"Indeed—of what types?" inquired the leader of the rescue party. "You're young to take up that profession; I should have imagined that you were still at school."
"I have to thank my father for that."
"And his name is, I believe, Decimus Ward?"
"How did you know that, sir?" asked Leslie, somewhat astonished.
"That's a secret," replied Ranworth, winking at Guy. "As a matter of fact, he designed the motor-sleigh we have on board."
"Then I do know something of that," declared Leslie. "The pater showed me the plans and explained the details. Of course, he didn't tell me the name of his client."
"You'd like to see the definite result of your father's ingenuity?" asked Ranworth; then, receiving an eager affirmative, he added: "Very well; come along; but before we go below you might ask Mr. Hawke to see me."
Leslie and Guy had already made the acquaintance of Aubrey Hawke, the motor specialist to the expedition. He was a dapper little man of about thirty. In height he only just came up to Leslie's shoulder, while he turned the scale at eight stone seven pounds. He had gained considerable fame as an aviator, but owing to an accident he had reluctantly been compelled to give up flying.
Surviving a fall from an aeroplane which would have ended fatally in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, Aubrey Hawke's vitality carried him through a long illness.
One result of the accident was that he was a victim to nervousness, but studiously concealing that failing, he had accepted a post with the Nova Cania rescue expedition in the hope that he might even yet recover his lost nerves.