"Two hundred and twenty miles an hour, too," added Kenyon. "That means he'll do the whole trip in less than 120 hours of actual flying, unless something goes wrong with his 'bus. My word, some speed!"
"What I'd like to know is his petrol consumption, and how much juice does his 'bus carry," remarked Bramsdean, thoughtfully. "By Jove! We're up against something, old son."
"By the by, I see there's no news of Fritz," said Kenneth.
"Not a word," replied Peter. "Von Sinzig evidently thinks that it's too early to start bragging. We'll hear either from or of him before night. Fosterdyke is trying to call him up by wireless and tell him that he has a friend of his on board."
"Oh, that greasy merchant!" rejoined Kenneth. "How did he get on?"
"Played 'possum," answered Bramsdean. "Fosterdyke tried to put the wind up him, but it was a frost. I'd like to know what he did to the shackle on the mooring-buoy."
"You think he cast us adrift?"
"Without a doubt, old bird."
Kenyon shook his head doubtfully.
"He might have been simply fishing when the pin drew and he got whisked aloft," he suggested. "Did he give his name or any particulars?"