Droop stopped the motor and looked about the room. Suddenly his eyes brightened.
"There," he cried, pointing to the book Phœbe had been reading, "read suthin' out o' that into it."
Phœbe opened the book at random, and as Droop started the motor again she read the following lines slowly and distinctly into the trumpet:
"It is thus made clear from the indubitable evidence of the plays themselves that Francis Bacon wrote the immortal works falsely ascribed to William Shakespeare, and that the gigantic genius of this man was the result of the possession of royal blood. In this unacknowledged son of Elizabeth Tudor, Queen of England, was made manifest to all countries and for all centuries the glorious powers inherent in the regal blood of England."
"That'll do," said Droop. "Now jest hear it talk back."
He substituted the repeating stylus for the recording point and set the motor in motion once more. To the complete stupefaction of Rebecca, the repetition of Phœbe's words was perfect.
"Why! It's Phœbe's voice," she began, but Phœbe broke in upon her suddenly.
"Why, see the hills on each side of us, Mr. Droop," she cried.
Droop glanced out and leaped a foot from the ground.
"Goramighty!" he screamed, "she'll strike!" He dashed to the engine-room and threw up the forward edges of the aeroplanes. Instantly the vessel swooped upward and the hills Phœbe had seen appeared to drop into some great abyss.