"How thoughtful of you, dearest! Was that the only reason you came in here!"
The rest of the conversation is not a part of this story. It lasted a long time as we droned round great five-mile circles of the upper air. And then a telephone rang at my ear.
Danjuro was speaking. The message had been received at Plymouth, and an answer had been coming through for the last ten minutes. He was writing it down, letter by letter, from Gascoigne's dictation. Shortly afterwards he brought it in to me, and as I read it off the world closed round me again and fairyland vanished.
Triumph filled my veins and reddened my blood. The message came from Muir Lockhart, who was at Plymouth again, and was one shout of wonder and congratulation. "The whole world will thank you," it concluded.
For a little time I was intoxicated by that message. I saw myself a hero, vindicated a thousand times in the eyes of all men, the Chief of Air Police whose name would be historical. I think there are few men of my age who would not have had their moment of vainglory; we are made so. But as I read the message to the man who had brought it, I realized that I had done nothing, after all, and that everything was due to his marvellous brilliancy and courage.
Thank Heaven that I realized it without a pang of envy, and I told him what I thought of him in no unstinted way.
He heard me to the end with no change of countenance. When I had done, he said: "You have been very kind, Sir John, and I greatly appreciate what you have said. If, indeed, you are indebted to me in any way for the help I have been able to give, you can repay me, if you will."
"To the half of my kingdom!" I said, with a laugh, though I was in dead earnest all the same.
"That is a promise, Sir John?" He looked down at me with magnetic eyes.
"A promise, Danjuro."