Before either of the lads could comment upon the somewhat disconcerting nature of the discovery Blake suddenly thrust a lever hard over, automatically locking the wings.
"Take charge, Athol," he exclaimed hurriedly. "Keep her as steady as you can, and check any tendency for her to heel. I'm going outside for a few moments."
To the young airmen's astonishment the inventor began to discard his heavy coat and boots.
"What's wrong?" enquired Athol.
"Only that rod," replied Blake. "The securing nut is working loose. We can't afford to let both drop or it will mean complete disaster for us all."
"Then I'm the man for that job," decided the lad promptly. "I'm light and agile and—and——"
He stopped abruptly. It was on the tip of his tongue to add the words "you are not," but checked himself in time.
Every moment was precious. There was no time for argument. Blake instantly realised the force of his young assistant's remarks and acquiesced.
Knotting a rope round his waist, and holding a spanner in his mouth, Athol dropped lightly upon the rigidly locked wing, gripping the foremost edge in order to save himself from being swept away by the terrific rush of air.
Foot by foot he made his way along the trembling fabric until his head and shoulders projected beyond the tip of the aluminium wing. Although by this time well acquainted with dizzy heights the lad dare not look down upon the distant expanse of water. He kept his eyes fixed upon the loose nut, a foot or so on the underside of the wing. Only three or four threads were holding. In a few minutes, had not the defect been noticed, the actuating rod would have become detached, with the result that the wing, no longer held in position, would have folded itself. Like a crippled bird the battleplane would have crashed through thousands of feet with incredible speed, sealing the fate of all on board.