The boys in turn freshened themselves with sponge baths and, when the Irish Sea hove in sight at twelve o’clock, every one was newly alert and as spick and span as if the voyage was just beginning.
“The Arklow Light five miles abeam to port,” cried Ned a few minutes later.
“Blackwater Light five miles to port,” chimed in Alan in great spirits.
“Nine minutes after twelve o’clock,” shouted Buck standing by the chronometer.
“Two hundred and twenty-six miles to London,” called Roy from his table. “Stand by for Cardigan Light Ship and the Welsh coast.”
When the village of New Quay in Wales had been laid astern at twelve thirty-three o’clock and the Ocean Flyer at last had English soil in sight ahead there was new activity. Ned, Buck and Bob tried the engine room trap door; the rope ladder was attached to hooks at the door’s edge and the landing ladder was got in readiness on the starboard gallery. Then a thirty foot length of line was procured and made fast to the matrix bundle. With this line the package was to be suspended below the car and dropped at the right moment rather than to take the risk of hurling the bundle from the slackened airship.
Alan returning to the pilot room, Ned sat down at Roy’s table and wrote a message to be cabled to the Herald. Using what time he had before Oxford was reached, Buck also prepared a cablegram for his manager. Suddenly, all aboard seemed to have new duties. Only Alan had the time to examine the new land below. Welsh mountains soon gave way to the English country side of history and fiction. Almost unconsciously Alan brought the Flyer nearer the moors and woods of the outlying counties.
“They’re all here, boys,” he shouted. “I’d know it without Roy’s chart.”
“A little strange,” answered Roy, “to go to London, turn around and leave England again without putting foot on the soil.”
“You may have a chance to stretch your legs at Acton,” broke in Ned. “We’ll be there nearly a half hour.”