Suddenly the bow portion dipped, then with ever-increasing velocity the huge airship plunged earthwards. Its propeller ceased to revolve; from the cars, ballast—not loose sand, but solid material—was thrown out in the hope of checking the now terrific descent. Then it disappeared from the motor-cyclist's view, beyond a slight ridge of hills about five miles off.
"That's done for it, thank goodness!" ejaculated Kenneth, as he replaced his binoculars and reapplied himself to the repairs to the tyre; "if it were not for this rotten puncture I'd slip over and have a look at the remains. I hope the thing's fallen within the Belgian lines. It will cheer the plucky beggars up a bit."
It took him quite another half-hour to patch the torn canvas and coax the stubborn cover back into its rim. Then, with a feeling of gratification that he had overcome difficulties, he began to inflate the tyre.
"Almost hard enough," he said to himself, ceasing his efforts to prod the rubber with his thumb. "I'll give it another dozen strokes just to show there's no ill-feeling."
Bang! With a report like the discharge of a small field-piece the tyre collapsed. A portion of the inner tube had been nipped, with the result that a gash four inches in length was demanding attention.
"Confound it!" exclaimed Kenneth angrily.
With the perspiration pouring off him, he again tackled the obstinate cover with savage energy. This time the repair was a complicated one. Three times the patch failed to hold, but finally, at the end of an hour and a half's hard work, the tedious task was accomplished.
At Tirlemont Kenneth made enquiries, and was given such minute directions that before he had gone another five miles he was hopelessly befogged. The roads were little better than narrow lanes; there were no direction posts, and he had long forgotten whether he had to take the first turning to the left and the third to the right, or the third to the left and the first to the right. There were several isolated cottages, but their inhabitants had fled. The whole district seemed depopulated, for the great exodus to Brussels had begun. There was plenty of evidence of the hurried flight of the civil population. Articles of domestic use, found to be too heavy to carry far, had been jettisoned by the roadside. Here and there was an abandoned cart, still laden with the household goods of some unfortunate Belgian family.
At length Kenneth found that the lane he was following came upon a small stream. Here a bridge had recently been destroyed. Further progress in that direction was impossible, unless he decided to abandon his cycle and swim across the fifteen feet of water to the opposite bank. Following the stream was a rough path, badly cut up by the tracks of cattle. It was the only possible way unless he retraced his route.
Producing his military map Kenneth attempted to fix his position. He could only come to the conclusion that the stream was the River Velp, on which the hamlet of Cortenaeken stands. He was, he decided, about ten miles from the village, which ought to be reached by following the path he had struck.