"'Fraid so," agreed the other. "Ah, here we are. Thank you, Wilson. Where's my fountain pen? Where's---- Oh, dash it all, where's everything? ... That's settled, then. Have a drink before you go? No? Well, cheerio, and the very best of luck."
Armed with the necessary documents, "sealed, signed, and delivered," Fosterdyke and Bramsdean found themselves in the open air. Darkness had already fallen. It was a good two miles from Little Europa Point to the Old Mole, and not a vehicle of any sort was to be seen.
Tired, hot, and hungry they reached the spot where a naval pinnace was supposed to be awaiting them. It was not there. A message erroneously delivered had sent the boat back to the dockyard. Not to be done, Fosterdyke hired a native boat, paying without demur a villainous-looking Rock Scorp the excessive sum he demanded.
For a quarter of an hour the boat rowed about while the baronet and his companion gazed aloft in the hope of spotting the "Golden Hind" against the dark sky.
"She's gone!" declared Bramsdean.
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Fosterdyke, irritably. "Why should she?"
Nevertheless in his mind he was convinced that such was the case.
Presently the boat ran close to the buoy to which the airship had been moored. Both men recognised the buoy by the number painted on it. No wire rope ran upwards to an invisible object floating in the darkness of the night.
Unaccountably, mysteriously the "Golden Hind" had disappeared.