The motor-room was almost free of smoke now, and there were only a few scattered spots of fire. Standing in the entrance, Dick threw the contents of several extinguishers inside, as they were passed to him, and he had the satisfaction of seeing the flames gradually choked by the chemical fumes thus released.
"Now I guess we're all right," said Mr. Vardon, when no more fire could be seen. "And the marvel of it is that our motor never stopped!"
"That's the one thing that saved us from making another descent—our last," murmured Dick. "That's sure some motor, all right."
But they were congratulating themselves too soon, it seemed. For, hardly had Dick spoken than the monotonous whine of the powerful machine seemed to weaken in tone. It died out—the high note sunk to a low one, and gradually went out.
"What's up now?" asked Paul, peering over Dick's shoulder. The motor compartment was still too hot to enter with safety, and it was also filled with acrid vapor, from the extinguishers.
"I—I'm afraid it's going to stop," gasped Dick, for he was out of breath from his exertions, and from the excitement of the occasion.
"Stop!" cried Paul. "If she does we'll have to go down!"
And stop the motor did. There was a sort of final groan or gasp, as if of apology, and then the wheels stopped revolving and the big propellers outside the cabin, which had been forcing the craft onward, gradually ceased their motion.
"Quick?" shouted Mr. Vardon. "Throw on the self-starter, Dick! We may catch her before she loses all her momentum!"
"All right!" answered Dick. He made one jump to the switch that put into commission the electrical starter. But he was too late to "catch" the motor. It had died down, and, though the young millionaire made contact after contact with the copper knife-switch, there was no response.