"I'll handle the searchlight!" volunteered Jimmie, seizing the controller as he spoke. "I'll give you plenty of chance to see."
Under the skillful handling of Ned the Grey Eagle came gracefully to a landing on the broad, smooth asphalted street. The boys were not even jarred by the impact as the aeroplane slid to a resting place.
Although the muffler had been deadening the sound of the engine's exhaust to a mere hum, and no clamor of the motors had, therefore, disturbed the city's inhabitants, a large crowd of boys and old men quickly gathered.
Talking volubly and excitedly in the French tongue, they clustered about the machine, addressing shouts and inquiries at the boys. Uncertain what course to pursue, the lads remained in their positions. Scarcely had the machine come to a standstill, however, before uniformed police dashed out of side streets, approaching the Grey Eagle on the run.
"Here come the cops!" cried Jimmie, catching sight of the foremost.
"Ned, I guess it's up to you to be spokesman, as usual," suggested Jack, as the crowd parted to afford the officer a nearer approach.
"Sure, he knows more French than any of us!" chuckled Jimmie.
A rapid question in French was addressed to the boys by the policeman, who had now gained the side of their machine. Ned spread his hands palm upwards and shrugged his shoulders in a deprecating gesture.