“Too late,” cried the Ward Leader, “too late.”
“Is it too late?” said Graham. “Even now—. An hour!”
He had suddenly perceived a possibility. He tried to speak calmly, but his face was white. “There is are chance. You said there was a monoplane—?”
“On the Roehampton stage, Sire.”
“Smashed?”
“No. It is lying crossways to the carrier. It might be got upon the guides—easily. But there is no aeronaut—.”
Graham glanced at the two men and then at Helen. He spoke after a long pause. “We have no aeronauts?”
“None.”
He turned suddenly to Helen. His decision was made. “I must do it.”
“Do what?”