Suddenly an explosive snarl came from in front.
“Curse it! In the hurry I forgot to adjust my altimeter to sea level.”
Without a word Rankin pushed the control over into a steep dive. Within a few feet of the surface he “flattened,” and on receiving a confirmatory grunt he lifted the machine into another long climb.
Presently:
“Wave length twenty feet—gives velocity fifteen decimal four. Fierce for a landing.”
“Pitot tube gives a clear hundred and four miles per. Work it out.”
Came a whole series of grunts; and presently the movable lubber line on the dial of the Sperry, which was synchronized with the drift indicator in the observer’s hand in the front seat, began to swing round.
Rankin followed it with a sigh of thankfulness and a prayer for luck and settled down to a long steady grind of keeping her nose down to it. No easy matter in a high gusty wind; and a few points deviation meant so many priceless minutes lost at this critical time.
Two hours passed; and as the work became mechanical, Rankin’s thoughts turned inevitably to the girl. What would she say? How would she regard his fall from his promise? How could he ever make her see the thing as it was?
“Ha, ha!” He barked a short laugh. Fool! Very possibly there never would be any occasion for an explanation. He glued his eyes down to the lubber line and followed it as it shifted from one side to the other as the observer recalculated and checked up his figures from time to time.