"This" was a wireless from Point de Galle announcing that a terrific cyclone was raging west of the Maldive Islands, its path being a "right-hand circle." That meant that unless the "Golden Hind" made a radical alteration of course she would encounter the full force of the wind.
It was the fourth day of the race. The "Golden Hind" had passed over Socotra at daybreak and was on her way across the Arabian Sea, her next scheduled landing-place being Colombo.
"If we carry on we'll hit the tail of the cyclone," said Kenyon, consulting a chart of the Indian Ocean.
"Yes, but what is worse we'd pass through the dangerous storm-centre, and then more than likely get a nose-ender on the other side, if we were lucky enough to weather the centre," replied Fosterdyke. "It's too jolly risky, Kenyon. At fifteen thousand feet it may be as bad or worse than at five hundred feet up. Call up Murgatroyd, and ask what petrol there is in the tanks."
Kenneth went to the voice tube and made the necessary enquiry of the engineer.
"By Jove, we'll risk it!" declared Fosterdyke, when he received the desired information. "We'll go south a bit, and then make straight for Fremantle."
Kenyon was taken aback with the audacity of the proposal. The distance between Socotra and Western Australia was a good 5000 miles, or thirty-six hours of uninterrupted flight. At 140 miles an hour there was sufficient fuel on board for forty hours, which meant a reserve of four hours only in case of anything occurring to protract the run.
"Oh, we'll do it," said Fosterdyke, confidently, as he noticed his companion's look of blank amazement. "Better run the risk of cutting things fine than to barge into a cyclone. Sou'-east by south is the course."
"Remarkable thing we haven't heard anything of friend Sinzig 'clocking in,'" observed Kenyon. "Wonder where he's making for?"
"We'll hear in due course," replied the baronet. He crossed the cabin to consult a Mercator's chart of the world, on which were pinned British, American, and Japanese flags recording the latest-known positions of the rival airmen. There was a German flag ready to be stuck in, but nearly five days had elapsed since von Sinzig left Spain, and the crew of the "Golden Hind" were still in ignorance of his whereabouts.