The master of ceremonies had assumed charge. He warned both contestants once more to play the game fairly, telling them that the danger was great enough without either taking unnecessary risks in making a foul.
Signals had been arranged whereby the discharge of cannon were to serve as a warning against interference. One shot would direct Frank to steer clear, while a double report meant that the biplane was cutting dangerously across the path of its rival, and must sheer off under penalty of being disqualified.
They knew Puss in Bloomsbury. His reputation as a lover of clean sport was none too good. There were many who anticipated that if he saw that his chances in the race were practically hopeless, Puss Carberry would not hesitate to do some mean trick, and stoutly claim that it was an accident—that his steering apparatus had fouled, causing him to collide with the slighter monoplane.
Of course this was a most foolhardy thing to dream of doing, since a foul in midair might not only send his rivals down to death, but imperil his own life. And yet there were those among his own chums who winked knowingly as they talked over things in low voices, and assured each other that Puss was bound to win, or know the reason why.
Frank had his own private opinion on this subject. He had long made Puss Carberry a study, and believed he had the other pretty well sized up. He was a peculiar combination of a boy, bold at times almost to rashness; and again cautious beyond imagination. And Frank knew that there was constant war within him between the good and the bad, though on nearly all occasions the latter predominated.
He had made up his mind that Puss was too shrewd to risk such a thing as a collision in midair. If he attempted any of his customary dirty work it would come in an altogether different way.
All who were not to have a part in the starting of the aeroplanes had been pressed beyond the ropes. To have no advantage on either side, and make the start exactly fair, a certain number had been limited as assistants.
“Are you ready for the start?”
It was the master of ceremonies who called this out in a loud voice.
“Silence! silence!” went from lip to lip; and several groups of giggling girls felt the rebuke enough to subside.