The pilot shook his head.
"Sorry—nothin' doin'," he replied. "Much as I appreciate what you've done for me in the past, you have asked me the impossible. I couldn't smuggle you in a 'plane, you know. Well, I must away. I'm just off to the Air Station."
"By Jove, Seton!" exclaimed Branscombe, as the pair continued their way; "that fellow Smith has given us the straight tip."
"What do you mean?" asked Alec.
"Said he couldn't smuggle us."
"Well, what of it?"
"Where's your imagination, old son?" continued Branscombe. "What's to prevent us doing the stowaway stunt on board the Vindictive?"
Alec fairly gasped.
"Fine old hole we'd be in if we were found out," he objected.
"We mustn't be found out—at least until after the stunt is over," replied Branscombe; "then it doesn't matter so much. Either we won't be alive to bear the wigging, or else we'll be tails up. In that case I don't very much care what happens if we've had our whack of the fun."