“That’s so,” admitted Jerry, with a start. “I hadn’t thought of that. Whew! But that vapor is strong. It’s different from what we use. I wonder——”
A fit of coughing interrupted him, and soon Ned and the professor were wheezing and sneezing, as the powerful fumes were wafted to them.
“We can’t stand this!” gasped the tall lad. “No wonder these men are unconscious. It’s a slim chance if they’re alive, after breathing those fumes!”
A look of despair came over Ned’s face. Was he, after all, to lose the last opportunity to aid his father? Was Mr. Jackson dead?
“We can’t go any closer!” declared Jerry at length. “It will mean death or unconsciousness, if we do. I’ve got to halt the airship!”
Coughing and spluttering, he made his way to the pilot house, and brought the motor to a stop. Then, as the Comet could no longer sustain herself on her wings, being bereft of motion, she began to sink, until Jerry started the gas-machine, making a dirigible balloon of the craft. With the big bag inflated, she floated lazily in the air, about a quarter of a mile from the Manhattan. Both were being driven slowly onward by a light wind.
“Well, what’s to be done?” demanded Bob. Breathing was easier for them all now, as they were not so near the disabled balloon.
“That’s the problem,” declared Jerry. “We can’t go any closer without being in danger ourselves, and we can’t rescue those men until we get within ten or fifteen feet of them.”
“Couldn’t we wait until all the gas escaped from their bag, and then venture up?” asked Ned.