Time passed rapidly, and the passengers commenced to return, hurrying in taxis and on foot. Mr. Hamilton’s secretary rushed ahead with a bundle of telegrams; Doctors Trigg and Sims came with their arms full of papers and magazines; a car whirled up, and the driver hurriedly approached Dulcie just as she was about to mount into the gondola and handed her a great box from the officers of the field. Long rose stems stuck intriguingly out at one end.
“What has happened to Captain Fraine?” inquired David of Mr. Hammond as they stood near the steps.
Looking very white, Captain Fraine approached. A couple of young officers accompanied him. He held a bloodstained handkerchief to his head but managed to laugh as he saw them.
“Not so bad as it looks, commander,” he said lightly.
“What happened?” demanded Mr. Hammond.
“They are doing some construction work back in the hangar,” one of the strangers explained, “and something had loosened the supports of a platform where some boards were lying. A two-by-four slipped off, and came down and hit the captain here, right on the head. It might have been pretty serious. It’s too bad.”
“It will be all right as soon as Dr. Forsythe puts a bit of plaster on it. Don’t think of it.”
“We’ll get on board, and see the doctor at once,” advised Mr. Hammond. “Go with him, David.”
Dr. Forsythe proceeded to examine the bump. It was a bad one, but the skin was only slightly broken. He stopped the bleeding, and plastered it up. Captain Fraine declared that he felt as good as new, and went directly into the control room, while David returned to Mr. Hammond.
“Weren’t we to pick up Walter Cram here at Lakehurst?” he inquired.