"She is father, mother, brother, sister, hired girl and dog under the waggon to me!" said Pring, and then he blazed up into fury. I disentangle the few words I can. The majority were too overdressed for respectable society.
"... His Majesty's Mails! First time in history of flying, and it's happened to ME! Cold-blooded piracy in the High Air! They'd have blown us to pieces as soon as look at us! When I get hold of that slime-lapping leper, the pirate skipper, I won't leave him hide or hair to cover the wart he calls his heart! ..." and so on, for a good two minutes by the office chronometer.
I let him rip. It was the quickest way. It's dangerous to throttle down a man like Pring.
"The Captain is, naturally, furious," I said.
"Oh, quite!" answered Mr. Van Adams.
Then we got to business. "The strange airship, Captain Pring. Let's begin with that. She approached you flying West, I understand?"
"She did, Sir John. Does that put you wise to anything?"
"It would appear that she was coming from Europe. But that was probably a trick. She might have been waiting about for hours."
"Curious thing, then, that all the ships in the air during the last thirty hours that were within fifteen hundred miles of the American and Canadian coast never saw anything of her. The Air Police of the U.S.A. have questioned every registered boat, Transatlantic and coastal trade, and not one of them sighted her. And, as you know, Sir John, from Cape Race to Charleston in summer weather the air's as thick with craft as gnats over a pond. Ain't that so, Mr. Van Adams, sir?"
"Quite, Captain Pring."