"Next day there was a bit about two airmen coming down at some place in India, sir. Putting two and two together—"
"I see. No names again?"
"No, sir, not till to-night."
"To-night, eh?"
"Yes, sir. There's a bit in the Evening News to-night, not strictly true, sir. I've got it here."
He drew the paper from his pocket, and pointed to the following paragraph—
The mysterious airmen whose doings have been reported at intervals during the last few days have now appeared at San Francisco. One of them is said to be a Lieutenant Thistleton Smith, who, according to our correspondent, explained that he has a bet of £10,000 with a well-known sporting nobleman that he will circle the globe in a fortnight. The general opinion in San Francisco is that these sporadic appearances of airmen in far-distant spots are part of a cleverly devised scheme of world-wide advertisement, engineered by a Chicago pork-packing firm who have more than once displayed considerable ingenuity in pushing their products.
There was general laughter when Smith read this paragraph aloud. Rodier alone was solemn.
"They think we boom pigs!" he cried indignantly. "Pigs themselves."
"Well, Roddy, truth will out," said Smith. "I'm sorry to keep you up, by the way, but I shall have to leave at six o'clock. Would you mind running down to the shed and—cleaning the engine?"