Frank needed no urging. He felt the death of the steady forward movement and the grip of gravity as the biplane began to drop with incredible swiftness toward the earth. But it was a drop which was controlled by the cool-headed Butler, and every foot of the drop took them nearer to their destination.
Five hundred feet below, Frank saw a little patch of green field entirely free from trees or shrubbery, and to this he rightly guessed the aviator was heading. It looked like a golf course from that height, and, indeed, proved to be. Now they were directly over the haven which Butler had picked out, and it seemed in a fair way to pass it, when the flyer banked hard to the left, almost pivoted on his left wing, brought the machine around over the golf links again and, with a final swooping spiral came to earth with a shock sufficiently hard to snap off at the hub one of the wheels of the biplane's running gear.
CHAPTER XV. THE MATCH AT QUEEN'S CLUB.
"Sorry," said Butler, "I couldn't land you where I promised, but this motor has played hob with me. She's been acting badly for a week."
A score of people came running up. "Hurt, hurt?" they cried.
"Hurt? no!" said Frank, "only disappointed. We were heading for Hendon. How far is it to Queen's Club grounds?"
"'Bout five miles," volunteered someone.
"Is there a taxicab place about here anywhere?" inquired Frank. "I've got to get to Queen's Club on the double quick." He looked at his watch. It showed three minutes of two. The games were about to begin!