At last the Nelson was brought to the surface of the earth and Ned and Lyman stepped out, very willing to stretch their legs after such a long ride. They had been in the air about twice the time set for endurance by noted aviators.
They did not get much of a chance to stretch their legs, however, for they bumped into a squad of soldiers on stepping out of their seats.
"You are under arrest!" a gaily-dressed officer said, flashing his sword out of its scabbard.
"What for?" demanded Ned, speaking in Spanish.
"Smuggling!" was the reply.
Ned laughed heartily. Arrested for smuggling!
"Search us, and search the machine, then," he replied, "and let us go on about our business. We have no time to lose."
"In time! In time!" was the drawling reply. "Such things are not done so quickly here! In three-four days—in a week—in three, four weeks, perhaps. In the meantime you go to the jail."
Ned thought of the swiftly-slipping days, of the peril Jimmie and Jackson were in, of Leroy in prison at Lima, and was about ready to fight. The officer refused to take him to the president, or to the American consul. In a quarter of an hour he was in a cell, alone, wondering what had been done with Lyman, and also wondering what would become of the Nelson.
He knew that the charge of smuggling, of bringing goods into the republic by means of an airship, would be held against him as long as it pleased his accusers to keep him in prison. That would be until the concession expired and, possibly, until the Nelson lay a total wreck in the streets.