He had hardly uttered the words when with a disconcerting jerk the motors faltered, picked up for a few pulsations, and then ceased firing.
The battleplane began to drop towards the labyrinth of buildings that, hidden by the thickly-falling flakes, lay less than three thousand feet below.
CHAPTER V
SO NEAR AND YET SO FAR
Not for one moment did Desmond Blake's presence of mind desert him. Quickly locking the wings in position to enable the battleplane to maintain a maximum glide he turned her "down wind." Volplaning in the teeth of the stiff northerly breeze would, he knew, result in a cross-country gain of, perhaps, a mile or two; whereas, gliding with the following wind there was more than a sporting chance of covering sufficient distance to get clear of the thickly populated outskirts of the Metropolis of the Midlands.
Following the stoppage of the motors Dick slipped from his seat and made his way along the floor of the fuselage till he came to the silent machinery. Switching on an electric torch, for it was now dark within the "hull" of the battleplane, and with the failure of the motors the dynamo-run lamps had gone out, Dick made a hasty examination.
"Ignition," he reported. "Magneto, I fancy."
"Guessed so," rejoined the inventor, laconically. "See if you can rectify matters. I'll keep her steady as long as I can."
Volplaning at fifty miles an hour does not give one much time for effecting adjustments. Before the lad had been able to verify his suspicions a peculiar motion warned him that the battleplane was describing a semi-circular swoop. Ten seconds later, with hardly a perceptible jar she came to earth, or rather, landed in a deep snow-drift.