[CHAPTER XXV--FIRE!]
Sir Reginald Fosterdyke laid down his pencil and uttered an exclamation of intense satisfaction. He had just "shot the sun" and had finished working out his position.
"Another hour will see us at Gib., lads," he announced joyously. "Then there'll be some mafficking. What's your programme? Going to pack your suit cases and back by the Madrid-Paris express?"
"You are not leaving the 'Golden Hind' at Gibraltar?" asked Kenneth.
"No," replied the baronet. "But I must certainly get some repairs executed before I resume my flight to England. I thought, perhaps, you were in a hurry to get home."
"There's no immediate hurry, sir," declared the chums, simultaneously.
"A few more days won't matter," began Kenyon; but before he could proceed with his explanation the alarm bell rang violently and continuously.
"What's wrong now?" exclaimed Fosterdyke, snatching up the voice tube.
Peter, glancing aft through the window of the navigation-room, which being raised gave a clear view over the roof of the rest of the nacelle, saw at once what was amiss.
Dense volumes of smoke, tinged with dull red flames, were pouring from the after-end of the fuselage. Fanned by the rush of the airship, the black vapour was streaming in its wake like a fox's tail.