Almost directly below them the bright beam of a flashing light circled round and round, cutting the night in a broad swath.
“What is it?” asked Charlie.
“The New Canaan airbeacon on Ponus Ridge. We take our bearings from that light.”
“Where do we go from here?”
“Hartford, Worcester, Lowell, Portland and on up the Maine coast.”
“Any idea of the distance?”
“We’re a couple of hundred miles from Lowell, and Portland is a good hundred and twenty-five from that place. From there up to Washington County and Twin Heads Harbor is between a hundred and fifty to a hundred and seventy-five farther. Say about five hundred miles altogether. That’s guess-work. It’s probably farther.”
He banked the plane, swung it around in a semi-circle and levelled off, headed into the northeast.
“How long will it take us?” Bill heard a half-stifled yawn at the end of Charlie’s question.
“Well, it’s going on for three now. If this breeze on our tail stiffens, we ought to make your Dad’s house in less than five hours—say somewhere between seven-thirty and eight o’clock, if we’re lucky.”