“What’s the outfit for?” retorted Ned. “We can’t lose. If we don’t raise any one we’re no worse off. Rouse him out!”
When the soundly snoring Bob was pulled from his bed and at last made to understand the sudden plan, sleep fled from him. In five minutes the dynamo was in operation and Bob was at the little desk in the store room. As the lightninglike blue and green flashes in the condenser sounded through the airship, Bob, with his ear-set in place, bent low over the tuner. Before him, just showing in the small circle of his one shaded light bulb, lay his code and signal books for all systems on the far northern American coasts and the calls for all northern route steamers.
“I’ll raise something,” he shouted with eagerness. “Get your message ready.”
Buck had already been summoned from the engine room. With the first bark of the condenser Roy was awake. Only Ned stood to his post while Alan, Roy and Buck got out the detail maps of England, London and vicinity.
“Now,” almost shouted Alan to Buck, “get busy.” And he explained the situation. “These places all look alike to us. You know London and the country around it. We want the least settled place nearest to Fleet street that can be reached quickly by motor. Some open, smooth spot where the police are asleep. Some place that the Herald men will know without description. You’re the English pilot, as well as cook and rudder greaser. Now show us what you can do.”
“‘Acton,’” exclaimed Buck before he looked at the map. “We’ll pass it goin’ in. And it isn’t over five or six miles from Fleet street. It’s quiet as the grave. There’s even a cemetery near by. There are open fields with walks. Why,” and he reached for the map, “there’s some old ruins, a ‘moat’ they call ’em, about a quarter of a mile from the railway station. That’s a good meetin’ place. Let’s see,” and he ran his pencil over the big red, blue and green chart. “It’s on the Great Western Railway,” and he pointed to a square green spot, “at the north end of Horn Lane, and there’s a fine road right out to it, from Horn Lane into High Street; then east to Acton Vale and then Uxbridge Road. You know they give a new name to a London Street every few yards,” he explained laughing. “Then Notting Hill and Bayswater Road bring you right to Hyde Park. The place was made for just such a trick.”
“That’s good,” chuckled Alan. “Now for the message. If we can get this to the Herald to-night, it’ll go to London by cable at once.”
“How’ll you know?” asked Buck.
“Don’t need to,” announced Ned from the wheel. “But you might put in that we’ll be within two hundred miles of Ireland, off Galway, at ten thirty in the morning. They might get us an answer there.”
“Get your message ready,” yelled a voice below.