“Let’s go over there,” said O’Brien. “It’s just the sort of thing I have to look after. What with the country full of Reds, and all other colors of the rainbow, we want to keep as many of the wild lunatics under observation as possible.”
They soon reached the spot where Lawrence had seen the plane land and, sure enough, there was not a sign of anything that could be taken for a hangar.
“You sure this is the place?” asked O’Brien.
“Sure!” replied Lawrence. “What do you say to landing? I can make it easier than he did.”
“Land away if ye like, and let’s have a look,” said O’Brien, “but don’t you smear me all over that nice green grass, I warn you.”
“I won’t,” promised Lawrence, and dropped to earth as lightly as a bird.
As the plane slid along the grass and came to a standstill, O’Brien gave a smothered exclamation.
“That’s funny!” he said. “Look!”
Stepping out of the machine, Lawrence turned in the direction O’Brien was looking. The hangar they were looking for was there, but covered with a thick-set camouflage of brush. The doors were open, as though no one would possibly find the place, and inside the hangar were three cars: one a dirigible, one the car Lawrence had encountered, while the third was a long, rakish model mounting an aircraft gun.
One quick look, and O’Brien backed out, drawing Lawrence with him. He motioned him into their own plane, gave it a push and hopped into his place as the speedy little flyer danced along for a moment, then rose into the air.