“Just where are we, captain?” asked Doctor Trigg, hastily taking up a new subject.
David explained. “We must be approaching the border of Russia, now,” he added. They crowded to the window.
“What wonderful scenery!” exclaimed the star reporter. “It is growing much wilder and more rugged. Even those plains over there look harsh, and cold.”
They watched a gradual change take place and about ten o’clock they saw ahead a city which they knew must be Tilsit, East Prussia. They dipped low, and went slowly over it, while the populace surged out of buildings in black masses. They had been heralded by telegram and radio, and cheers went up, and flags were waved. When they hung over the public square, they dropped a bundle of postcards. Dulcie, hoping some child would pick it up, dropped a handkerchief with an American quarter tied in the corner.
Winds continued favorable, even and strong, and due east. They were now going seventy-five miles an hour, and were gradually making up some of the time lost in the storm over the Atlantic. All conditions seemed so kindly that David actually felt nervous. He watched the instruments, and tested the feel of the wheel every few minutes.
Luncheon came and went.
At about two o’clock, when the passengers were enjoying the passing view, someone exclaimed, “City ahead!”
“It is Dvinsk,” said Mr. Hammond. “Friends, we are now crossing the Soviet frontier.” He stood watching until the city, some miles to the right, had disappeared.
“We are in Russia,” he continued. “Leningrad and Moscow are ahead, but our course lies between them. Viatka is directly in our line of flight, about six hundred miles east of Moscow.”
David, still impressed by the size and loneliness of the country they were entering, slipped on an overall, and went up the ladder leading into the hull. He gained the catwalk, and made his cautious way along the narrow foothold that ran the entire length of the hull.