"Here's something pretty!" he remarked. "Take a look."
He handed the order to Gerrod and went quickly to the door leading into the workshop attached to the hangar.
In a few crisp sentences he had ordered the big plane prepared for an extended flight, with provisions and as much fuel as it would carry. He returned to find Gerrod thinking busily.
"May I come along on this trip?"
"It's against regulations, of course," said Davis, "but no one will kick if you go. You're privileged."
He cried an order or so at the workmen, who were now swarming over the machine.
Although the wireless message had been sent from the yacht after nightfall, the sun was barely setting on the coast, where the hangar was placed.
The vessel in distress was some thirty degrees east of the coast, and consequently the sun set two hours before it sank on the coastal line.
Gerrod phoned a hasty message to his wife and went to Davis' quarters, where he borrowed heavy flying clothes from Davis' wardrobe. The mechanics and helpers worked with desperate haste.
The aëroplane would be flying all night long, but it was desirable that it take off while there was yet some light. The long fuel tank was filled, and the motors run some ten or fifteen minutes, while critical ears listened for the faintest irregularity in their bellowing roar.