“Signals very loud. You must be near. Can you see our lights? Some fog on the surface.”
Another hour passed. The same ship sent word that the signals were getting fainter. But another ship broke in, gave its position and the ship’s operator, and then sent:
“Your signals strong enough to knock our heads off. What is your height? You must be just over us. We will send up rockets. Tell us if they are seen.”
All three watched on every side, but nothing except a tumbled mass of clouds met their gaze. The air up here was getting colder. Kiwi shivered. The Skipper, looking back, noticed him, and it crossed his mind that in the excitement he had forgotten to open the heater which ran from the exhaust pipe on the engine. It was the work of a moment to throw the lever over, and almost at once they felt the warm air come up into the cockpit.
Jack took over the controls for a little time, and the Skipper and Kiwi transferred the last of the extra fuel to the big tank and disposed of the empty cans.
The Skipper made a hurried check of their fuel supply in both the wing tanks and the main one, and appeared to be well content with the way it was holding out.
Kiwi was taking small cat-naps on the top of the tank and beginning to wonder if it were not time to eat again. It was still dark and there was nothing to be seen—no moon, no stars, just a gray pall on every side.
He awoke from a longer one of these naps to find it much lighter and the lights on the instrument board looking very yellow in the daylight. Jack was just saying, “I think I’ve picked up the government radio station at Malin Head, Ireland.”