Blake raised his wind-screen. His companions followed his example with alacrity. Peace reigned within the body of the battleplane, and conversation could be resumed.
"Plucky fellow, that airman," remarked Blake. "It wants a bit of nerve to set out across Channel on a day like this. Yet it is an everyday occurrence, and mishaps are few and far between. Contrast what that flying mail has to encounter with the conditions under which Blériot flew from Grisnez to Dover. The Frenchman's achievement was the talk of the world; probably only half a dozen people know of that fellow's flight. Of course I don't want to detract anything from Blériot's splendid feat, but—hulloa! what's that?"
Instead of the rhythmical purr of the motors came the unmistakable "cough" that precedes the stoppage of the engines through carburation troubles. In a trice Dick slid from his seat and made a hasty examination. As he did so the motors ceased firing.
"We're out of petrol," he reported. "Nonsense!" exclaimed Blake incredulously. "The tanks were refilled when we started from London."
"They're empty now, at any rate," added Dick. "Yes, I see what it is, the pet-cock on the draining pipe is open."
"Some of our visitors must have knocked it accidentally," declared the inventor. "Be as sharp as you can, Dick. There are some spare tins in the after compartment. One will save her. We're volplaning rapidly and against the wind we won't be able to fetch the land."
With her wings rigidly extended the battleplane was descending at an angle of thirty degrees to the horizontal. In ordinary circumstances she ought to be able to cover a distance of ten or twelve miles—more than sufficient to land her in French territory—but owing to the force of the hard wind her relative speed over the "ground"—which happened to be a raging sea—would be less than a couple of miles.
While Athol unscrewed the cap of the tank Dick crawled for'ard with a two-gallon tin of spirit. Recklessly he poured in the precious fuel, "tickled" the still warm carburettor and swung the engine. Without hesitation the motors began purring in their normal and businesslike manner.
"Hurrah!" exclaimed Blake. "You were just in time. We were only fifty feet up when she fired. Carry on with the other cans. There'll be just enough to get us home."
Dick was now painfully aware, as he carried can after can of petrol from the store compartment, that the battleplane was in the grip of the storm fiend. In her downward glide she had passed from the region of comparatively uniform wind pressure to a stratum in which vicious erratic currents assailed her on every side. In spite of the lad's utmost caution he was continually hurled violently against the side of the fuselage, while it was a matter of greatest difficulty to keep his footing upon the heavy floor of the steeply-inclined machine.