"Somewhere above Italy," came the answer. "Mr. Gresson arrived yesterday evening in an aeroplane."
"An aeroplane! But—but—surely he doesn't expect me to—to travel in such a thing with him!" cried Carl tremulously, much to Adolfs amusement and ill-concealed contempt.
"Why not?" he asked. "You've asked to go on a flying trip. Where's the difference between a ship and plane? Pooh! You're a sportsman, aren't you? Then you've got to show spirit."
But that was just precisely the virtue of which Carl was most deficient. He could ape the sportsman, providing no physical display of courage were wanted. He could even venture a trip in the airship, knowing now from excited reports from all quarters that she was the last word in such matters; and when the time came, and the moment were opportune, he told himself he had the nerve to place that curious box he had just procured in the most advantageous position, set its contents going, and then decamp. Oh, yes, he would decamp, quickly too, to be sure! Why not? That would merely be discretion.
"Supposing there was an accident?" he suddenly blurted out, his face fallen, his features as long as a fiddle. "Supposing the box were overturned! Besides, I've never been in an aeroplane. Hundreds of men have lost their lives when flying."
"A noble end for a sportsman, truly," grinned Adolf. "Let me go, then? A broken arm will not prevent my acting."
"No; I'll take train to Turin. I could be there as soon as this aeroplane," he said, almost tearfully. "Are you there? Why don't you stay at the telephone? Is Mr. Joe Gresson at the office?"
It was that young inventor himself who answered.
"Good morning!" he said curtly enough. "Glad you are coming. We leave in two hours' time."
"But—but I am detained," cried Carl desperately. "I cannot leave then. I will catch the midday continental express and go to Turin. I shall be there to-morrow evening."