started. The applause was deafening, as the machine was again wheeled into the shed safely.
Kennedy and I pushed through the crowd to the wireless operator.
“How's she working?” inquired Craig.
“Rotten,” replied the operator sullenly. “It was worse than ever about five minutes ago. It's much better now, almost normal again.”
Just then the messenger-boy, who had been hunting through the crowd for us, handed Kennedy a note. It was merely a scrawl from Norton:
“Everything seems fine. Am going to try her next with the
gyroscope. NORTON.”