Still muttering incoherently, Uncle Brian sat up and rubbed his head vigorously.
"Where am I?" he demanded.
He dug his hands into the ground. It was fine sand. He sniffed at it, half expecting to find it salt like the sand of the seashore.
Still puzzled, he watched the strongly-burning acetylene until the glare was too much for his eyes. He turned his head, but was unable to discern a single object.
Then he crawled, like a stricken animal, away from the light, until a mass of twisted steel plating impeded his progress.
"There's been a most unholy smash," he declared solemnly.
Gradually coherent reasoning returned to him. Strangely enough he completely forgot that Peter had been with him in the crash. His chief thoughts were for the safety of the essential parts of the secret-ray apparatus. Those placed in a locker in the flying-boat were probably smashed, but there remained the most important object of all—the delicate valve which he had hidden in an empty cartridge case.
Almost feverishly he tore open his leather greatcoat and felt for the cartridge-belt that had been his constant companion from the time he left El Toro. With trembling fingers he extracted the small glass phial and held it up to the light. Then he gave a gulp of relief and satisfaction. The delicate filament and the minute and complex mechanism were intact.
"Hello, Uncle! Taking a blood test?"
Brian Strong turned at the sound of the well-known voice. Walking unsteadily towards him was Peter Corbold.