“By this time,” observed Ned, “we ought to be pretty near the English coast, so I would suggest that we drop the Flyer down to an altitude where we can locate ourselves more definitely by actual landmarks.”
This was done. With the huge wing-like planes expanded to the full, the Ocean Flyer coasted aslant the air-waves. The cloud belt encircling the globe was penetrated and passed through, leaving small drops of moisture glistening all over the glass of the portholes. The moon’s rays made the metal body of the vessel glitter like so much silver. As they dropped lower and lower, the world became dimly visible, seeming to be literally rising to meet the descending aviators. At an altitude of three thousand feet, the downward planing was discontinued and level flight again maintained.
To the one hand stretched the seemingly endless expanse of gray, breaker-crested ocean, but on the other, due ahead, lay the rock-bound, irregular coast of the British Isles. Not so very far away now, was poor Bob Russell on trial for his life.
All three boys were thinking about him. It was not necessary to mention his name.
“Not long now,” said Ned.
“No, not long,” agreed Alan and Buck.
CHAPTER IX
PARIS PROVES UNFRIENDLY
The course of the Ocean Flyer was altered slightly so as to avoid passing over England and risking pot-shots from a people who were already in a semi-hysteria over the threatened invasion by German Zeppelins. The next land they saw was the coast of northern France. They followed the Norman coast for a short distance and then once more headed inland.
The flying speed had been reduced to thirty miles per hour, when the airship first sank to a three thousand foot level, and, traveling thus slowly, the boys had a pretty good chance to observe the country beneath them through their powerful binoculars.