“One fifteen o’clock,” answered Alan, his voice trembling, “English time.”
“It’s twenty-one miles to Fleet Street,” said Buck at once. “It must be about three miles to the Arch from Fleet Street. You’ve got eighteen more miles—”
“That’s ten minutes,” exclaimed Ned. Catching Roy by the arm he motioned to the store room ladder. “We’ll go below and get ready. When you pass Paddington lift her to about one thousand feet and then do a wide spiral. Unless we give you the word through the tube you’ll have to stop. If they’re ready for us Roy’ll pass the word ‘go ahead’ and I’ll drop the stuff. Then hit it up for Acton. Keep your place, Buck. If we stop, both stand by the wheel. It may be a race with the police. Don’t leave the wheel, either of you. Bob’s at the engine. Roy and I’ll do the work below.”
In a few moments the engine room trap was open and Captain Ned was on the floor getting his first view of London.
CHAPTER XXI
THE MARBLE ARCH GATE, HYDE PARK
When Buck Stewart finally pointed out the long, black train sheds of the Paddington station and Alan began lifting the Flyer to the thousand foot level, the eyes of every one aboard the airship—except Bob at the engine—were searching for the Mecca of the three thousand mile voyage, the celebrated Hyde Park.
“There,” announced Buck at last pointing over a mass of irregular brown buildings between which, here and there, rose clumps of green where little squares and crescents gave color to sooty chimney pots and roofs of drab. “See the trees?”
Beyond a row of these, marking Bayswater Road, lay a vast oasis of shrubbery. With a long curve to the east and north Alan followed Buck’s continued directions and in a few moments all made out the landmark that each had fixed in his mind—the Marble Arch gate that stands at the Oxford Street and Park Lane entrance to the park. The second thing that caught Alan’s eye was the mass of people in the park all moving slowly over its open commons as if moved by one impulse. The great coronation was at an end; the royal procession had returned to St. James—on the far side of the park—and West London was making its way homeward.
Ned, below, saw something else. In Oxford street, just without the gate, stood a long, gray motor car. In it sat a chauffeur and standing on the rear seat, a man with a pair of binoculars. The Herald representatives were on the ground. As Ned looked, the man dropped the glasses on the seat, sprang from the car and hurried through the ponderous arch. Not until that moment did the people in the park appear to notice the on rushing car. But the exclamations of those first sighting it swelled in an instant into a roar. Ten thousand persons rushed forward and then surged backwards as the airship, pausing in its course, began a giant circle.